Delmore Schwartz arrived with his with and a smile. He mutters his teeth, they are his. At a frantic pace, we begin to seed the world. Starting with the blue sky, which Delmore Schwartz says is very blue. Children are natural enough, with cats looking on. A ferried green talking of earth reflects some seasons, forgetting other seasons immediately. As Elmore James, Delmore Schwartz posed many questions, sometimes with frogs chirping in trees. Who will dust his broom? Seeping from trees, elegants ripostes and leafy green spell the moment exactly. The tablature includes using rudiments of notes in a blue way. The trees await his fact-based writing. There should always be more.
The aliens merged with diastrophism. A rush thru the funnel with Dick Cheney prompts a reply, don't you think? The mud of his glance places real time constancy in jeopardy. We really roll with the punches, tho Cheney's eyes tend to ignite squids. His armpits repine with a patient whoosh that smells like blueberries, eternal boundfulness of Dick Cheney brain. In the meantime, like river flocks, we steal a porch. The utter eye jets of the alien enterprise writes an interregnum. We knit a scarf called socialism, which appears on tv as the gravelly person on that show every night. Cheney hams it up. Secondly, dream manifests in the sunlessness of rectilinear retreat, the storm of space. Driven noises suffuse patents. Claims of Obama become structure. Ideas receive graves. Back in the future, where we crowd the bed with details, a fire starts to smell like blueberries. Blueberries include the idea of porches, and shatter indifferently against chalk lines on sidewalks. The peop...
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