AS YOU WEREN'T

For lo these many minutes you've managed. My eyes and yours have greeted all sunsets in ways that exemplify torn curtains. You've gone to all dogs; my howling has howled a bit up into dry rafters. Long hiatuses have grabbed some extremes. Beneath electric lights, where were we?
A canard in the wind unwinds. Much that had reason will proceed. From these fronds come slurps. Tired remarks issue, then shrug. Might has made enough right, or are the surroundings enshrouding? Even as we never speak, the slow declivity will find a bucket or two, or will ascend into vibrations as like the ruthless as any of the full fools whereby a generation might lift the wings on whose rising a ball might send some of the laughing on which some chastened set could soonest vary the laughter of goons in puddles of waxy wetness akin to any and every great answer into whose bevy might be wedded the goose, gander, and chickie in love with real richnesses of reprieve from whichever overt sunshine might have seemed to be borrowing an ample sum of the vortices in whose turning from us a marigold could be said to have assailed (though none too knavishly) the threads of daily warping of any dream of a languor like the live likeness whose effective rancid click must foster all the taste in any sour whirring akin to the multiple hack of several drums under a boat on which the trellis holds or lets go some pairing of fowl.