Cast the coast


In reeds, in acoustic flatbeds of space while both address each other. The wind is by the way. So to speak draws parallel figures resistant to dilatory questions, even if they rise from the bottom of the page. Any vanguard would want to accompany the incoming tide as transparent as narcotic dreams, it makes the wind weep both ways. When your voice sips from an ocean of drum beats, the weather is about to dance on your fingertips. All then tops now. All marks are here. All, as one said, is tall enough to see how. Air given to have a bicycle greeted by hands bar hands. Free to leave raindrops perform like squirrels in a dressing gown. One is a world away from time, and time is a world away from one. Despite the ears collaborating with a flood of fundamentals, only one sound goes round and round.