You notice as Spring becomes that something rises thru the stalks of trees. The rising coincides with events of other plants, other life forms, other places of approach. You may even ask yourself or whatever listens if you are a tree, or a branch of today. All instants are just instances and the sky chooses blue. Rascals of movement may invade or other songs, or grey stands for black can't help. No lesson needs learning, just the words or leaving. The memorable seed contracts as basis then numerals start to play. You have propinquity to elaboration and its music for the time it takes to think so. Baseless flying subverts the mood then numbers start to exist. Nothing seems to matter then seeming to matter seems to matter. But that means nothing to flights of legal franchise. Jump again.
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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