To I.K. Everything has its limit, including sorrow. A windowpane stalls a stare. Nor does a grill abandon a leaf. One may rattle the keys, gurgle down a swallow. Loneless cubes a man at random. A camel sniffs at the rail with a resentful nostril; a perspective cuts emptiness deep and even. And what is space anyway if not the body`s absence at every given point? That`s why Urania`s older sister Clio! in daylight or with the soot-rich lantern, you see the globe`s pate free of any bio, you see she hides nothing, unlike the latter. There they are, blueberry-laden forests, rivers where the folk with bare hands catch sturgeon or the towns in whose soggy phone books you are starring no longer; father eastward surge on brown mountain ranges; wild mares carousing in tall sedge; the cheeckbones get yellower as they turn numerous. And still farther east, steam dreadnoughts or cruisers, and the expanse grows blue like lace underwear.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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