On Method -- Mary Margaret Sloan
shower on plains within a flyover range, assume such names as they fall, though as many unseen, most unnamed, thus
winding up a line of inquiry. Boundaries created by schismsin climate and attitude fly in the face of convenience. Air power pushes divisions around, but even as attention to a long day's expectations put to rest in an alien bed, just as restful as unfamiliar, unsaturated with associations, there among the desert's speechless creatures going through formalities, saying, in effect, try this, factors of response die down. It's night. But is it dark? All the same, the dreamy track of (un)missed coordinates means the losing of or hold on the mind of blue sands, red sands, glitter flickers through transparent grains of colors never mentioned in a renowned guidebook to the interior: the lights were out. Issue of writ of habeus corpus; you should have the body, why not? A white pill for day, blue for night; the present system envisions a response time not the same as the intended expression falls apart, declined. |
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