A fawn, in the dark, running down the street, towards the car. Headlights, of course, vast directing. The car stopped but the frightened young one served the momentum of fear. It ran into the car with a falling clatter, rose, and continued running down the street. Following directly, the doe with valiant concern signifying look. Something scared the young one and it ran without control. Rudiments of living in the rudiments. The mordant sentence spoke the formation that astonishes to admit. We are weak and unlikely. Our fears become conveyors. Light rose from the doe. Breath asks with every pulsing: are you alive? Are you the fright and persistence? Are you ready to blend into the world? Deers will fly someday and they will be rocks. The crisp determined trees place you in the raucous wilderness, a mooncoin foaming value. High flown guffaws as matches are struck, the familiar discerned. Coyne's bog land, in the language fluster. It stands in what we see we are. Or are not, free of negation, quantified in looming value. You, me, it, what the fuss fancies.
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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