Here's a pretty representative excerpt from the amazing Red D Gypsum----
Top-work the frame to chalk white yet against less clear tremolo flotation, sudden demerged racing downsize nutrient plume to risk appetite so born at here D plate mirror swap pleas can never shine; depleted words all light and gladed in picket fault back flattened silently. Crimpen interfold your spectrum yellow, taunted now slippery bright, red gully regained through the wood rewound in felt.
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.