February 13, 2000: The rich want charitable acceptance
Faces stretched, breasts lifted, pockets filled with glamour and glitz—a mountain lake you’ve created…and we are the soot resting on the bottom. Pictures are made, the story well written—you are who you are and what you did shall be cherished. The new sun has risen, the night sky only a memory—I…being a rock covered with moss, slowly open my eyes to see nothing—not even the flow of a new born waterway. A gully is what they call it—the gorging of something once thought to be beautiful and free.
February 13, 2000: The rich want charitable acceptance
Faces stretched, breasts lifted, pockets filled with glamour and glitz—a mountain lake you’ve created…and we are the soot resting on the bottom. Pictures are made, the story well written—you are who you are and what you did shall be cherished. The new sun has risen, the night sky only a memory—I…being a rock covered with moss, slowly open my eyes to see nothing—not even the flow of a new born waterway. A gully is what they call it—the gorging of something once thought to be beautiful and free.
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