Generous as a lamp post, mullein holds court. Larger than the smaller, its language starts gently, rising alto and discrete. The offices of time give mullein stature. So too the yellow generation of flowers crowding the communal nobility of its stalk. Mullein finds stature in wayside places, like can you believe it? The mullein smells, it smells of mullein. A tea of its leaves can be made for those people. Mullein stands as tall as its tiptoe. Because it acts as mullein it cannot be a weed. Why would weeds be weeds with you just standing there? Your money market accumulates interest which constitutes no interest but secular chance. Mullein sports a rood of earth and the bennies include leaves of leafy size. Can any supposition outbid roots delving into the nature of soil? Engaged as a fertile instant the mullein rides high. The adventure of where you are pins to the mullein. You are a verse or something, with graduation possible. Wiggle your toes, wave your hands: sunshine resides in the blue moment, too.
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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