FRAGEN FROZILE START
The method is to assume the leafage upon the dusk of the arm opined. Bray fiending griefer for the once of nondescript hotels opening up all the time.
The method is to assume a red fix on the tantamount ballpoint’s ray blend.
The gristle is too soft to undermine. But chew anyway, find. You cannot understand the cometous andromathy’s origins if you don’t strap into the swayed tree. On a winter’s day in curfew with snowstorms.
Intimate imitations of the inmate’s station’s Haitian head feud went well. The cross serra driver on the way to his appointment blew a tank.
By whatever intimations, you can’t tell what you’ve come across. In the dross of long-unlogged love, the want of it doesn’t cross. Can’t bereft in brief hymns the spectral alper write my fictions down—for me, and can’t I soon retain the engine’s sound? If it’s where you end though, know I never stay. Know I never route you to end in ground. Brave what is clean can’t we up to? Agent Exit can be known sometimes for a bigger frown than you might expect, unlocking gnosis in the packed-up roof-truck lay between levels like a plenum of ground despire levetoe.
And if it’s me, I foresee—though not so much; the exit isn’t clear. We have to expel the reason sometimes to liberate. I am there on what you haven’t sewn. A minor cluster of planets gives the impetus to read. It is non-ordinate, abject of treatise to the melon priestess. It is cross pollenated with the adjunct reason. Reason being: hip it; five a hundred twenty breathe. Coming through in nonsense garbles. That is the way; don’t let it be want-you. Come to to a hundred. Twin tea brie thuh. Mallick blend row let sur few. Entity of the end in reach. Coming through the veil of the reach to say, “How have you been lately? And to whom is my balance due?” ray-create the replica of ice elves. Pilot G2. O-7. Blue. Then tantamount to bell lecraft mew. Hands of bergs in tritus neft to clay. Does this cymbal resonate very well?
After the engine opens, I must admit: something on the edge of the world shifts for me. Only in my mind, but there is magic there. Only in my hindsight can I ever notice miracles. It seems. Hay in the doors will braille leaf through, too. Craving more can affect what you pine for. That is true; this is true, too. Subjectified.
Lay yourself in the tossed pacifying sprawl of your churned-out words. Let them be like an infinite valley of the softest blanket material imaginable. Do not lie on the rough or jagged parts too long if they hurt you. There is a tête-a-tête going on between sharp humid alleyway scree and the journeyer over same whose boots crackle it down summore. There is a way to say things differently than you can probably know. And still to have them be some kind of true. I said, in my notebook, “There is a single line you’re looking for to finally let you let go. It comes down like snow. Like snow.” And then I compensated nothing for it. I wondered what else it could mean. Cold on my thighs from the large books I fanned the pages of. Hold on, I’m nearly out of the limes all my Coronas were blessed by.
Glaive return signal to where spirits fall to. In our brisk inundations over cathode tubes, we found our mental hearts palpitating. We knew already what to do. There was no returning from wearing the mask except when asleep it dissolved by the light of the room. Can’t be burst, did it squall you? Ended up in cathenozet. With my arm in a brace and a green moon split open.
Can-o thanus vars limber end. I did not warm up to… what’s it now? Have a second. Bloom in treat us to rope in an answer the spirit has for us but I haven’t known. I wanted to commend you for not giving up on what you wanted to. This, too, is our final blow. And meander over thinner ice, walk. There is a palimpsest of occurrences going on to which we are a few. I’d have greatened this clamor for all your wanting if you’d wanted to. I’d have shimmied up the light for a fatal spell that would take myself if you’d wanted to. But I didn’t know; I was only reacting to the ongoing fragrance of crazed waves awaft my way. Swum up this decadent endrion. Cullofactored into the speezement and mayorcrewed. Only with us only for a while. Only with us ever on a flight shame too sectored new. Cray upon the lasting lasting. Cray upon a scepter fugue.
Tired in the knot-whim while breached, do we not know? Yes. Again. It is not whim or lotto. It is not sin to see through. It is not so. It is liberation. Cray upon a bear midswim.
The simple old hand said, You can only act in accordance with us. We are petrified by the sought slow. Ender effusive earthen gash of a sharp hoe.
Quiet I, quiet I crumble down. There in at least one grizzly sight-see. Quiet I, quiet I, quiet I mumbled out, “It is not so. It is not so.”
But denying our basic engines on could be bad for us, so thought in us throws. There the wayward crude bue lies of a treated smirk I may have envied so.
This was babble; this was on a mark; this was so.
Eyed or leu bird show, tin hat I made to keep the spirits out. Didn’t really wear because it was never really made; I have lied to you; it is not so.
Brief whack humbling beef you have with a bat-shoe. Claw your way out of the pit of hell. I believe in you, I believe in you. There are ornaments only I know.