The golden sun covers expanse with the bread of Words. Fierce targets of importance transmit radical ideas, called tower. Yes, tower remains a function of non-tower, the vying plea. The view in each word glows, because the sun is strong. The sun spends the night, and whispers human greatness. Integrity marches toward weirdness, just as dawn opens the way for morning. The sun makes morning by adding birds and brief alders. Quiet makes quiet quake, with ears in the moist trees. Pictures all turn tribal and the one word of today.
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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