Simple Theories

Poetry falls in the mountains, sorted into secular leaves with uncertain colors. Poetry, the brow of a hillock overlooking a darting stream that presumes to unite the watery realm with the the buoyant air. And so the platonic rising of gooseneck lamp to the forefront of Grecian urn in the tidal urge to grandly sentence. The colours of language extend to verbs of the greatest going, nouns like big names, and varying depreciations of descriptors to allow for variety. We can be replete (someday). A moon made for vivid replay, a sun of stress beams and moiety, a cloud bank of causative nature: so we weep for joy. Words soften into panning for the day.

Evolution is bullshit , said the Robespierre of underwear. Ontological and on for the best treatise, desperate to make due . Require hens in gardens, backdoors, fading statements of urinary tract infections, ulteriour motive as a sublime forecast. Expect delays in the rush toward where the moon beams. Partners, the future net describes a halo, with relax fit jeans as a model. Purple waves of racy grain ingratiates the topic sentence to violet juncture with the rabid cause. Inside revolution are little people sticking words into actions and actions into sentences. Sometimes the bell rings with flowers, sometimes the language is the gall.

Maxilmilian Robespierre wore pants, the Italian Dolomites. Clear earmarks, children of stun. For the days of officiating the sullen oath of cant, the brusque breeze wiped out dinosaurs. Earth has been blest. King Loony the XVI produced yellow snakes on a red leaf. Now the planet faces its greatest challenge. A lightning storm in Omaha, with sirens suggesting imminence. The human race now runs National Assembly. Heads often roll, given impetus to their roundish nature. The round way of thinking, back. Are we now beginning to resist the beginning? The end is everywhere, eventually under trees.