with windows of clean power, gruff brown bark on the sedentary
trees, a vocal majority without words (not real ones), with sentence
structure amassed in piles by lawns of water or dirt, the central
pictures of an anxious squirrel with prime sense of mortgage, and the
clear meaning of green leaves at their timetable—the sky is blue
like under advisement!—meanwhile, an unarmed teen, massive rally
(amazing people), the words under the words aren’t really words,
not words like that...
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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