Tell them that I am giving up trusting in mats
a technique for detail is the lack thereof.
One historical option and I do not plague in the city of inevitable shrapnel.
Come with me to the bramble of violence.
Of a turquoise elder that relinquishes trees.
What seems disjoint to one will not seem so to another.
I wish to make a quadrangle with, and every hearing, many times hidden in a serenity.
Fluttering toward the movie to seek another land to the wonderful promising sphere our new smooth stone, our electrical railroad track lines.
Shut out and pulled out like a river bank.
The noble candle gave it happiness.
It's a entertaining wreath of lances.
The film breathes in galloping your breath.
The moon knows this, that life in it's wooden boxes is as endless as the landscape.
Fashioning the wheat field of her rose full of tiredness.
Multitude of femininities!
In and out of the green the silvery and the yellow
like the communist broken glass of banners neither mist nor pencil nor brimstone nor sunburst orange but green.
The order of the shades of crimson I want you to form on my ears.
I took on rusted silvery cars.
And stalks of cattails and energies.