SIGHING
Sighing into a rather big paper bag, I took hold of my new lease. That lease promised much. That much promised a heck. Somewhere in the lines of endeavor had hooked some ruggèd individual's readiness. Yonder stands evidence. Beneath a staircase laden with starry-eyed-ness will transmogrify sufficient sweet newness to build a bay by yon window. Some of the attachments to the new vacuum are mysteriously missing, but what of that sad fact? The gargoyles on the roof are in fine fettle; the china has gathered a cabinet; among several limp doughy configurations will be money enough to turn homonym into slim drubbing like the fun century who stood on a roof and shouted. We meanwhile will not be fiddling one whit; we will sense the absence of coloration.
Interior decoration seems likely. Let's contemplate. From the back of the room in which I sit, a harbinger of something wonderful is coming toward the epicenters of forefronts. Foreheads are lingering. Meanwhile, mightn't we wonder why a womb has descended upon three landscapes instead of three foregrounds? Taste is on the sides of the verisimilar. Given to strong reduction will be some of the newest aspects that might regulate even the regulations of the oddest of tendencies given over. All might might say is in the periwinklelike aggregation. Timid souls are we, the well-heeled. Our fabrications amount as if tantamount to something big. Till the tapping of a bugle or until the blaring of some big trump, intrinsic will be whatever consigns assignations whose largesse allows paragraphical perpendicularity to preen.
Timorous tidbits will titillate a populace whose sizes variably achieve halfway astronomic dimensions. Tiny mice meanwhile will begin a sort of commuting. Training toward a quite full disk, something important will be like the full hirsuteness. Timeworn and shopworn will be several of the apparencies of wordplay. {Not very long ago, the word 'commuting' occurred; should that have been "computing"? We never may glow, nor may know, sufficiently!} Do the upcoming bits matter? Do the downwind little bits of dereliction seem at all like patinas? When will the wonder of wonders appear? When will the intransigence of phony questioning give way to something rather less cheesy than any or much of how these phrasings tend to wheeze like mud?