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Words

 The quicksand of the world, words holds things. Even something as shady as things reports a presence of language effect. It can't be helped, and pronouns don't help, either. One thing becomes another without entitlement and joining. Just words. Pronouns follow paths with distribution plans. You cannot be clear with such a horizon ahead. But each word, as described by transience, whistles with preposterous delight. Words made trees in a flash, then an animal rose. The thought rose to rise. A word blend, or compositions thereof, and a world, tho you know world by brief despatch and in between. You think things until words match. And still the world as world. Try laying down in the music call of each word. You've got to do something.


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Words

  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.