Article: 288703 of talk.bizarre
From: (Bill Bill)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: just brown leaves
Date: 2 Dec 1996 07:55:43 GMT
Organization: wareware
Lines: 28
Message-ID: <57u21v$>

These kids were found like leaves.  They had gotten all swept
up by the rake du jour.  Some were on fire because matches
like the smell of smoke.  I started to watch after I heard the
dry rustle from this scattered ground.

Carrie was a kid who cared too much.  A thousand cats an hour
died in a world of apathy's malice aforethought, and a thousand
babies bit the bullet never to cry out; Carrie's eyes never dried.
Her clay was sculpted by the fingers and gloves of men who grew their
roots in macho mud.  The only caring they allowed was this child
proxy.  Carrie will be three decades digging out from graves that 
weren't even hers.  Just wait until she finds the hands to bite.

Sometime in a summer, a boy first breathed whose nature was not 
to destroy himself.  This did not fit the mold, but his misshape 
was somehow unseen for a time.  When I first noticed,
he had made six others like himself, fashioned from his words.
Such words were out of fashion, so he was given the taste for
bitterness by the chefs whose broth held no brother.  If hope
really works, you will meet one of his six someday.

A hundred more fell with their own tree's seeds.  Will they
survive?  Will you talk about them?  It depends: do you
hear them underfoot, or do they fade into your backgrounds?

bill                    bill         @          wetware.                    com