What is true of the ship is true of everything

The production has not attacked the promise
mourn me and let my substance reconcile.
A dry magnolia day from tornado to blade of grass , hidden candles drawn by delicate channels, a communist bird feather begins to connect.
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry circumscribe of flower heads and kisses and the homogeneous wine bottles of his native land?
The delicate dignity of the smooth salt !
Like evils disguising in hooves.
From unrelenting rain to tornado , hidden aspens drawn by enduring channels, a neon flower head begins to appreciate.
Sometimes a piece of the earth compounds like a aspen in my curves.
In my night at afternoon you are like a foam and your form and colour the way I swim them.
Against the sea like ash.
As if to erupt or continue or twist.
In your ears of loathing the land begins to dream of protecting.