Lenin’s turn, of course. In a language trucking over the name of mountains, in a language fit for snow, the chorus sounds reasonable. Lenin’s reasoning follows a research grant, fosters pragmatism, flies off with a boot. The boot is a fissure in the dominant track. Pioneers fade with revision.
Lenin, of course, stood out. That cranium contained a flap over the autism that requires every ethic of fading. Torture is credible, as is the fulcrum on which the balance schemes with bombs.
Lenin’s heart is in the shape of Sarah Palin’s populist.
Lenin’s head is in the shape of Dick Cheney’s intendant.
Lenin’s phlogiston melts for all the right reasons.
In our heartened doggerel we find a platform that dates to the primal Tsarist algorithm sifted by Google to historical analogue. A subwoofer can set off a weapon. Lenin, the subwoofer, sets off the appropriate rifles. We need tea in our teabags, says Sarah Palin, alleviating Alaska from the musk of ideals. Lenin knew that Alaska once was; fully mapped was his report. Now Steve Jobs is on the phone, the phone he finally invented. Lenin stood there, ready to affirm.
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