Monday, December 28, 2015

Drive Past the Stop & Shop

We send the sky great messages. Blue across the sky, if that's the right thing. Grey peaceful valley of snow, until the tulips tell us different. We see green in the lively trees we know, and some that we only don't. And days weigh equal to nights. Every time, with acceptable resonance and participles made for speech. We believe in the town.

The town includes even as it wrenches. Try these clouds thru the hedging of your mystery. A light passes to something that would seem right. It would in a less cunning heart. The directive stands before us like a big bad noise. Politics is the next town over. We live right here.

Friday, December 25, 2015

Hidden in Sane Candidate

The sky cautious for too much but will for blue. Deep pedestal insight flounces in theory, castigating mere omens for the natural sound of words.       When you weren't looking.

No words remain for the excrescence traded to the people, the common people of the trust. Your vote continues a deadlock shade. A piano cannot speak censure like the dark clouds of your strain. We vilify by verifying our neglect with the backhand of our vote. Welcome to the last patch of living, on the other side of your steel eyes.

Thursday, December 24, 2015

From the Other Direction

Loss is the human trigger. At this day when we are not enough, trumped, and asking riches' sway. Music isn't stalled, the people are. You have had an immense holding, or you have not. We practice with words, spanning deliberate forgetting, sentence after sentence.

Friday, December 18, 2015

Donald Trump Grasps for Air

The shed is open to ideas.
The door to the shed is open.

The shed is grey with a pane of glass
in a tiny window, to be a window.

Light stays quiet in the shed. The
thinking in the shed stays quiet.

Rumours abound, the nation dies. Emphatic
envy lives and dies.

Here is the shed and
here is the end of shed.

Driverless car rules perplexing,”says Google.

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Their Best Poetry Is Determined By Website

Diligence prepares for Donald Trump dressing down Ted Cruz in sparkle time, wearing rock to sadness.

Diligence says Obama hovering protocol and circumstance of devils, one last time.

Diligence opens Ann Coulter heart valve one last time.

Diligence marches Hillary streaming video pocket full of, one last time.

Diligence resorts to ponds in gardens, gardens in deserts, deserts in season, season in making. Time is a swerving gesture towards a thing that won't become…

Does the reader see a sentence here? Sentence aren't poem anymore, one last time.

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

What If Diligence Was a Floor Plan?

You have to be stupid pile the way home granite. Sure you unite integers and what. Then you see things in small things that are like large things only less large. Small even, tho not to say small can embrace large, unless the proctor of all fences sees a plain view sorting motif aligned in doctrinal or not so fine distinctions.

You are a tree.

I have to state that you are a tree because I can only see trees as reasonable. A bulb holding its springtime belligerent flowering is unreasonably reasonable, and not for this time. You need a jetstream, and so forth, a fancy climate thing.

We are ready to ignite human things of human, If the sands of worry glow from nucleated impact, can steel beam make building dreamscape American hates?

You are a tree with an asshole and an open mouth, and a vent for meaning either way.

These Big Names in Christian Music

A specific tree laden with elements, sponsored by no one thought, found elegiac in the dropping of its foliage.

A person same with sky full of ejected words clarifying a certain grey earnest steel pouring core.

The news becomes glaring but peopled by a sorting function that ranks. Otherwise we enjoy the way water flows uphill for us.

iPhone Battery Case Doesn't Measure Up

Angels of Laughing start into the ordinary trees. Pressure causes emblem.

Words equal mask. No language exists in this lack of patience.

The republic smells like the grey fern-like aged sky where lucky raptors cling to oafish clouds. No news of strife is grand enough.

Stonehenge may have been built somewhere, asserts Donald Trump.

Sunday, November 29, 2015

A Growing chorus of Critics Have Their Way

Birth defects in babies linked to camouflaGE.
ELK are fuckin huge.
Geese enter the Olympics for first time, eat bears.
Clocks contain petulance.
Disaster relief smells like barley.
Waist deep in theBig Muddy doesn't mean we don't love you.

Beethoven's Ninth in Plaid Pants

(Jazz requests an explanation)

Exhale impala like loose structure faster. Margaret Fuller drowned in the seize of life sound. Henry Thoreau looked for after all. Not a wave stopped, and resist resistance.

People pursued their sinking with life sounds in the swallowed ship. Islamist State in offing corporal fleeing planting, same as ever. People become pure as they radiate. Many ideas concerning nowhere plant seasons after reasons.

Our history lesson explains tearing sounds in paper, cloth, and simple flesh. The bass sings something something Tochter aus Elysium. Joy is a freeborn smelt. Ringo Starr sang along whilst even so.

