From an artistic point of view,
Gazing as the table leg shadows waste across the tile floor
Is better than watching them click from horizon to the wall.
I'm kind of in the practice of being in places for too long.
At least my robe when bathed in gold keeps me warm in my armchair,
teetering.
Everyone sings in harmony, just at different times.
If I was conducting, they'd sound fine.
Watching the newer ones dribble their basketballs through foggy windows,
I stay inside, the outdoors cause me to speak beyond my peripherals.
Earmuffs in a capsule,
Now I can't hear anyone singing.
This jacket is nice, I was cold before they had me put it on.
Ever since I chipped my tooth on the dentist's arm, I've been safe here.
I can't hold onto the vocals anymore.
These fingers lost grasp long ago.
Mental illness is all that I have left.

This land stands as a modicum for intravenous limetime retrograde.
Sporatic live in a sense,
Deed of loose club grime.
In the country, but I speaketh not the language.

Nothing but armchair trumpets,
Ceiling fans attached to the walls.
Fun, demented, now that you mentor it.
Suppose it is a story?
He'll land where he finds hell is deep.
Remiss in your sigh,
Lint oct shin,
Dextrimental education.
Tell him century, mighty ear homes.

Interspersed with extensive loosely trapped papers that fultter in the wind.
But here flies.
Harmonicum, look at the reverberational reaction
To the induced sization with one.
Over dispose her,
Read the quintessential hint in central.
Face in the clouds shrouds, oligarchy.
Paramount restraint.
Vanguard of serene pulsation.
Green nation.