The moon slides above contact. You know the feeling. Fine-tuned Straining at engagement with a weighty parish-flourishing in obese dark stabling oboe of time looks like cursive to your eyes. An optimal space between words agitates in lunar regimen. It must take time to be ordinary. Seating cannot Be fooled. Words practice vagary for your base schrod. Not your problem, however. Just Reanimate time with floral approval. A sentence can't free infrared, the basic fees resist. Watch the moon stop being in the space where meaning once held. Fanatics will poise again, making infractions part of life in 11/4 time. Another month, another meant, another slight green thing in the light. And you the consequence.
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.
Comments
reanimate the ordinary moon
straining to be
the feeling in a sentence
of cursive words agitating
lunar fanatics to flourish
between the weighty eyes of light
poised to resist being fooled
in the dark, just for once,
by contact with the obese part
of a consequence,
and you.
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