nouns are the last treat. we read a book on the airplane in the sky's ocean first. we drive that kin such a way! then power of falling said, oh plane truth, we fell as a signal long turd. the loss of falling was no relief. we hung, a loop in variable, and every word was text. how's that for fair play? we sent a loss language toward the gift. it was no an airplane at all. falling is sinking. the ocean, then, was under the clouds that were forested with us, as the numbers we make make us. our life was a noun that clenched. we folded our hands for the force of more words. each word is different, somehow. the plane truth was form. we flew above the simple clouds, into the merrie nest of newness. this is a stain that stays. the staying is called clouds. clouds fall into seas, seas remain aloft with the last time of the sentence definition. each included word made a new text. those other words, left out, formed nothing at all. the plane went awry, as if bursting were a period. if the period were so final, where did the next sentence come from? we aren't true to our words? but poetry isn't an effect, it is what is left. or maybe what left is poetry. or a word isn't really there when poetry is. is this a fair assessment or is all falling just a plane agreement with the weathering force of clouds over oceans when the meaning is clear? the noun might remain, but verb tense moves on. a poem sticks to its roots, proving nothing. nothing, at such time, is at its best.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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