What grain of itinerant reward skips vowels for the exquisite express train of consonants? Those prone , regal, smack-sounding rays of infinite clunk concern us. The consonant has a whisker and a home in any framework. Whisker means whisky, and the absolute donnish flight, so you should pray with equilaterals. Meantime, the votive of word, squeezed in sound, consumes a throttle-minded spurning debris. We sink, having seen sentences with words of all kinds. Suddenly the mixture of consonants and vowels makes sense. The word is Worcester. Woo, stir: why do we need verbs? Verbs include and conclude with abetment and tankard. Yes, tankard, the whisky that means something, from earth peat memory of the scent of some day until you find that the word is arranged differently. Each word regales its own self, if self is appropriate here in this context. Context conveys the consonant and the vowel each as equals and persistent. Spoken is part way. Written is part way. Other words feign other words. Then the document, called poem, exudes its gaseous state. Sun. Sun is the season, full of iris, passing lilac, dots on maps. To conclude is deference. We reach a poem. This block of words, a paragraph for some, hovers for its own. Its own is yours. Drink up, whisky one.
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.
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