Skip to main content

Dear Mitt, Ann Coulter Has Phlogiston Pants

A pent up tree, in the words of Wordsworth, reaches a conclusion concerning Ann Coulter. Diatoms pluck life livingly in the sea. They see a world in which Ann Coulter sweats plums. These plums are her ideas, slightly rotten. The diatoms and radiant love reside in a potion of seawater, that will run to the skies as hurricane. And the rains will scorch the offerings presented as seriously as cows to the goddess Ann Coulter. And nothing will change, because change is nothing.

Ann Coulter, with crampons for teeth, is a defining smile on a painted apple. She is the next one in a long line, when we think that one line is never all. She is the position left in rags by mayors and senior advisors. She visits the backhoe of Rush Limbaugh or early stacks of newspapers, and decides on a license for dawn. Her union with emblematic mutter seems complete.

So we have these patches to consider:

1. Trees make paper if not memory

2. Wordsworth found ilk in the gathering of trees. Seriously!

3. Ann Coulter was a tree, before she read herself as paper.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A List of Words

It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
Post a Comment
Read more

The Left of Intention

Blistered arrangement in Obama's plant. That plant is excised with cultured cells looking for the sun. Obama brands name in this stampede, and we leak alert. A new orange smokes upon the evening landscape, parlance for yesterday, then blue over the gushing land today. Stay happy with Obama, or paralax, or the motion across the kitchen floor, of something. Something secret leaves the hives. Something secret seeks the plant. The plant is poised like anything. Tussle continues, with new verbs vectoring the continuation. Obama bravely last the night, sweatshop slogan. Our President, haply, but effort contorts all known regions of meaning. The South, for instance, the West, the North and its East, and so on, dilations. There was a lake above. A blue and now it is shining morning lake. It was above, like the cat, or even more, when we are attuned. Obama battles with all words, Even as the proposition institutes some collision hardly to be compelled. All this exceeds ramifications. Our Pr...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Citizen Would Leave

  Across lean tar pits of localised conveyance, news from sadly nowhere and other quackery. The entire rich crunch vibrates to the center, where stopping begins. Look where the adjectives go. The people as multiplied assumption and ducking away show causation by tumbleweed drift. Moral code exists as prosecution, pronounced as caring. Nuclear rocks decompose, discompose. Stictures from the one god populates the beaten numbers between us. We can all die with advantage to hear the startling judgment. The bonfire of Babylon made happiness exist. We cannot squeeze more love from this rock. Donald’s day has spoken, mellifluous tar.
Post a Comment
Read more