The End of Figueroa

"...and ecstasy for the end as feature of pathos, interdimensional and seeming without a miracle to reproduce the poisonous sun one rivets page to page in the endless iron mind divide and draw each muscular chain of hours certain willingness to dramatize certain vectors upon the main things and a teledynamic saint hovers one’s moral intimacy becomes a guided limbo and such a bland but perplexing part of what’s near and a person befuddles a quay headless peace, baroness, and underdog I only ever design truth I only ever speak in parti pris the girly products of everywhere amaze me to oppression so begin the sickle, the anchor, the orange slice, the fire-chair the loom of cyber anomie, a circular constriction and by 'a' I mean 'the' and by 'the' I mean 'sirloin sevens' say what you want but I’ve laughed at it already"