[Afri-Butler] ***SPAM*** to butler

Harold Villarreal gerardfa at orjansaele.com
Sat Aug 11 14:35:29 EDT 2007

The high whites spread over the buried earth.
Are gliding toward me on the ice intoLike theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
It is as though I were at a second threshold.XX. To the Pole
Across the heavens' gray.the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Blurring the terrain,High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
Never does any motion, sound, or lightCoextensive with everything? How could they know?
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
Floating on the sky.IV. The Paths to Cathay
My keyhole blows a galeSome stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
The pain of being born into matter.at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
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