Simple Theories

The little bullet is not so big deal. These days of medical and you mean well. The shot of conservative rebuke if you are liberal in the sense of name, stage of you didn’t stick fences in the river but then. Period is a question of where to stop. Every emotion is a green tangle, tell you I hand you hand. The time that it takes, the hand holding hand. I love the Beth that is the Beth in my life. I told the worlds, and they went on to mean.

The green tense of summer whale rising smoothed for seconds dipped. The regular call of inferential chlorophyll drew moonscapes of coloured leaves. We are reigning as then that Jerry Garcia song, and the minutes it lived for us. Phantast, you think weird glitches and synedoche. How have you lit candles, brazen as they seem in wet fire times. You are the portent when the word awakes. You sang over oceans and the regaining sound of fog in morning. Jerry lives in strips of time. I was the first thought of Star Trek, standing on the new fake planet, trying on terminology. Life came quickly.

We are the next page in the book that makes the next page possible. Is Obama engaged? Light words when you are dark. We are the page beginning with this is next. The drummer said so. The piece was partly. No one rises above the norm any more, the norm is all the reason.

10/4/2012 He died of a stroke in a warden closing loss to voice. Then nature filled. We tell in Obama language, then try again in Romney. This is the hay, a coarse refund because the need is day. The boy of seven clutching his own and then, it is a night of army following. And the debating habit cuffs the born dream. We rent the taste for victory, as a class action sweat. It means the closing spell wrote many days. You were left without the banjo. We had the seven year old. It was a time of time.

The laughing child was seven years, or five, never enough. The elected stood on stones. The tower of their abilities combined produced height called all the ever. This could present a charm in the entrance hall, as hordes mumble over their next backtrack. Chasing seizing trying hard, and the laughing child stoops to pick up a rock. Rocks are great towns that you throw into seas, rivers, or lakes. That’s why we vote and you should listen to the towns. They sink like any sun in any sky that has been lost to reason. The words for this are poised and great. Dear Barack, Dear Mitt, thank you for electricity, and stating, and concern for your fellow vote. We are in heaven, talking about the grown living pleas of feldspar, granite, even mica that snarky see thru crystalline campaign. Someday Barack Romney will be a man, and if that maybe a great,. which is a mystery enthroned in the cackle behind the scenes when we are fencing for sport.

Reminded of the day melting into the sun, voting differently. The wind of autumn washes the leaves and they fall. Voted for all the good things, standing at the top of the list. People were reminded of the day, melting into the sun, that harsh of summer. The voting stopped in letters then filled with gasses. Aspects were derived from evidential pouring of water into vessels, and the evidential lifting of vessels to bring water to places. What sent the voting steering? When summer falls off, autumn stands on rocks, and ferns now shine in a golden extreme. Questions are part of answering, if we have to have dialogue. A vote goes on the board. A rock called Romney relives some lake statement, water gathered for the extreme earth. We stand for words as a source of pouring water. Water is the reserve in which we find more words, and the meaning in words. Words are always poetry because we cannot handle less. Romney is a statement for words being poured into a stream that will flow into a la...