The ochre rust that beats us to the arrival of a bell--for no new bell is worth ringing
--frosts the wall, and corrodes the flanging curve.
Sumerians--or some other intelligent society must have seen,
The shape needs to hurry and precede the sound,
And so, swiftly, was it conceived to plunge from the hoist, at a swerve,
Then scatter by the skirting ground.
Who could foster a better or more cracked idea than a bell:
I have a certain kind of abuse I like to touch,
And when I'm lost my ears
Near the unoccupied bourse, the broke foretell,
Which might just as easily be the bell of the bell.
Name That Trauma:: Scott D. on a Rock Man Who Dissolves in the Ocean - Your website is awesome! That said … I remember a movie that was probably shown on WLVI 56′s Creature Double Feature in the ’80s (Boston area). It involved...
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