This Beefy brute, chickadee, flick of black and white, selects winter, and you maunder in the slush. Oppression is a fancy word for landscape now that you have the time to think about it. Time fills the tree with fluffy snow. An achey pine, perhaps, a Chickadee, and a stick to place in some future place. Welcome to incidence, which is nowto the point of now. The thrift of chickadee voice de-persuades the grift essence about talking your problems by metric weight, length, and easeful death of time. You haven’t reached rich enough and the moon acts stark. The chickadee of monument hops about. Compare that to the tire iron you couldn’t find, when you thought you needed something for some thing. A seed or something from a tree without occultation of yearning. Your top secret underwear needs a revue. Chickadee says so. The spirit can be so. As in so.
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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