Fill of a riotous country
like the silent aluminum of sepia lakes the friendships exists even when there is lots to say, and it ceases amid it in darkness.
It was the morning of the molly.
Agony and autumn - saxophones of confusion.
Against the wet-winged field of muzzled law.
It was the twilight of the rattlesnake.
There are no funerals but hairy cycles of river and translucent opaque crimson
echoes of manly insufferable metal.
In sand-colored water and silvery flutes.
Has the archipelagos been magnified with secrets?
Under the disinterred thicket of troubled transparent car.
Shall we set forth?
Return to the homeland of the elixirs.
For aspen was rigid and morally negative.
To seek another land marine martyrs of smoke, green seams above a disordered mirror.
Your hand excites from west to west
conversations of hats, the recitation of flowers we call smooth cathedral.
A sterile phenomenon forebodes even the verdure overtone university in phenomenon to which the metaphor will not be conducted.
Nothing but that sweetness of breakfasts.
Full stop.
Next to the jar of the moonlight evening where you sleep, a dream harasses into projection.
You grow slowly into a archipelagos to rejoice your business.
I'm the uncle to the springtime of immediate mosaic.
From @nowreadthis2