Bed

A center is deeper supposing a fall supposing a forever falling of blue. A delicate idea is never a solid not like a solid of unspecificity. If a sound is freer than a division of parts a nothingness of all knives a shallowness of territory. The uprightness of a metaphor is never as speckled or as blue but sings like a hope terror. A dumbwaiter of sunshine is nothing but a receptacle of utter sameness. It is not likely to be open. It is not likely to be red, a grass-grazer rubbing an octagonal rubbing a weightiness of scathing oneness. No more taller. No chafing dish. No banner. A season of electrical current collapses under its own weight. Suffocating is purpler than more pleasant. Deep is more sameness than restraint.