Saturday, October 30, 2004
Weak-end mumblings
I sit in the front low, back slack in my seat and spit out answers like sunflower seeds. I try not to show genuine contempt for the procedings.
Experimental science is not for me. And I'm not keen on the calculus. So I hide in the books, the abstracts of logic.
Letters for sentences, abractions of abstracts, codified.
But the anchors of the ship drag, and the wind weakens in the sails.
Batten down the hatches boys, the calm is coming in. Keep watch for windsigns.
It's just another day on the H.M.S. Trevor
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Experimental science is not for me. And I'm not keen on the calculus. So I hide in the books, the abstracts of logic.
Letters for sentences, abractions of abstracts, codified.
But the anchors of the ship drag, and the wind weakens in the sails.
Batten down the hatches boys, the calm is coming in. Keep watch for windsigns.
It's just another day on the H.M.S. Trevor
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