Left to said, fainted in the flake,
whiles were inside endless, dried for axis, tempered and withal the brusque of just saying out the sphere, totals were and are just names on blank serums or serenades, tests off the closure, stoops for vital, benign rearrangement of text in space, trust the opening of every staple, cross vectors and little words to where sometimes even the most toasted of reapers slides across the kitchen floor doodling on the comely effect of whose favourite poet buys a porch, a porch after all exceeds limits of trying to find a net in water when you are perfect for drowning, a porch is an amplitude of gesture, really moxie, just a better frame of delaying, a porch constantly whistles thru your dreamt part, you yourself know these fragrant topos, bobbing in colour, striping the range, bellowing sky drop, (wallop as a matter of function with crew), welling up in the idea that a porch controls a place in the imagination, not even your porch necessarily, just each and every one instead plies a trade just by being so, herein the lobbed and loosened, all for a space of lode
