In consideration of where you are, a low place embowered by trees: probably a dell. Also possible dale or vale, at least in English plenitude. Look around you, check the underbelly. Language stands between us, sometimes defensive, sometimes still. For shizzle your nizzle, that steeper slope indicates dingle in some way. Note the map in between. Trusty language in a blessing of patent. You are here means somewhere, worthy of definition and defiance. Trees and rocks, the fitful earth relaxes. A poet writes every flake of poem in perhaps words or other engines. The poet as prim vortex concedes to words and their like. Meaning mixes with utter impulses and conditions. You are drawn in, implacably, like the best calm report. And what do you know?
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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