Simple Theories

  Xenophon as man, as legend, as topic, as effort, as known. He was has was the words last. Ways exist to understand wherein floating Shit Creek memory so, for the years there were. The Persians had internecine straits to resolve. Organize! Attribute! Verbs of constant warlike reminder float like roses. Ask the victims for clarity. Be clear in the little berries of words registering plans and reactions. Till then appease and tired again. Imagine having to listen to Socrates, an historical figment of common stature. Imagine speaking to Cyrus the Younger on a plane of severe angles. Thymochares arrived from Athens with a few ships. It is said the battle hugged the strand.

  The sides of Hospital drew up. Hurting forfend, a crusade of sorts with best bruises and taints. Distinction inwits between presence and present, each moment makes gosh. The safety of gospel flourishes with rhyme while each fact of word provides the safety of shadow. Citadel walls now tell the story with farcical impact. Every tower in sight makes a millennium as human as dirt. Meanwhile, family encourages a degree of sanctity until love engages property. Separate hordes take control of the desert, eating the pledges they made. Final rich towers include the man, the one, the woman, the one, and every fusty enumeration of colic. Another Hospital naturally appends an appeal. Sand will soak it up, tribes will unmask. There could be a map, a place, where the light begins. That speck of love purchases endowment tho the surety erupts with cyclical vigour. Imagine sultans without shoes and knights with testament. A sure kindness must exist in between the radiating sentences. At least th...

  Inside the excuse for nation: leafy tractors (any bonding to the brownness of earth will do). A day’s march from the next day’s march, the love amongst us on a map. The map shows citadel, city in a dell, and abounding fields. The trees have effort to contend with. Bears chuff to excess in a workfarm spring. Something tall rises on the plain. Mills confirm the need for rivers. Troops stop where the food is. Terror provides the function for non-terror, in zones described as war-like. Pictures become words for people sighing. One sees a lack of food, or especial jewels, or the need for frocks made from bison. Another tower seems important for a nation’s existence, one taller than might. It will seem like tradition. You and I are left to explain.

  that moment after that moment. democracy had been politically triumphant imagining full granaries as the effect of policy, but nothing had been done beyond.  loosened grainy Spangles in a rock milieu.  granaries unspent, granaries making marching, granaries fit for polis, granaries full of statements, granaries as burden, granaries as border, granaries startle gramercy, granaries tidal and the purpose of people. the effect of granaries on nerve endings, pointed mechanical granaries as speech, the sawtooth verity of granaries told to you, the fidelity of thinking granaries in the past, the overt mountains planned in granaries, a word for speech consistent with granaries and something human, the practice of offering the idea of systemic granaries in a distant cold day, the plenary stroke of future granaries in today’s exposed impedence begging your pardon, a granary will be thought of in time past.  the average burden of a single grain, with time as reference.

  Loosened from the franchise of words, sounds tangle the trees, of Antioch and Edessa, fancy realms, Jerusalem, and kingdoms full of kingdoms, and some people, some armies, some mid-range amplitude of condition and quandary, by avowal and that vowel sound, the walls around the idea of wall, worked to the back of word, back to the war held funded, back to crux and crusade

Language that sprung, of words. Word haven’t long existed, in our time. Put the tongue’s weight on each word in usage. Parabla, parole. Describe what usage means while lolling. Nothing but astonishment remains, in strides upon the path. Words, which represent language in a tinny blue pleistocene cold runway. Future makes verbs look big while weighing forever. Heard the lightning, saw the thunder. Fire is just water, earth is just air. Justness simply balances the dividend. Inside we are between, one word at a time.