When you are with me, rains are pencils, and that’s didactic. Tornados mark classes. We arrange the flexing toward alone yet quake of the certain lost measure. It’s a mountain, that stepway large and holding sky ideas. We are carried centers, clusters, cooling matter in the forest throng. There will be a day, because all days have that measure. No one consumes the rational path but bends and wiggles mild and proper expulsion from the card of garden. Names made terrific for the crusty season, spent on tours thru clutter, spoke, and rumour idol. This is the bond, tho more arises, skies arise, the tornado seems like Harvey, the rabbit of Jimmy Stewart. Hello, and smackerel, this chance of time in year. We were ready for this. We ride to ready this.
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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