Acorn plunges forth with plenary momentum into. Into land and time and time’s structured limit, the year. The acorn fulfills social construct, living in communal scads, in word-like abundance. The grand scape of oak provides an early nest for the frenetic pace of burgeoning acorn. Listen to the solstice. The ripened missile leaves the tree within the light presumption of time. Your time may not have noticed. Squirrels in ardency then proceed as shepherds of energy, rustling up acorns in gorgeous aptitude. Some acorns feed the squirrels, some nestle in loam, to dream the light within. And you are busy too, as rivers pass, winds blows, the people who appear. Your hand can touch another, the acorn holds still for a moment. Perhaps something can be declared in the remaining sun. It can only last forever.
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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