The poem of the afterburner buzzes fixative in a test, trace the long tomorrow. Language can't escape the human condition. We have a hold on all our credit cards, Father of All.

Saddened by Downing

Extra words go to extra places. They fill that amazing day under the password. They exist in parcels delivered to winded trees that find rhythm. They aren't for friends exactly.

A miracle encloses all that smite found. We can name names but not people. People are a tribe aloof from, strainingly. That's the plain diagnostic added to gun control or open your fat mouth. Your fancy word for poetry becomes undone.

Spurious pleasure, the kind that takes minutes and takes them, this is the prevalent noun. We exclude because we are tempted. The rocks on the edge of the ocean know better. With elegant prose we spell clever. This is the last word before dinner. May we all crash in peace.

Friday, November 27, 2015

Content Discovery with Story

Goal Tractor Beam of love in spaces between declarations that people aren't real. They evolved from plenty of rocks, the way we think. This establishes the presence of a cave called brain.

The brain is donald trump or other for the soon seas will seize. Cannot language wins again.

Monday, November 23, 2015

Donald Trump Retweets

If we had a poem like an antelope, that could,with proximate force, exert the certainty of at least one word, not just that justice doesn't include the presidential race, we could, imagine, the spaces between dark.

The dyslextopia of only so much
lies between us.

Robert Creeley with the Time to Plant a Rose

If we could satisfy patient interest and moonbeam along exact road not dust trail. Verb will stand as a sense of moment. And then we decide fervid blandishment articulated in collapse, because we think poetry can't work. There was a town called Oddity where we kept our children sad.

We will now donate our stupid to elastic temperance, a form of language. With language, we call. The roof seems unstable, the portico admits nonsense. Presidential hopeful isn't how we breathe.

Robert Creeley's pants began in Arlington, which was a time or so, and grew more in Acton, on the coast of nouns. Most nouns leave home. This is not to say the war will win, only that the stupid of stones vote often with their verbs.

It cannot stop looking, the thing donald trump load. It presents a guess at dynamics by way of slurring speech, even the very noun in which the present of the heart demands a free aorta. Free all aortas, and the quotidian in the day that sends dusk to let us rest. Enough of your stupid mouth donald trump!

Content Discovery with Story

Goal Tractor Beam of alert love in spaces between declarations that people aren't real. They evolved from plenty of rocks, the way we think. This establishes the presence of a cave called brain.

The brain is donald trump or other than marvelous power for the soon seas will seize. Cannot language wins again.

Autonomic Sentiment

Trump decides verb, turn
entangle angle feel saffron.

Locus viewpoint where are we sod. Said
compote flew=flavorful bullshit.

You are ready any tidewater's
unmistakable showstopper of exult
munition.

We need poems even so.

Saturday, November 14, 2015

I Could Not Find the Specific Location

Dear Assabet, the river that meets the Sudbury and floods the Concord. Dear river, you have moved something. You are not a regional rocket landing for the sake of what explodes density tribunal once.

River goes out a spurt of earth to go some earthy miles in an active geology. Then the way water goes down, a religion of just that way. No guns and that famous spew right now. Paris is a town to the right of what we have mapped here. Assabet wants to be just Concord, you can hold your own. Own is the favoured stance. Poems are wormy things to dignify the vast whatsis of arrangement. Words.

Words are tomorrow because today says something says something. We have to lie sometimes. Add that to nothing and nothing wants more meat. A poem become instant.

An instant can handle the track, Aegean waves from after years star meaning moment. Meaning enters work, telling story, fractal. You

are a useless reference.

Pluto Gets a Little Psychedelic

The wind appropriate to the next word to say.

The wind after some time.

The place where from the wind starts begins more wind. The town in the recent wind seems frail. This is the town line.

The known wind returns favour of wind. The wind brings word. The town opens each word.

Along the daily river, a wind conditions the day. Any day with wind becomes a place. A town is any place, and with words.

A river goes as it goes. Each word of wind arrives again, as town.

Town is a little pall, worded thus.

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Traduction Anglaise Equals Anguished Transduction

The Canadians, avec joie (a kind of joy), survey the field of pommes de terres. The vrai pomme, true apple to its specfic tree, sends diminishing chlorofyl to the honest aether of sky on and on.

The native earth (American or otherwise) escorts dilations of political hope and indeed exact words to a place of people and things, even into the evening light. People think things in this light.

As soon as the flood receded, tout le monde described kings and queens and sweet oligarchs to their breathless journals. Words were invented forever.

