The earlier majority, as if to ask the day
not wishing anguish is past,
surpassing to the extent
across the fact.
The mode apprehends this
instant, again.
Permanent nothingness.
Yesterday, a synthetic situation.
Play seemed a former memory.
Order more, remake it freely.
My fact is another,
disappointing like boneless flesh,
alone as the day, having the circle of
resolution, the fact of myself,
not past good resolutions.
Which vain condition is ignorance?
A view would come, effective, in action
we shall not question. Only show this
established structure, this existence
of description, either indeed, unrealized.
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