The cable threaded, before those word’s were rewritten, after the incline of originality, those wordy feeds don’t repeat. If a cabled thread of luxurious words said, the nocturnal yearnings bled deep in digestive thought, i sound to have their reclaim, if pen and ink, stale and bread, shone beauty for subordinate understudies, making descriptive a statue.

Compared the infinitesimal replication, the measures have to present the compelling extraction, thought were all we are attuned too, it reads well enough in defining those words. Where have you thought them from, from where are you standing on the existence to ground out harsher temporal extractions, the reader has a right to know my compilation, shown to the world, what is shone deeply in my thought.

Then you’re with acceptance, nocturnal for tomorrow is resemblance. The earth you walk, buries those words to read a infamy, upheld are they if supplied with faction, then retort to the deed, players of instrumental sheets, those nearer the words, reader of examination, fodder the thought gifting those representing crust, trust nutritional words, namely the wishful spirit cultivating the presentation of words.

2023 Adam Blewett ©