Les Américains, sufferable for blemish and actionable taint, decide to blunt the scorn-filled trumpet. Allons enfants, the tractor bites the rickshaw.

The brackish waters of clout resume majesty. Donald Trump has an asshole in his head. He is an homme, tant pis, and always will be.

What wind, then, across the waters of trust now? Nous sommes arrivées in the sanction of matter as mendicant purpose. Un livre invents Ben Carson. For today, c'est tout.

Monday, October 12, 2015

Signs of a Guinea Pig

Whole Foods @popular, or @wholly_fooled_downturn. Would you like a resistant kumquat? (Nightly military raids). The day after town stuffed in tin. You were regal, halftime. We pronounced a moratorium, a brand name for hygienic reaction. THEY were surreal, finding awesome in the packaged naan. Trending Vietnam, Elysium Fields, nirvana. Like the ekstatic over/under of could KEITH MOON (dead item) promulgate. It could only place language in poem. Your step to poem now.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Exit Poll Says

Iran tests long-range report.
Shiites in Iraq cheer.

This dongle brings
bombings at peace rally.

Rally Shiites in Iraq cheer.
Iran tests long range Xbox.

Xbox follow Iraq cheer.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

If the Frame Fits, Wear It

In an elabourate fixture of clouds, softer than comparison, the instant and a child combine for space in the garden. The clouds conclude a typical season, with capital sentences and the best assay. Leaves glow, needing to be remarkable.

Inside, the doorway creaks and yet the breeze conduces a shaft of sunlight thru memory and into the tender arms. You can remember that tidal day as well as any. The garden does not resist.

Symbols resort to words when we are backed in. Menial shouting stamps the ground. This is not a simple book to read but an oceanic rising in the trees. Our together means the most.

Reaing From His Second Policy Paper

Significant letters fit names and actions, understood like the gelling wind today. Today stamps a cold impact on results, prided by news headlines. Pencils invent leery speeches.

We aren't the perfection of doubt any more, as right as we can be. We read more into nothing than pragmatic witness controls.

A violet hastens to be, a fleck of grass likewise. The saying goes but the minute has peaked. The cause of intention is panting.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Sign Any Paper

If you said the kids were shot, and such patio, and then the dialogue, a bench in the autumning mist, remember an attribute with extended vocabulary. I mean to say Wallace Stevens was responsible for language. But what if if, the practical guesswork protocol, decided, in the venture of language, that kids should not be shot? Reclamation of “well” protocol? So, okay, you said Christians like that bastion included in people. People are induced by specious logic, clocks on arriving walls.

Should kids or the emphatic anyone be shot as Christian examples of what left behind means? Sturdy details of being shot for being shot, they explain nothing more than the arrival of words into a situation where they were not unbothered.

Monday, September 28, 2015

Mick Jagger Sings 'Satisfaction' with Taylor Swift

You think, These words are last, not lasting. The gulf is a last brother or something. You cannot tell the figures, they only implore.

Who makes the town then, closing on the trucks and margin? You have been surprised in everything. Keith Moon hits the drum of things, until it tells the time or tome of day. A period ends the sentence, sentence ends the word.

Monday, September 21, 2015

Good Luck Using Skype Today

The beautiful stream, the farm, the ripping stream over rocks and pour, the daylit field and some time, the swirl before words, and after all some people relate by the moronic asemic placer. Such is what cares, in the place of people.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

Play Wonderfully with Lettuce

Writers matter when the words. Period the words, and the matter. The class of matter remains class, and matter. Black matter happens. Writers make matter in periods of matter.

Ministers include people and otherwise the notion of who can say what. Finalizing the whereof of some prosecution, the word finalist stops with gaping mouth. Let a word.

Experts agree, diagonally, in the final dalliance and procure. You can find poems. More often, and less likely, they find you. Adjust your asymptotes accordingly.

Friday, September 18, 2015

They Seem to Remeber Nothing About Reagan

Once again the posting, on the door, to receive the door impact, to fly into the most-caved presumption.

One dawn only, in the immaculate sense, which leaves us drizzly, spelling claim authority as two words, believing neither.

The fence post ideology transumed by simplest statement, one elbow speaking for two.

One blither as posture, a post in the summer after swearing to inhale. Not a tractor beam pulling sense but a grabbing anything more.

The space between words is like people.

Once again there is the wall around the rest. Once more a mouth feeding ummasticated words from the formal fund of derelict.

Once again this is your treasure, with names like Trump, Coulter, lash and stream false class.

