wl flies with all the grace of eating mice and barfing bones. Owls fly with the Susurration of the elite, with inhuman shadows as context. Yourshadow casts a smell: you don't pass unnoticed. Your average owl goes beyond average, and is upbeat and diurnal. You have nightmares of clownish pause. Still, some owls seep into night with death sounds. Or poems, who's to say? The calls vary, sometimes mournful, sometimes screechy, as delicately human as that. Owls notably look in windows and their heads spin wickedly. They see shadows move like shadows. They enjoy shades of air and silence, quicker than any bunny. Stratum interweave and conveyances differ. The owl scouts with nerve endings and quiet abeying. They live in trees full as mansions. Their sighs fund elegiac plenty and spree, with Bo Diddley beat assembling.
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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