Umbrella of escutcheons pleads yellow, is it safe. Is the big, soft sun purposeful and craning in the justice. The docents always appear scrambled, light plays off. They travel the bunny routes while fox sniffs softly. You may be safe. Igloos may frighten you but so do trees. A rapture of sunlight thru trees appears over there. Language filters thru. The regional child still needs. Yellow goes aloof and impossible. You were so potato but you need no excuse. Yellow spans language then tipples. Make a move towards anything. Excuse every rock and startle. Swallow Rimbaud’s birthstone word by word and exactly. Begin tremendous again.
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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