Thursday, September 17, 2015

Save the Satisfy

Nothing left in the beer facility,
town crosses lines over
oceans. You have to be

there.

Nothing left in
leftover condition must read wrong
ways new.
Indignant wig
pours Donald Trump into
Elysian squares.
Posture flambeau!

Nothing
escapes the mind of
Donald Trump.
Literally. The gates
are closed.

Butter your Donald like
normal. Only
free world succours home
people planet time.

You can do
it, provocation
of transit in
windswept
plenary.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Collect Your Favourite, Extremely Versatile Pommade


How does Bobby Jindal paint glue on everything? How does he release a statement? How does he talk to cranes? Where can he spell his name? Over which rock should he spill his term? Which ladder on his porch will reach the ground?

Panting for violets, when does Bobby look okay? How often can he spell his name? Under what conditions should he explain his shoes? Does he have a happy amplifier? Will he ever seem fresher than toast? Could he trick his toast someday?

When spilling affable drinks, will Bobby imitate his own teeth? Where is his zoning map? Did he ever get that proverb from the closet? Channeling his monetize, does Bobby make soap? Has Bobby Jindal been drifting further and further toward a pile of socks? Is the ocean vague enough for the eyes of Bobby Jindal?

Thursday, September 10, 2015

The Actual Mass Murderer He Was

Have seen human instincts, crows in the sky, bats the envy of hearing something new, herd quality a local human reflex towards words.

A Trump moment allows nothing to happen viciously, steeps the television. A team of experts, or clocks in molasses, survive the programming. Chance of dates in the time-sense ratification possibles, as in: Allen Ginsburg wrote a poem after all.

Teammates say ridiculous helps as margin. Outside margin grows pears. Time is a sense.

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

I Was an Asshole Once: I Was Donald Trump

Donald Trump (his hair... tree branch centerpieces draped in jewels) wants to purchase the Pope's soccer team. The leaves of the surly trees that don't listen in autumn swag, are they real Republicans? Can they purchase trees and sense? Have they a soccer team to dream?

Steve Jobs didn't care if people thought he was an asshole. Thomas Edison was an asshole. Would I be more looked at by girls if I was a little bit of an asshole? Donald Trump opened his mouth.



Sunday, September 6, 2015

Henry James Tells the Amanuensis

Writing is the sport of typing, or of scribble, if you choose. You sit in plastic music and compare your thoughts to nothing. Nothing is so vague! You can gain the upper hand by telling Kerouac to type faster. Capote was right, despite an obvious pall. Writing is the measure of the typewriter, or the extent of graphite in a pencil, ink in a pen. It must be time to hear the words someday.

What playground can you fall from, hearing that Martians have proverbs and you can listen? They write with what is left, which, strangely, is just like you and me. Henry James told the amanuensis that the brigantine was empty, and still something was left behind. It seemed like everything to Henry, nothing to the amanuensis. Something and everything must not be the same. Nothing every is.

Wallace Stevens pulled a wallet from his ear; Emily Dickinson spoke of foundries. Like several trees, they smile.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Short and Shortening Example

Sarah Palin as a log jam was logy from spectacle. You sit fire for the brief, then electric elbow room clears the air. That was in 2008; we were process servers.

Late assholes sublet the particle by which inner clocks send drafts to servers, whence possible oddlots gather for functioning. This is the part of Donald Trump that expands nucleus to a final withholding. Which is just the stat for your

you are the rest of zero, Donald.

Friday, August 21, 2015

Stupid Enough to Do It

Donald Trump has spent extensive time in his pants. In the plant system of which he is alpha weed, he places stance in the lexicon for rigid panting. But let us be nice, in dialogue: a wall can say so much. A little friendly flick total despair feasting cultured hair implant says a world about how you can have Miss World, the whole Miss World.

We arranged a meeting, my thoughts and the mesh of Donald. We both, including him, were stuffed to think how no poem has a longer winter than the knowledge of Donald Trump. Imagine the immense flux tsunami whelm of the gratulating sound of
it's a war, it's to be expected.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Someone Has the Right Idea

Here is brain candidate Donald Trump, fresh from regent television, his arms clerical cloisters. His television pants exist because he breathes television pants. This statue of Donald with his pet hair illustrates that television employs a marketable equilibrium. When Donald's taproot hits the payment of the soil, little petering increments of how television goes goes out the mindless door. The television day remains okay.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

"I Was an Earthly Knight, They Give me That Renown"

Darling Donald Trump,

Those weird ears that
tell you so, a fancy of
clinging. Flick ashes in the way
of human cubicle, the icing will
last. Dictators agree on
anything that fails.

