The blue part of green sorts fine particles from life, suns, seasons, songs. Yellow excruciates, which is old as hat. The old hat typically fields black, brown, or grey, the basis of eyes. Few listen, meaning becomes crowded. Green makes sound of vitality outspend practice. Economy proves justice machine-made pronto. You may have feelings, moody singularities. You'll notice adjustments to make. What we keep in the green light tomorrow will bear sanctions and bitter tribunals. In the wake of everlasting disappointment a religion of brown errors occludes the determination of weeds. Belief is that simple and crowning. Letters poise for perfect words while Analgesic pathways line with numbness. The transaction that occurs harbors frets yet sunlight falls to the green still leaf. Certain words make uncertain ones.
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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