Survival seems likely words, like green in nature. Like creates time and beginning, assertively and green. We can all think of manatees, live oaks, cumulus, and Day. The streets are perfect for Day. Survival, then, it has a place. It hears the ocean, it delivers space. It is a crusty cry sentence with a melody. Filaments wrap into light by electrical charge worthy of celebration. A topic sentence begins the way appeal. But this is no poem, no. No poem is any word but all.
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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