Toss
feathers towards the
agreement between
usage and used, my useless
friend. Li po
gardens on a river.

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Broadcast Your Town, People!

Live or state in the memorial hedge. Planets march namesake, call blue the forensic nature stamp. Low skies tear the mud.
Listen to the drum, people blue, that town of effort that calls exhaust. We have raised and raised, pouring pure culture tract alliance.
Each word fortified and fell to almost other town. That generation as we speak goes goose amongst the reeds.
Went to dance crack creation. Open source fresco worries the flight, even the earth. Even the even earth, as measured in the light.
Now document it, people. As the trip relates to dying fresh, how can the control seek more than light?
What of your love, then, that whirled and training? Can the words of pastoral seed and sown remove the date of late destiny? Trails and tropic sentences. The latent stop to all of that.
Breathe with only words. Definitions shame the face of wanting stone. Nothing leaves us but ourselves.

Monday, June 8, 2015

Hommage a Beau

The land of proctored pastures, a verb as the only registration of humanity, stuck water in the spring-summer air: I want to build my house next door to you.

Faces concern faces, the plains of only and event. For thirty seconds, each a lifetime, fancy tapping in the doorway freshet.

Nothing is a creek, just an implication hayride. The first field of hay borne to gravid heights. Big words win in contests over touch.

Saturday, May 23, 2015

Later That Same Day

You see a bat at Vanessa’s place. It can only swing or be a bat. It has a handle and functions like words, or wordlessness, same diff. When applied to headache, it is the argument for all headaches. When applied to floater over the plate, the planet exactly in time to neural pathway decisions of tectonic plates in Western US and grandeur Himalaya, then a verb grows to unmanageable proportions.

Context and concept allow limits. In between each concept, a concept hazards a guess.

The decision of tectonic plates is final. Vanessa places the bat where it does most good. Good is a concept used in times of need. Good varies with context. The concept becomes a context for a bat or something. Laughingly, the wind is gone.

Friday, April 17, 2015

By the Biggest Community

Stars crumble because détente. Rash or Russian perplex of gravid Death of Scholar Pants resumés.

A fleece pantry exists (patent pending) whereby once needing fleece conveys the exactitude of place for the wherewithal of finding exact change idiom. There is no idiom like the one I got.

Haul bleak primogeniture to Everest fan base. Collectible has been meets referent hornswoggle. Accept the Dutch rendering of detritus.

Fardel creampuff resists placid sentence. You redeem mirror pressure with honed hem and haw.

The place love conveys in a wetland of words, for rich forgiving, you who expect. A sentence cannot convey a sentence, it must remain town of sentence.

A sentence of Everest night exactly without much air or where to go but up or down. Down among the trees that do not disappear. Up to the end of logical approach. Both hit the mire of simplicity.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Sorry This Is So Easy



A graft on couldn’t time stops short on the edge here, sunlight. Parcels invade birdsong, become birdsong.

Referent stops with masses, even an apple blossom, even a sky that includes cloud and not clouds.

Those are the posies used as posies, the flowers of the field as the day begins.

These are the hedgerows along winding until some midmorning standing there.

Further on is another analogy for staying put.


Sunday, April 12, 2015

Patches of Encumbrance in the Daily Town

In the incredible place beyond the stars and requiem, furtive tho grey edge of a sunset dodge, even include a starburst of red light like something telling. Layers of life explain layers of time, until a town becomes a central theme, like snow melt. Longer than a sentence and with dire vowels to sound, speaking of a place where the water runs, the wind runs, and cooing mourning doves run, these patches of effort become towns with days. Everything displaces the next minute, then protocol reverses the trend. We are nations in the morning trying to explain the bent seasonal smell of these dead leave. Even Dick Cheney is a god unto himself. Introduce yourself to the blanket of your town.

Pass the Day Along



Generous night lays ahead, the eyes of the forest. Green patterns of pond moment realize the edge of sun. Sun bears the light until eyes. These simple moments cross words and paths. Hesitation becomes a glance. There will be deer or two stepping away.

Inside the spring voice, the notion of tree and pond combine for hours called space. The green spends in between. Nothing will last until forever, over and in the pond. Versions of frogs and moments combine. The sun spends astonishment.

Fox steps away, coyote cools. A field represents a field. No one stands beneath the central tree, all is in.
Moments after non-moments and before, a simple tree and simple pond produce an area of arrival. This is time’s person. Person is time’s place.