Rapped across the running streets like vines of dire reaction. We were the generation, and still are. Sunbeams make fancy bullshit, we wear berets. Stretching out from old igloos oh we have a whole ball to roll. And into the streets we say, racing with foregone gloom. Tidal in every respect, we roar off ready to banish. The moment flashes in still water. Exposition follows except news disappears. Expect to have words in a moment. The air we breathe contains anything, same as nothing. By this, we feel relief. The road is only one inch long, if measured in time. The inch does not exist, just after effects of the measure.
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
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