In the incredible place beyond the stars and requiem, furtive tho grey edge of a sunset dodge, even include a starburst of red light like something telling. Layers of life explain layers of time, until a town becomes a central theme, like snow melt. Longer than a sentence and with dire vowels to sound, speaking of a place where the water runs, the wind runs, and cooing mourning doves run, these patches of effort become towns with days. Everything displaces the next minute, then protocol reverses the trend. We are nations in the morning trying to explain the bent seasonal smell of these dead leave. Even Dick Cheney is a god unto himself. Introduce yourself to the blanket of your town.
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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