old things new, new things old and far more twisting all as I was good at this sort of thing. Make certain expressions differ, coincide, and depict the already learned, fathomed, absorbed, defined, and kept secret of the infinite. Eyes lit with admiration etched upon, released, silenced where it roared from the depths, the narrow passage, black and white towards something stupid like dusk, like clearing, exploding fragments of what is soft whisper brown and yellow as the evening chill.
Let me say it in plain English, or French, Italian, Portuguese, or Spanish, Latin, Greek, or German, Afrikaans, Or Chinese, Filipino, or Japanese, Gaelic, Russian, or the Angel’s tongue, to peer into, stalk, or thrust, expound, edge, and dart across as if being held in someone’s filthy grasp, plucking guitar strings quite nicely to give it a healthy sheen, similar shadows I’ve prepared with more sensation and heat.
I must speak with broken, torn, stretched, with stunning force, something stupid like scream, like crying out, voice of the untamed, unscratched, untried, unchallenged, crackle, glory of the past.
Like steadfastly formed cluster against a rocky wall, golden eyes of age fascinating, delightful, exalting, satisfying, perpetual cravings of the soul, even for a fleeting moment, begining with intent, the blame as you choose, will be like telltale dots of grim anxiety, like sliding down, bending pride to possess that strange bit of crystal.
The simple task seemed to require, apply, unlock, overwhelm, exude, excite, need an enormous degree of something stupid like dusk, like….