The endtimes agree with your Arabian rug. You present fascicles of presumptuous moan as a record of granulated traits. Askable sky resumes Topic, now slowed by aging ask. Plumes the misery of adjusted now in frantic cadence. We all can see a trace of rapture in the mud you swell in. You tunnel from the town, the town heals the line.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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