You too can be a scamp or, better yet, a boutonnière! You are young like a rock. Your flower shares a voice. Ox Eye, Shasta, or (listen up!) True Daisy bring pronation and extension for and towards the utter eye of fields. All applied as grace note at the musical bar. As such, an asterism made among empyrean creatures in the space of just your kindness. Lark on! The flower fills the bold use of day with the interest of colour. And white petal itself serves no single colour but contains them all. All this found in the village mark of flowers. Language makes and makes again, like forests in our time. Flower lifts assonance to song and the ordinary acceptance of astonishment. See Emily Dickinson there in the select company of words. See the world from the towering sunbeam. Cultivate some garden beyond exchequers and the grisling count. Make sun while the hay shines. This packet flies!
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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