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Parasite (Free verse) by Christof
The fog does not lie on the field Like a shroud or a cold white hand; It rises up, a sweat, a breath, Reminds the train it is not dead, No Charon in a bone-white land But a living fluke at the very least.

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INTRANSIT204.110.228.25410October 23, 2007 1:27 PM PDT
Skamper58.171.81.12110October 22, 2007 10:13 PM PDT
Ranger86.145.25.2169October 21, 2007 1:40 PM PDT
pete62.56.48.1097October 18, 2007 7:33 AM PDT
xxx67.172.190.2534October 18, 2007 7:03 AM PDT



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