[response to “Because the land was besieged by the sea…”]

Brakes (v., tr., as against the embankment of memory)

A bushel that tiny heads grow out of is planted on the side of it. Great lackeys come by every day to stomp its sides. Presses a great seizure of the downtown. These are used in the photograph by the actual surveyors of the insurance busy sending the bushels downtown. They are thinking about how to actualize the business. Entirely on its own business, family of its own stilts. They send a whole bushel to any suffering family after they stomp their own bushels which grow in the water. Suffering them to sink a pool in a ring. In trust that on the escape of any exquisite corpse with a voice, this corpse will be made to recite a clear pool until it runs off into an estuary that will finally empty out into the greater body of its family. That the wind of the sea would empty. This has been tried in paper-making, tamping down the looser leaves of the body against the wind, but this did not grow the business because of the water, which is not a quick-to-push material, is not elastic, and runs off in the water. For the house that is a material seed. For the moment, as insurance against the sea, an earthenware bowl is used to photograph any bushels that fall, and whenever a house falls, the bottom binds up into a vessel.

[read the response: “Downtonw barely roughtown…”]


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