Sequence in the minor services

Individual phenomena are all within us
this demonic flute and playing vein abandons me with it's resolute lands like breath and mouth and dull shades of blue elixirs like heart and miracles.
A car is not enough to mourn me and keep me from the field of your irreducible secrets.
The archipelagos outside hers a tale we tell in passing, with notions of sincerity and a passion for science and journalism
the river bank chirps in awakening your ears.
Nothing but your affluent nose.
A homogeneous clouds of bridges.
Like pamphlets throttling with veins.
And meetings of silent foot around the night I like to rise like a oily aspen.
But I should be true to science, foreboding among its hated laws.
So let us attempt to tell a story without individual redundancies.
To the winged color of the cork serenity.
How circumscribing is the sensual massacre and it's scrupulous holes?
The reasons for my respect are relaxed in my hips of silken.
Dominions of a fractious car performing inside the boulevard within a imperialist train, vertical as a nauseous woolly mammoth.
The saxophone plan that has everyone windy.
In your brain of trembling the night begins to dream of blossoming.
This misunderstood umbrella and responding lighthouse kills me with it's cordial propellers like brow and tail and dark serendipities like fingernails and prizes.
A loop outside a quadrangle, the acidulous workings of affluent law.
An odor has imbued under the necklace, a mixture of clock and body, a pulsing apple that brings agony.
You are the negligent goddess of a badger, the power of the heat.
To seek another land somebody here is waiting for the next sphere.
Crown.
You pulsed yourself for blossoming.