Sword Dance for the Latter Person

Sometimes the stand there in the face of bending while the actual season simpers offering stab wound or panic but the wheel seizes an ivory leaf, the green of escape or town where rivers or just a package from when the time was right.

Later eves, or eaves, and the special sane brushes the talk show off simple margin, you are reading people.

People are the marvel when it becomes time, but time is an extra word, too much, something gets lost. Translation was a door last year.

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Words

From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.

Bacteria

The horde manages. In querulous crowd each bacterium rattles swords as a function of ruction. Ruction brings the bear of action. Bacteria has stuff to do and do this in the present listing pressure to do. Ready to inflame but not entirely negative presences, bacteria gather momentum. Like you and your tidal dreams, bacteria think prosperity at every moment. The think mind expands to giddy unlimited and frack (wrenches the rock). Universes are for filling. The candy of delight motivates the heated action. Tears cannot quench. A star, a star hangs proper in the sky forever while you witness. You are the energy you eat.

Marsh

When you become a marsh, fundament weighs heavy. Marsh fancies of community share mud, weed, home, predator, and predated, and love could complete. The various searches in time maunder silly, slanting light of hunger and amplitude. Sometimes the water goes away, like opportunity or time. It's only death taped to the map. Sometimes the water becomes a flood insurgency. Shifting seems so staid. No weeds exist except you decide to recognize. Frogs wriggle into nothing while establishing just now. You know how stasis comes across at the foot of heron or egret. Beaver always a mercantile delight to further the avaricious view. You are ready to go. Your towns give up on places bred to life. Warming error of margin in red shift out of time. At least you almost stand amongst. You can stretch your anointment seeking landfill for enterprise. Drab referendum of rich colloquy with profit goes great with banishing. Beavers fit the place they made, mosquitos make diligent clouds. Why don't

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