Something stops the
rain, the train itself. Latter Day Sentences speak, canting right or
left. Fundament pool in the middle of nothing. Sentence time reflects
noun in passage. Exact word a dream. Next word brings next word,
repeat. Doable framework of persistence against which undoable
framework of persistence. Full version versus less full version.
Ability to react to ability to react. Next time, first time. The
last work comes again. Everyone said so, and so it was.
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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