In nineteen-twenty-two words had they with calculative property, free as they were, not unlike-of-the dwell, to have today in our hours fiction. Property belonging to information that has in due cause, an abbreviation to load the heavy soul with naming rights. Impaired are us to the logic of surround, the aversion, a precious few closely spirit to the soul, a restoration, to humanity with words. Windows for inspection catch to tribute not the reflection of fiction, for our words are made to glass, the wall that restored property, our fertile land, sovereignty to the abundance of cultivation, until a year in making. The nineteen twenty second year, another time for completion, to harmonise you and I with patter, diligently from nineteen-twenty-two.

2020 Adam Blewett ©