Since then we've witnessed the governments (federal and otherwise) flounder in the face of a disaster that they'd seen coming (billions to rebuild, untold hundreds dead), the continuance of a far away war that seems endless from this vantage point, late September two thousand and five, the sudden start of an unwarranted war at home
So strange, victory.Mon amie, I grew tired of being angry, so tired of being angry, and so instead grew silent, sitting on the burgundy couch, empty as the Tuileries, without so much as a peep from the Sublime Idealist, much to my detriment, much to my dismay.
Twelve hundred spires,
the only sound, Moscow burning
In the last extremityUntil now, ten past ten on September twenty-fifth, when it occurs to me that there will be time enough for stunned and stony silence, and not enough to shout.
to advance or not to advance
I hear you laughing