it's blue. you do not dream what angles reify, they ply from carte blanche an identity, as one dismembers viaducts from flow through. art equals shield. delinquency from re(s)po(n)se sifts dark from light touch.
buildings are all numb in brown. around the grace notes lie host hills. remember: dumb resistance mimics stone, tribunals full of fuss almost disclose their lack of inner fire. yet one aspires to join the ranks of the resemblances to power.
on someone's shoulders, any joust is not-for-profit, and below the quasi-dance is not for stale observance. many playthings squeak and bounce. you know the drill:
an ounce is worth caressive blooms of prayer. I'm on the case. you're on the case. something's about to blister, and it's not your skin. it's not my skin. it's the rosacea of distilled new captains of restraint, who store their feelings in quaint glottal stops.