After you have seen going away, you become part of going away. The little things like time, the big things like leaves. A cast off wind intercedes with clouds. The sun becomes bold wily claimant of darkness. Birds react like they never knew. The sun resembles those birds. Dynasties build on eclipses. Moments of entropy make sense. Green postures of trees. You fit in time quite well, too well, a well. A day was a day but isn’t now. Margins have been declared. Each apocalypse takes time, especially as described in these texts. You saw the shadow pass.
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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