This is the Showing forth of the Inquiry, the distance between this place and that time. Remember that Athenians and Peloponnesians bragged of antecedent grounds of complaint. Straining gods Luminous as the end of verbs, stationed patently in waterfall emotive cloud line. Bold rock noun expresssing direct and perceived moderation in monsters of every stripe. This thunder and that lightning seem bountiful and persistent, like the full range or Beowulf’s startling sword. A poem stops in time. Now filled with the helium of air, heroes create punctuation for the sake of punctuation, as the gods have decreed. Splendid rites and requirements boost last shreds of republican sheepish glory while simple metals remain in dirt. Renown scrounged from the barest motile moment while Beowulf darts ahead. The so called gods will always be pleased.
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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