Friday, July 8, 2016

Post to Facebook

The rigid insane mean something. Dumps sweep cantons. Language has no possible sky in the mean mental man of woman, woman of man.

A sentence prolongs the state. We are eerie. Remember the back of the room? The course extends thru tidal indifference. Deep space—we talk about it—is a question.

Language is the closest to almost anything. Remember how a leg feels. The dead seem superfluous, but that cannot hold space. Space needs plenty. My aide-de-camp did fall.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

A Crowded Chicken Wing Festival

likely how heaven, with names attached, a quotient for human, and it is july, proud to be, like a laser wants more, like a taser says more, apparent lily in a fairly certain field.

once a poem in a dream, albeit language goes for waves, in approximate reunion, circles called antelopes, currently, they were playing.

the animal of hunger exercises flashes and conveyance, long language and about time forget about after time.

american like factory for data, it’s a strange courage / you give me...