September 2009

Invasions

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Keep your wool in line, bind your spools. Don’t let the colors blend. Blend, blur,

break their lines. Crossing borders like channels. Who said only

summer sun spurs the dogs to get wet?

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Fang and fur, pungent, lips curled. Growl, sir, growl! Let them hear you!

Chase down the invaders and rip their limbs. To the ground, Charlie, to the ground!

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The Halocaust ain’t over yet.

The smell of wet dog will fill your lungs before the sun will set.

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AN: Sorry for the rulers and such. For whatever reason, FP document manager loves giving me a hard time with spacing. Shift+Enter never seems to work. Just getting the rulers to stay is hard enough...