Civilization is a Sensation

Civilization is a sensation of hope around the waist and the holes I gashed. The tundra is but the moose and its twilight in a circle. It is pleasant to me that I have written using words. I shall write tides and bark and verdure and beauty dwelling in objects of prayer. A gargoyle is not the same as when logic wears a fedora. The question is are there fathoms and walking and handstands begun as singing? If there is flapping then there are exits which reveal desire in decoration. The world has a public and a gun bangs and a noodle whirls. This shows that an enclave can be crabby and haggard and there is often a bean. As weight piles in overt yearning gravity is broken by a shadow. Paradigms in money peg the water. The knife is a charming blade to come by a cartilage in which Apollinaire sips the words of the painter. The balcony museum is increasingly drummed into ghostly cypress. The Czar is a star. What cuticles amaze the light. Aurora fluttered in height gives hunger to daubs of language haunted by a feeling of consciousness. The hem of a lobster spots over to deny its clatter. An arrangement erupts in mosaic. The planets turn doing light and rounded service to one another. Pathos growls in vividness to become a large boiling that accepts mud. Infringement has been tried but it is the birth of thought that monuments fathom by stone. The tonic is a cartwheel painted with adjectives. The heart agrees to tide pool its subtleties into journey. The sternum dollar clutters its insects to color a rattan to palatable crackling. By that I mean nails. Chiaroscuro mints curled in delectation are a harness to posterity. The coffee has remedied the café and now trees and rivers flow from the throat. Examples of this are ants and structure and an abstraction out to clap a pronoun into creosote. It takes a palatable Max Jacob to face reality. Discarded syntax carries its own gurgles. Oats amplify smell. Passion forms a key. There is a winch by the moon that wrestles subtleties of mauve. French is exempt from crickets. Let’s say accents from a neck. That periscope rising through the waves is warm because materialism enhances dust. Thought stirs in its fur and rattles. Many did nebulas during the luminous hum. Trees in tenderness mean the sky is pinned to the weight of desire. A neck is shrewdly designed to include a passage for pumpernickel. It takes a noun at noon to heft a hypothesis into a grammar of cubes. The dominion of the flamingo is extreme on the boulevard where each rhododendron blasts itself banjo juice. The banana hisses popcorn fables until the squirm turns abdomen and is mostly a fat possession. Fuzz hemorrhaged as hands savor of conjuration. Thinking is quiet when I paint the fish. If I have a frayed emotion it is momentous to mean intestine. Otherwise, the softness of it expands into glands and I can visit Texas by buzzing my identity at the chrome vertebrae of a dizzy flea. Moonlight walks through a cemetery howling tattoos at an earthworm. Parables of red. Psalmodies of red. Ecstasies of red. Dwelling and banging. Cog and culmination. What is destiny? What is exhortation? What is a component of waves? What is a personality? Personality is red when the gondola is moving down the keyboard and Venice is solved by music.