This vine, the glory of Vinland--if we could just find Vinland to jar our mixed feelings. Sure, the simple fleshy fruit that usually has many seeds is a berry. Not a drupe that requires one seed to fulfill definition. Grape explains fecundity by the roadside. Emboldened, vines extend reach, like a poem in the great book and ears attuned to how words remain invented or inverted. Grapes define seasonal with the smell of autumn. Bold sun investment and an urge to crawl about, the grape presents agile opportunity. Your kudzu extremism fosters that political gallop of the programmatic opine. Make americas mean something. We drown there. Please by compelling thought in sun not the dimming dimming force feed. Grape parties on in sinecure and homegrown melody, thanks. Thanks that you smell fruition. You could do worse.
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.
Comments