Upton Sifter's Visions
why sand? had it wisened you? but how, where seeds are corrupted as seeds and stones weakened into a numbing slumber by sand? where its parts are, with encaved they are paralleled, lulled into each others uprighteousness that is. for fortitude and in furniture, first degree and second degree i — we are share men split infinitives. we are among our enemies referred to. as alway. why does possession collocate with god. why does possession horde so many s-es? does it mortify sense, silently? or does the latin alphabet provide for extensive praising? what is language dummy for? what is the world dummy for? for a high resolution scan — the world, second degree reproduction. what does that make of i? second degree light?
ogre and ogress have elected each other alike, jealous of the obscure. buttered are their rooms to facilitate smooth digression — digestion i mean. they made us wait, just in case — progression as the impregnated room in a briefcase, a brief case was. this said by the judge when he called it a day. knocked needlelessly.
what does my money act as dummy for?
same with mommy.
same with mummy.
it was two sheen, it was a meleé. it was down (odour). an extensive darkness of nothing around the thing. i remember longings that didn't accomplish anything. i remember phenomena when that was allowed — that is not sanctioned.
that is not penalised.
that is not substituted
by physical acceleration towards a face or a bottom. it was three sheen, cravings (cradle given) unthanked for.
i thank you.
i thank you now.
it was four sheen and i was enough to carry forests within my freckles for the sake of rest. what processed me had to turn forgotten.
pale.
paler.
i remember it was five sheen. i distinguished her movement — it hurt for the second of a pinch. like that. we ask declarations (interviewee). we answer in threats, a gunshort word: you are not talked to!
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i remember it was six sheen so i commenced reading, picking letters, catching sounds
catchy tunes
catchy tune
i make a black river on the assembly line. it was seven sheen you said into your headset — had i said the wrong flow? my body, assembled clay clogged in to spatial networks (generously), is deranged in rhythm
controversy
controversial
i remember — conscription — it was eight sheen, a looped roundabout long (aloof). don't you miss the call for papers, they tremored into my head, they that is echochardiographs.
daft call-up
the draft
i (university quite convinced of their shelves to grade themselves universe) remember it was nine sheen.
i resort
each lair is structured androgynously.