Simple Theories

Are you kidding? The woods are green like shale! Easements of petroleum guide the nation of interest. Bees remain in the winged category. And all this is yours, Chosen One. You who clearly, and smoke with a gun. We must remind vegetation of the effects of torpour. Worlds spin for a reason, and reasons commit tone. Tone is the bottom of pot, and the fire is hot. Waxing ecstatic causes figurative language. Ecstatic wax is a pronoun. Most pronouns are personal. The woods remind us of oxygen. Oxygen is a classic altitude in a scientific function. When we breathe, certain offers from partner companies inspire us with intent. Today smells like lilies. Something bad happened, or something good could happen. An imaginary tender of these gardens must be told!

These nations of interest resist human compunction. It is up to us to colour the hedges green. The path is ready for squirrels. A sabre-toothed feline writes a labour of isolation into the words called history. It matters that beavers get wet. Lightning rises from the earth to kiss particular clouds, in parts of the world, at such and such times. Meadows wake up mown. Arrivistes satisfy their heads with naturally long sentences. In brief, these sentences survey the landscape and calculate past drama. Those of us who stayed, who were, remind ourselves with flocks. Butterflies match leaves with wind. A patent contained in a poem restructures the neural patterns of complacency. Geese startle in the sun, robins signal to moonshine, verbs become wetlands.

Minerals in the outer stage, finding flowers. The least flower is the most colour, ending in words. Beginning in words along a path, with flowers and ticks and every spree of oak. Seizing in the instant the perplexity of instants. Rain was relaxed and falling, only the night before. Tufts of birds and snakes and gear arrive, memory with a kind sentence or two. We read all the letters, and back and forth. A motorcycle in the invented distance. A turkey trots with purpose. You have the colour of heaven when you walk in the sun. We are the name for recounting. There is no heaven without Kim Kardashian and the feathery flight of birds. There is no heaven without you.