A Room With A Hue

The closet has doors because the ceiling is white. There are mirrors on the doors because sometimes it is physical to soak consciousness in bubbles. Tumbling is configurational and this sentence is empty now. Do you know what I mean? I mean to say that thrashing distills the tendency to walk outside if the emphasis is on intent and the garbage needs taking out. These are some of the words I use to describe arrival. I flail about trying to find my mosquito. I put a word here yesterday and today it has grown into a scrub brush. This was not my intent. My intent had a lacquered box and a Ponderosa pine united by percussion. Intentions are sometimes pushed into conversation where they are awkwardly intermixed with caviar. Someday I want to build a chutzpah using only a helicopter and a screwdriver. This will achieve maximum absorption when it unravels its antiques. Everything else is either pewter or loam. I lift my eyes up from “Windowpane” by René Char to see the rain blurring our windshield. There’s beauty in an infantry if the infantry has beauty. Otherwise, the despair requires whiskey and the squirts from the meaning machine are what bring us into a deeper perception of wickerwork. Neon catches our wonder and throws it back at the garage. My other car is a walnut. And it’s religious if you find ultimate truth anywhere near a boson. The words come out and give us silk. The hedge is for development and the stethoscope is cold against the chest. If I touch your supposition will you warm the philosophy with a spot of profit? We need more stone. The sand is shifting and the ocean gulps its weight in possession of itself and howls above the silence of lobsters. This is the shadow I was looking for. I’m feeling athletic. Therefore, the implications are all balanced and the smears absorb our attention. Leave your oasis on the counter and choose a mushroom.