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.
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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