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.
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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