The Town

Aft frenzy inside minute. And that minuteopens stone. As stone, there is a town. In that town, thousands of efforts. Which effort might ball up into the appropriate, tilled land, anxious glacier, even the sped to store for something at the moment. Does the life of the lost one subsume while directing the names? Easily to urge. So traces consider traces, birthplaces are enumerated. A hesitancy involves grave, bad lands one day, the source of entering. But also a pronoun, engaged as such, tired out at the end of day. Day was smoke for the fire. The fire needed smoke.

The town cracks tapping. Even the misty aprons of yore cool in gloom. Margins are harsh. Last words consist of brilliance. There is duly ceded, full of redwing, bitter as lasting. Here's the fence, here's the father. Afterwards sound almost like tomorrow.

Definitely need a breaking, need of story that calls this. This and that together equal those or them or even all, if somehow we can just make that jump. Making that jump is gamesmen spire, full of trees or their like. Thru the trees, then, wasted by something, chosen until choice itself makes no difference. That's the kind of trading that goes in and on.

as town there is a chance. It sits in the present tense, eventually stands. Might look good on the wall. Fills with green at just the right time. and you were wondering what the hell is perfect. It is the way a sentence doesn't care.