Before rock was assigned, rock lived molten, just like you. The furry gardens of earth rendered magma as nature, and you had a home. Rock filled in the map, with odd locutions and fanciful tests. Ages happened and words crept out. Rock became the essential toy of fabrication until tree could be useful. Rock settled in place but also chanced to roam. Thus your footing. Tree became later after the ocean figured out time. Rock made reminders. If you ever stood on a bridge, you know. You really don't know, of course, but you can hear what others say. The Sun as a molten candle looks good today, and tomorrow rock will sing. In a matter of time a matter of time will appear. You can become the rock that knows this, this rock. That will be later, when you’ve been enough rock.
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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