Simple naming, blur sound. My dad had a table and Janis Joplin stood on it it and wild. Those days imagined a process of evaluation and moor. The rock of leaves and trees in water till lots of spaces between. When the number includes the endless vowel as testament of sorrow on the edge of time, timeless is a town by anything. Those days of just enough to loud, to over ear the letter of the Dad, generation. But in rations of slower down to word, you could say the structures were made to be resisted. And the Dad that had to turn away to die is a vetted program called life until you see the same same thing. Dad your, sun, like it is that easy, down by the green wood.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
Comments