clients surrounded the test of words. they said tables are indefinite flames. they said topics are riled by sentences. they said, your third try will be marshland, a tuft of wind, blue smoke over green woods, and snow begins to fall . did we listen? I will tell you a story, and in that story, I will not appear. yet the story will occur in the sentence of one breath. this breath will be a whole universe, and drills made of stars. when you hear the story, Dear Reader, you will be provoked. effort will construct a breeze across the mentioned marsh. a melting sun will bloom from the seed of winter. this must be the simplest myth imaginable , you will whisper to yourself. your self won't listen, your self will read on. still, clients are not easily abetted, or even cleared for landing. I will tell you, tho, that the airplane crashed. it was beautiful. it felt like a casting off of doubt. with that inkling, you have more of the picture. don't worry, all passengers of the crashing pla...
poems, fireflies...