How might we say a cliche of geese heaved and heard and faintly seen over the evening reservoir? How find correct perspective to snap shut on that image and preserve it evermore. The water flows south where the city is waiting for it: drinking water of destiny. Gooseshit floats and nestles in the briery grass, so defining hazards of the green. Ripple. Metal. A contrail measures the golf course like a Red River night scene, ground bluer than the sky. Honking air-rage flied by and took notice of vermin naturing. For opposition's sake. For victory.
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