In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

9 in open fields of round        mechanicalness,           melancholiness invisible autumn The blade days——— like Summer rush Apollo leans. The way the sun comes up, the sun leans. The sun leans less than in the north, but one lean is as good as another. Now it’s autumn, but you would never know. The blade days like Summer, rush metaphorical desert What do we do with lemon nakedness desert arms after ocean prying oneself? This is synthetic day clearly defined on the sleeves of evening and how turned around when rooster barks at six We speak of the streets and they become coordinative, a fountain whose water becomes a vein. 10 While light comes like a moving overness, a mosquito opera we lose all (most of) the scaryness of day. Sure, what shakyness in that these aberrations are renounced. If all, although only the broken veins of my tropical brothers, through cloud sun atmosphere. So and so will go home or treeliness of age.           Then along lugubrious ground, sliding of hand, feet. We’ve grown too much and stayed along hedge perfumes of the desert and walk      in aberrations celebration The music is played. Play the music                 O washable towns Open wall          the wall studio of moons, Sell my bananas, I mean buy my stones of yellow obscure, of no similarity. There are walls. Something the same from nowhere rides.         Get off!  there are many fenders that sound like some green place ...

Share