THe gloAming grows finally and Amid sounds, querulous umlauts and diacritical signals. None of this action goes beyond the limits of imaginary. People talk to stillness and stillness nettles while fleece of clouds. And this political climate continues with casual verbs and people who claim to know prepositions. However, no prepositions can exist without willfull deception. Deep wells tell us so. So the mighty exist, as tropes For paradigms. And paradigms exist because someone spoke. The words were in a pool swirling dynamically and extending to sentence. The thought of language starts biscuits a-baking. Propositions poise for pictures. Nature rides natural elastic to the cellar of the trying town. Children remain in vitro till the last very-preposition has rained.
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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