An alert presence inside word. Your scooper will scoop a golf ball-size orb. Orb as large as comparison fits a sentence, and then true denial. Orb Of Cracks on Surface along with Expectation Of Pasturage In The Morning Light. Allow a brief homage to the clerical detail that fancy offers a fence around which. And in proof of verity, in proof of singular station, in signal expanse of the orb’s flat side, direct the legal sunshine to the proper phrase. This orb then is now, parity to and because of. So holy then, a tent in the blessed state of having climbed a tree. Rinsed in the cackle, fomented by jurisdiction, pleased by social broadcast. An exacting spoof undoes the undoing, and in so doing, starts again.
The aliens merged with diastrophism. A rush thru the funnel with Dick Cheney prompts a reply, don't you think? The mud of his glance places real time constancy in jeopardy. We really roll with the punches, tho Cheney's eyes tend to ignite squids. His armpits repine with a patient whoosh that smells like blueberries, eternal boundfulness of Dick Cheney brain. In the meantime, like river flocks, we steal a porch. The utter eye jets of the alien enterprise writes an interregnum. We knit a scarf called socialism, which appears on tv as the gravelly person on that show every night. Cheney hams it up. Secondly, dream manifests in the sunlessness of rectilinear retreat, the storm of space. Driven noises suffuse patents. Claims of Obama become structure. Ideas receive graves. Back in the future, where we crowd the bed with details, a fire starts to smell like blueberries. Blueberries include the idea of porches, and shatter indifferently against chalk lines on sidewalks. The peop...
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