That was when rocking impossible. When it was something allowed human, and aloud tho of falling. It is almost holding the elbow of, or honest after kindness. Or not just a zone or treatment. It is a small, a landscape familiar to describing landscape. And the human people recognize the impossible rock. Volcanoes can’t be urgently and human to, and neither can you. Verbs were meant to go faster, like helping hands. Nouns were meant to install that place of being, one hand at a time. It isn’t such a tough road, rutted like nuance. Change lacks fastidiousness, often appealing to death. The approach of help seems fathomable, as far as fathoms seem. It is seen or just seemed, like across a border known for skeptical advances. Undue isolation for status, inquiry, and riposte remains as drag on the arm being held. Being in this together is part of being apart.
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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