You will notice the grand wood paneling in the rabbit hole. The sportive nature of rabbits so decrees because death remains no better than an exaggeration. Note the sparkly zest of rabbit as it pops from grassy clusters just to evade your interest. You and your dog note the vitality inherent in fleeing. It smells like the days. Rabbits sit quietly with ears, rise from the planet with scrambling hops, and elsewhere becomes a prank. Some hungry hunter may just catch, such is the life of fodder, but the teeming ranks prove hearty. Union-led and Union-fed, the proletarian consort bullets from gorse and sedge and provocative grass, provoking administration. Files of rabbitry sniff carrot leaves and feed. Endgame means nothing but a flash. The right spirit of experience feeds a moon risen in the morn. Fabulous dawn exalts the further chase. Rabbits run with the featured thrall of just this adrenalin quoin, both structural and aesthetic. The many spread into the one, the one into the many. Everyday a total rabbit run on the fine solstice carpet. Where do you start?
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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