Every element in the district swept up funds in skylocked welkin for the sake of the newest presidency. Leaves the colour of earls formulated the trust that would endure the edges of forever, namely the time of changing. This is the sweat of our fairest Obama, a condition and rationing. Thru porous days of agreement funding splayed for sake. We were taught to be lean, in a gravitas sort of way, but the microcosms refused to work. Dated theory rose up in smocks, cultured with a dignity of favoured rocks. How can we crease the paper squarely? muttered Obama, hailing the next sentence. Republican virtue, replied Republican Virtue. Instead of partitions, we have a flock, cried the Wasteland, using the visage of Straight Talk. Straight Talk, itself a margin, flopped on the whale of limit. We are poor kings and queens, sweated Obama, our plain sake. And that conversation (Obama went on) must be pressurized like certain wood used to do things with. All this was patience itself--we logged on to be sure--and the claque refused to contend. In the morning, dew will expose grass to a tendency. Later poets will do the same.
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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