Stretch cannot synonymize with the fair weather overheated star lilies. Each carries a pond price, absconding across the leaves to a left bank of blurry faces, furry flowers, and splashing colors. Less and less specific, General. Direction is the confectioner's nightmare: powdered sugar that does not scatter. Make mean merry to take a lean berry from one side of the river back to the flexible middle; it's trunks that stunk when the trees pretended to get together and forest. For us, that's not acceptable, for the individual is the only dust mote, in a sea of mights. That's the letter of the law: paper trail walked by the barbed wire makers. And a tall glass of how did we get here. Put that cynicism under a cork with that youth and let it ferment a lot more. The malt profile will provide hawks with astigmatisms from leagues away. And that draught will draft on itself, gaining speed irrationally at the expense of any sort of attention. And add few more words to connect the work to the preceding efforts. That's a good religious. The water carries and reproduces itself, fuel for the no more fire. Nor wildness, as that is a thing that denies and defies control, up to the point of domesticated bliss. The kiss of breath, in other words, for to call what lungs do anything is to fall into that bare trap, a nakedness in the eye of animals, a perfectly natural clothing on the hands of the doers of civil human deeds.
Roman Ryan 