You say deity when you mean something. It is okay. Green leaves, acorn, the rustle of mice and machination. Perhaps you spot a crow eating transitive verb on a flake of parking lot. Mystery fills by well-timed conjunction. Geese fly over, worn cellphones of engagement, or so you think. Blue can be kind tho grey seems more spacious. A sky forms forever apt in your mind. Spell deity with deity. Rephrase corrosion or pity or cyclical envelopment. You can make up shit on your television, sure, but you are never so lost as to need such entreaties. Rain will follow snow.
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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