Transparency is a color too, empty, not like green, green is full, lively even.
The prison is like a window, unbarred, a window turned in upon itself. In resolute, deliberate, delinquent discontent and trust, outside out, inside in, and sometimes that out too.
That, murky, still like death, it keeps to itself like a window turned in on itself but rain kept in. Kept it in, hoarded like a miser, dishes don't mind, being dirty's like a day off. woe to be like the rain, no handholds kept in.
This too is like that window turned in, but in this all bars, copper, silver, strong when contained, strong when in open air, weak too when exposed, wears its colors with pride, also like a prison that way.
No place to grip, slips, rests below, and sometimes up up up, like joy.
Nothing to a man devoid of property, anything to get through, to go around, means: a pair whose meetings fleeting, close now, discarded.Destructive forces required are not the same,
the one precludes the other. And neither survive the juxtaposition, but it is predetermined, is it that it is, to mind is not to mine the meaning but mime intent once wiped away revealing rhetoric and that too a phalanx of fearoshusness in turned rainfull windows darkened past transparency intentedly but not to far past 11.
To pass eleven is not godly, to pass the point one should return to so from there it feels as the water does, meeting yourself, deliberate because to remain still, subjugate, prostrate, your contents before the powers that be. Deliberation! Decidedly undeniable really it is.
Unlike the others of its kind contextual misrepresentation of a species to die, Phillius, before thy time, demands retribution! To be empty but under pressure, is not to empty.
Salute salutary salutations! Abundant disposition towards emptying ing's self ang laid to rest ing fitful tenderedly stoned still stratostropic still life living stilly, and murky, not faced upon silver out turned prison for prisons.