increasing, and deadbolt, after the munificent sunrise, whereat (event stroke) cunning avian interest plodded amidst radiant ingle and darling dell (seaside division), fortuitous blanketing of hue and cry (gull sapience), lifting evermore into a dazed of prompt cloud, mulcting weather and the fiery new day, in which wind and sailcloth will match intent, furthermore the ranch dressing of cooling breeze, influx of tourist trade with their bold summer rentals, thus sunrise, into the storage day, running car mallards into swamp fandango, culturing possible beach umbrellas into conspiracy of relax, molding every calming idea into a place with wine listings, beachhead, seawater by the steinful, merger music, report tactics on the waterfront, and more, until it resembles just the very day you wrote about in the invention of autobiography, which is the same narrative everyone falters with, scooping details from a mixed pot, describing things in terms of plenty of that, benefiting from the time to take to do just that, and all the while stuck with prepositions,

yet when you say Walt Whitman you probably mean somebody else, gravesite of somebody, with tended flowers, maybe your own loss, maybe the elaboration of generations, stricken colour, fields of last daisies, trouble of condition within the perimeter intentions of here when need, striking off from language's gulf to a launchpad reference, a stinging reply via crumbling, all this as a sortie toward and into something exactly as if you understood, oh poets in their city gaze,

more words than meaning,
more verbs than motion,
more nouns than naming stars,
more ground under your foot,
more coffee into merrie available rising close starter recognize bluer, trip to fashion sidewalk, need a few yawns marketing, examine previous extent, merchandise for energy, piling process, maintaining dogma, muttering overcast, thirsty interest, then forth on the godly sea,