Language that sprung, of words. Word haven’t long existed, in our time. Put the tongue’s weight on each word in usage. Parabla, parole. Describe what usage means while lolling. Nothing but astonishment remains, in strides upon the path. Words, which represent language in a tinny blue pleistocene cold runway. Future makes verbs look big while weighing forever. Heard the lightning, saw the thunder. Fire is just water, earth is just air. Justness simply balances the dividend. Inside we are between, one word at a time.
Light captures time set in the lower Tigris basin. The red sun hangs on a shrub by effect of perspective. Crowded lips of speech speak of rocks as the making of, in time, in the chance of forever, but dwells in one spot, alone on earth. The dwelling may be changed Past the bent fragmentary oak branch into the litter of stone and learned tufts of grass covered by leaves. An acorn imagines a place of light thought. “Soldiers, accept my thanks at present; eventually you shall thank me. I will see to that, or my name is not Cyrus.” (the river had manifestly retired before the face of Cyrus, like a courtier bowing to his future king). The letter of singularity completes as it disappears.