Namely the grasses, the sedge, and the rush, each marvelous with stellar Latin names and skillful deviation. They all just rise from the earth with hearty cheer and chatter. Sure, your lawn pokes your embattled front with automatic burden but you fell for that one and the metal motor. Meanwhile grasses march about the livelong, tucking into here and there and snorting. Think of the herbage setting up in a sidewalk crack. Name that numeral fun because it holds the life and spree. Tall grasses wave in the wind with pristine glee and you haven’t mindful grazed all day. How many of your stomachs do you deny as you fix yourself with strictures? Any grass enjoys overcharge, love blast of light in preening certain herbage. Cut grass smelling of a trending turmoil means open your eyes now. The great landscape awaits your sulky prominence. Further pragmatics can now be subtly unsealed.
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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