Daffodils appear in jazzy faction. Their music caused the Pleiades to dance, or at least lush rain with Dionysian impact. Or just the yellow gust of immensity in the moment. Whatever clings to savor, let it reign. Daffodils strike their pose in a perfect time and meeting. No gossip, just imbuing. They make hay in the daunting time of time undaunted. Just look to the trees. And after the blossoms wear away, a new flower forms in the hidden bulb. Roots pull impressions and risings from the earth. All daffodil parts are there. Music exists as an internal hum, color becomes the breath of constancy. The new being grows in all its parts, as time will say in natural vocatives. The gleaming state fosters latent resolve. Merrie music seeds the day. And love resides in just that sweep, again the look, the eye, the sounding. Thus and therefore gangs the flower, the very flower of our day.
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
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