April 27, 1999: My journal is a word dump
They are dumped into this well, to sleep, jump and play—words of several colors, pictures I can’t explain. A word dump! It features giant tractors pulling words from mountains—unless the wind grabs them, allowing an unexpected escape. I scream as loud as I can, “Give them life! Never should a thought die.”
April 27, 1999: My journal is a word dump
They are dumped into this well, to sleep, jump and play—words of several colors, pictures I can’t explain. A word dump! It features giant tractors pulling words from mountains—unless the wind grabs them, allowing an unexpected escape. I scream as loud as I can, “Give them life! Never should a thought die.”
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