An exerpt from the long prose poem The Son Master
by Peter Seaton----
To which, to take charge, this feature could be any idea of the need for a substitute for an advantage
over the sound fracture plate extended rather than dug out, and I could use white line looks to a wall of dark
red stone. The shape of one too is so hard that to take charge we had all survived. The elastic remains in the
eyes to clear it over. This is a preposition, a possible sight of everyone's appearance without the business people
touching. Great logs of the moon used also for legs, light complicated by catastrophe instructions, to move
somewhere with a bang and a knock out of us, we know enough. Knocked flat near the conventional center,
rest and have dinner and wait all morning so it must have been the rain that fell. The machine cares, but those
two can be the same, the moon experience of space of sky throwing out dance and dance invasion.
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