tightly across the vocal chords for everyone, that night. Desperation was all it took. To feel the significance, to each person, a thousand, touched by a dark sky. Textures visible, clearly minding the grooves of solid ligature made from the finest wood. The laborious hours the work of hands, the callouses and bruises in the making of that ligature. Wooden ligatures for one thousand faces to believe they were made expressly for each time. Solvent oils anointed each forehead, a sacrament. Driving power. Transgression to remember new ventures. Creations, red-haired, breezers containing certain odors. Send up to heaven for the thanks needed in appraisals to forego the best pleasures to behold in saintly patronage, crafty, in the way to suit the spices on a rack picked from the wall at random order, like no order at all. A dramatization to pretend the reality is fake poisons entering a junk system. Again the possessors blamed a mother of two. Jumping about, turning robots from town to see the dancers explode as promised in the ads claiming priority over the machine guns and straightjackets. Horrid pieces in a wooden plank destroyed them that evening. Prongs of idealism lost the concepts in satellites in space, exploring a new field to plant crops; staring faces needed it. In ten years from now it may be discovered as a potential much racker. Deserts converted into fertile sands. Plow.
Contests to support imagination in who can till the sands the most productive way, incentive boosters for the rich, motivation vehicles and a chant with gold stars was held up at the conventions marking the start of the race. They reached down to move the clutch to second, while singing their catchy theme songs.
Clear faces, baggy necks concealed the chains they were wearing, proclaiming membership at the Hedonists Club. They were closet thrill seekers. One would never know it to see them in their farmer jones role they played according to script. Sifters were removed from the earth.
Sleepers didn't know about it until much later, without their dreams. Their mischievous looks into the world mirrors.
RIVER BED 62
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