Simple Theories

Planned to be a document but it takes time. It's a reasonable sizzle in the gust of a late snowfall. The snow was radically planned and a failure. Too many people droop in the traffic. Envy is a replete port of call. You will be old enough on Wednesday. Wednesday. Why is the vintage babe destroyed by snow? When the ventricles relax and your posture shines, and isn't that a cow in the sky? Well, you do the things with worded effort. And yet such music creeps across the setting of the scene. We have the time to fill the time, and then to find a home.

Gods of worded forests citing temperature in words. Theory smoke after draining the glass. Patience. The glass becomes a lasting word, and we start again. Each word is a merry freeway culled from a forest of mountains. Enemies forsake the trees and vote numbers on their brows. We envision a poetry. It looks like a matter of planing the surface. Twisting integers like fracas in the trees. We like round numbers, more round, more better. Squirrels equate with evil smirk in tonnage. We proud to relent to mystery race. Each word becomes merry fairway culled from the blank forest next to downtown. When we invent trees later, they will be tailored. Exhaust pipes will be tailored. Tramps will be portioned equally, town by town. A town happens now and then, with people, and without the people really people. You learn to adjust worded forest.