Water lives not always water, and you cannot be always green. You could, if you know water invites your star. Water makes simple, as your greenness infers. Think the river, startling the land. Changing each moment as a movement and blood flow, your established praxis shies from rest. Water doesn’t rest. The stammering of steam and hard abeyance of ice signal infinite vitality at the drop of a hat. The hat goes maybe mobile in the always left behind. Time has been clean and dirty for you, in watery regard. Light glints water you, in changing notes. Ahead is the past you arrived at. Your smile can grow enormous.
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.
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