Blur. Is a way. This ambiguity. You don’t know, it’s still vague. Even what is being. Spoken words. It keeps slipping gently. Half of it is half of it’s half… There’s a peculiar outline half-seen. It’s not here yet, some of it is a hint? They never arrive. Haven’t departed. Blue or it becomes another. Ambiguity. You. By knowing it begins. It’s still half-emerged. Perfectly less than any number. Slipping gently. Being peculiarly spoken. Peculiarly broken. Blur. Is a way. Be. You can never see. The one. It’s a root of thunder’s square. Bled. Blurring. Away.