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The Poem Days

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.

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  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.