As if everything were something. You see rife but each grain bears a word. Words don't stop: shadow frame fields . A geology of words promulgates some statute of promise. Whole worlds needs forgetting, one syllable at a time. The Ur of thought, city state and grunt. Grains of sand, once aggregate, a moment. Sand has been in process forever, to the limits of +ever as a word. The teeth of water and wind have ground, and have grounded. You feel sand in your shoe since ancient times and now. You can only listen minutely, a system of wind and rain that sets your city-state beaming. Here the ancient minute, as you understand.
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.
Comments
teeth grunts.
Minutely whole
syllables of
rain beam,
only forgetting to listen
to the limits of
words
for once.
The ancient process
is rife with
moments of
something that
feels like forever.