Light captures time set in the lower Tigris basin. The red sun hangs on a shrub by effect of perspective. Crowded lips of speech speak of rocks as the making of, in time, in the chance of forever, but dwells in one spot, alone on earth. The dwelling may be changed Past the bent fragmentary oak branch into the litter of stone and learned tufts of grass covered by leaves. An acorn imagines a place of light thought. “Soldiers, accept my thanks at present; eventually you shall thank me. I will see to that, or my name is not Cyrus.” (the river had manifestly retired before the face of Cyrus, like a courtier bowing to his future king). The letter of singularity completes as it disappears.
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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