I matter, made reef
imagination, but thought
So, close, read thing until thing
really thing, allowed thing,
In matter of moment, each
Moment mater, now report all
Respect and report. Town floats over
Sea of Con sti tu
Tion. You read dat, town
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Martian Foam Poetry brashly estimates words as conjunctions with alleys, breathing space, and particle theory. A particle is essentially a whole. In Martian Foam Poetry, the beginning of a screed predicts versions of weather and inclement thought. Martian Foam Poetry reduces twinkle and inkling in the larger issue of tunesmith, vagary, and constant pressure from the wheat beers of our time. Martian Foam Poetry all aghast, strips clean the acting particles and resorts to non-equity players. This is your poetry, The Martian Foam Poets chuckle. This is not a carrot.
It's all right today, the town is open. Trees remain elf-like with thoughts of tire tracks. The sun holds its own. The flight of the Magna Carta brings elegant news, bass drum. Find a perfect stone for your rain now. Elf-like bucket improves the idea of trees. Trees simplify the fancy clouds above.
Sunday, May 14, 2017
"I grew up in Kentucky. I know how they are,” spewed Lawrence. Spewed Lawrence, "I went to see something." Spewed Lawrence "A town of 807 people." And responded town. "Ethics is a supernatural glow thing and I speak for the town made of renting," said the wall against Lawrence.