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.
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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