Census (I think)

The divine name on my lips from which I drink each day

lemme (ample)

let me tell you something true can I?  Of how many origins of radio as a concept for all this here is

I spend most time on only a few—why, now, is it to words I cannot aptly tune

Spicer

En faff

Gabardine of good conversation supercharging the sensate to be in the sensate is, likewise, silence 

Leibniz

The rainbow back a wards. meditating into day. Into the light of day, the wonder of day.

in my father's house

the many mansions return, foreboding. has there been a storm? I look back upon these writings—how much has transpired without being spoken of. and what else is required to further.

Every bush

Walking wide eyed into the waking into Sun, towards the Father and the feet, touched down (thank you thank you Este)

Eternity's gate

The palaces, the citadel, the lapidary, the signet, the stone. Myriam in Submission—every blowjob as if the first. A holiday, hers, almost.

Unrelated, yet bound. Crossing over, where does the time go, when does she debark.