Friday, November 22, 2013

Tortoises in Pants, Pythons in the Car Park

Even before the words of getting, the spring hit of sun in sentence

relaxes. A line of poetry waits

for breath. We

expect. A poem

expects words. Words

plan on the.

The is microcosm

of direction. Utility breeds

utility. A sentence can go

four feet or

more. Signage

is an extra

hand. Poets describe

extra hands. Words

are parcels. I want to be

a lark, says the

program.