Wednesday, December 4, 2013

I’m Sad—Click Nothing

Stop being Deepak Chopra, Oprah

Winfrey, and cope with this blog

full of suppressed feelings and

semi motivational

Pseudoclassical Tragifarce in a

Bastard French Tradition. I'm a

huge Yankees fan living

in Boston.

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Only Way

Words are possible and a doctor when

you are a rooster or hen. The

density of oblivion vitalizes

a common time. Your coworkers cluck

because empathy means

elasticity, where verbs deploy and nouns

stop time.

When you are ready, a violet

something produces something

else. Else is like the years you were

tomorrow. When today branches into

commodious vial, you can say you had

a day. You had words and words had

you. A trifle in penitence stops

a balm. We cannot keep the last word, it

went to something else.

Now as a risk employs deception

and refund, we stick to enclosure.

Here is what I mean, patented

and registered. A poem goes it

alone, going it absolutely

and so. When you are poem or

writing it you have

a complete time of the sentence

saying.

Go forth and probable realm like

all sighs and stepping.