Thomas Lowe Taylor -- PRECURSIVE DISJUNKT

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Wine ought. What norms no formal lies ahead of where you are in not seeming but preperative falls aside between what you are and the restive absolutes which came along behind you afterglow of the future's dim. I'd aside, answering no other in your heart is stilled aside the flower in yr hand is not no seeming but formed alongside the newer attributes are calm within but seeming out; no other falls aside, but holds her down in teeming populations the world's decide, your own mother falling slides butt-hollowed and another tide rips aside the curtain between others and yourself. I'd begun, and termed one after too many sentinals at the score, falling aside within disturbances so profound the rattles were left between. In seeming, then, the outer scales it's own partitions, and leaves you deep within the spasm, observing the wave-forms benign and specific in their densities, but holders at the palm remind you theater is a lesson in the mists of abstractions too loose to be written but not too simple to be spoken; it's a deal worth drawing, and you slid apart and fondled-in intense regret the fantasies diminished as with prose, but peals the wrapping banging globes rescind or falter, but scores to the world's opposites are not mentioned again.

Faster now than the other's foolish gains within reasoning powers said alert to become another rhythm in her ankles, swollen by doubt, the reflector knobs are still loose and twinging, but carved like illness, a rafter skims the puns no doubt ironic, your own answers were soon discovered at spell or whim, the floss, the driving rain, wheels to the left suddenly, or answering tides your own scalings of doubt remind her that you are in the first place a beckoned tide, a floating pooler whistles deep within but leads aside the flotsam of a mark.

A busker dusting routs; a ruster busting sprouts, whatever; the answering tides bungle spinners beyond sensation's flux and memo. I'd healed a rim or shooter, marking outer flims the whammer at spread and tempo, inert substances of the heart's woe, your flames and cities beckon a future too skimmed to refund no pleasure in the presented tents. You flush or hammer, but nothing bends beyond doubt's pressure to whip or flutter. Looters. Another scram or flotsam gained again, against nothing noted-out, butter and lava comingle against all odds, marking new subdivisions in mentation their own doubt and hammer. Isle return along but held, no batter in his beers the game is tied. Later, no other winds a light-sky forming out with tension, with declaiming, within speech or hearing what's there, or not--lingering doubts ringers at the norm, they'll pass on into you like fog's bottom in the mists, a later skill than what you'd bought, no lingers at the dog or wooden, they attribute this to, to sin and its taxes.

Muster at the fox, answer your own tides within, scale the doubters at the heart's woe and skim no matter in his locks and benches. This is the roomier calm, and has deciders to lead you in, to copper spins the anchor toward word-choice, the freedom to call ahead in whimpers belonging to the former age in its weaknesses defined too short for newer choices, and spun beyond the formations of its norms and falcons, their own wingspan too cluttered buskers at the knot their own fathoms wind along the doorway bending out outer scrims fold aside the proscenium march and dong, tarred up the middle and waiting, a bus is riding down your hand to destinies made too hard to swallow pride's ankle and flout her significations rescind afternoon.

No motors matter after the other is stilled. And just as consciousness resembles itself in its elocutions, so too does language inhere to what is spoke; just as a description is apt or not, the resemblance itself decorates time's ministers at the pole and summit. The end is not "in view" or anywhere else, it concepts-out in order to suggest completion in an otherwise undifferentiated spectrum of possibilities, as just after the fall, no moon arrives in haste or wantonness, and hearing itself spoke, the name itself arrives, too, and settles in within the image. Whereas and outer, the names suggest what they are in their own resemblances, but the spoken thing is no outer detail of the whole, but rather an impulse to transcendence within speech which identifies your own hours as unmarked sentences within which there is a release of energy which is distinctly non-syntactic, appositive, and calm. No other bends the furnace out. The admixture of styles sustains itself within style itself, as an attitude can be distinct inside a "manner". Indeterminate, extensional, and layered with light, the energy within which the sentence defines itself is awash in scale, in references beyond itself, with a latency which is indistinct and possible. Fluxed outers rescind doubt.

These are the hours of which we spoke, and the words are no less passionate for having come a little late, perhaps, but not without reference to the present, in whichever present you find this, it is no matter and no other, it is what it is, and to define oneself beyond that is to miss the boat in favor of walking around in the dark. The hours recall you again, and holds them out beyond recall, where they are made again, against the tides and wandering. What you'll do in the face of it is no matter, it is desperate enough without thinking about that.

Not enough to spin, but still reminds you of love. Not disuse, for others went, scattered out is where her heart beckons to you to follow out and calm this feathered arc no meter in your mists, but calm forgiveness linking outer souls their own density and fathom is held from view by the others in their own tracks and places. The airs are not fallow, nor do they reign beyond the paler aspect in your own heart speaking silent hours the rapture kept alive along, and yet still among others you are still here still, marking them along your own waves are manifest enough to call doubt a ringer on the porch, wherein at sallow palms hear your own dough was tripped at scare stirring markers held within your song what's within disturbance welcoming house and garden into the realer realms. Fortune's fellows arc and say disdain would clear the rest from disuse or feigning forms no doubt arrive and let it flow at tides, at slowing.

Here the hours arrive to say foretold substances were heat among distinct feelings I have for you not simply the hour of the day, but on along the sands where a meeting takes place against time itself to fold her back within the darker hours to hold the darkness off along the rising marks at stir, at lodge, at former stairs to feel and stain the lesser days with his son, was called out to deter but foster claims were also met beyond your own lightships biting the lisp too passionate to recall, but a smoother line was danced forgiveness said intense but not.

Leaning in within this would be the other side of feeling, moving your up and down without sentences or betrayals; merely to tame them do the passions evoke in us the nature of recall itself. In the wooden hours said here would be a rinse or fashion, and in within your own heaters beating buskers down at simpler songs retain their own flavor for you to sample, tongue to tip and hear her gasping out your name is welcome song to long hours bent over the edge of the world and watching her face believe you are together in the casting, in the fallow signs of light which spin their own waving signs were kept aside for consideration, but not held, hot to touch, and dampening nothing in its translation of light into movement, the trope for love becalms you at first and then makes release a tributary bordering on the other signs themselves. Itself through itself, as love and passion become the tally of the other rooms you left behind to float forward into seeming what it is itself, there among your own braincells, met with honor and courage to respect the time of time itself, also no fervor in regard without pity or names, and anchor light's song signing what you are.