Typically a poem measures 8x10 in familiar units while weighing up to 10-12. A poem’s promoted weight, however, never matches universal standards; consumers rarely look for more. Indices prove hazy when in reference to vital states of mind. One can only hope for newer-styled vantages and lessees with equitable programs to bring fabulist content to the fore, thereby redeeming glacial impulses of each outburst in a work-study. Further horizons lurk in the sequestering impulse to execute practices of hayfields and rosy dawns slinking with nourishing dew, causing the chess pieces to fall into place. No sabotage can be too sweet. We shall all remember attempts to release the pride of angels, only to consecrate a sour dough. Established vacancies arise as new order while each penned poem composes itself in constituted sequence. Only timely consequences, vented thru rupture, can ease the certainty of reward. Dolour as a pump secures the direction. All patients must heed the warning or sulk.
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.
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