She reaches for a jar of wine, wonderful, careful, too simple to be purported as complex. And she so woefully understands; this is a brick. That is a stone. There are people gathered in a circle. Soon they will not be gathered together, but I will leave so as to not have to witness that. The banners marking out the things that people buy and sell are easily visible. She will go on alone, to find something that she knows can commit to kill, can engage its own applause for its own performance.
A bird builds its house with a hatchet and timber from the yard. It has evolved thumb-y wings.
It’s a nice thought, goes through the crowd, as they watch the screen, as they sit riskless in the dark.
The sand in banks under the trees is waving along the seaside. There are various movements of the earth and moon that realign by height morality, as one little spark shakes the air beside itself, and sends itself, down-down to the rocks, which crumble and leave or turn to glass, and the birth of the coast is much celebrated here, especially by the clown fish. Ribbons of heat go trickling from the sun. They filter across to the buds, who pop-up thinking, mmm, this is not so bad a place. Though the dialogue gets blocked; someone has built a wall between their pollen ears. The piercings must begin to get more experimental. Get in line tommy, and billy.
Who is caring for the tautology?