the town of nature road a bullock sprite cast in revolution instant. the chase of droning esplanade inspired the rock star, portent in the hallway. all that were standing woke to chase. the tarnish of red notes on the dawn sky, flocks of flowers do you good, and the chapel spending culled from cymbals in a rage. we have a process to collect, mild notes and harsh, and the love that will restore our structure. town of nature is a ball, glows with sun, peels the orange until flight and news, birds at atmospheric reach. hello, tourist: this is Galway Kinnell, or the other book by the same name.
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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