Words rely on the density of their demarcation. The boundary of meaning just wants kids. You woke at the precocious time, and the sun still. You know. Leaves in actual trees bear timeshares for something something moon. Uncatalogued advance and decline, we have numbers. Numbers afford us span, in which the word. Tilling the earth calls for time invaded. We reach an agreement vis-a-vis it's Sarah Palin, you idiot. We cannot prove this. We cannot establish sure ranks of Republican lives in god's knucklehead. Panza divisions bow.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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