Simple Theories

The grand sun, lifted into the high standards, resumes its peerage. Each morn, the ocean blue or grey bespeaks some scatter of fact and scandal. We try each period, and in a following wake. Troughs of what we call opinion form stupid. Some boats have no cause. The name of this operation is kitty cat, exactingly demeaning. Now what, when 11 am seems probable? Even temper abiding the diet of change. We hate the sense that normal doesn't last. It makes us have friends who talk on a slope. The basis for this privilege remains out of sight. It could even last the day. The angry image of containing seems self-taught. It provokes a barnacle on some diffident pier, colliding with other ideas and means. Proposals then sink into the vision of trough, as human as ghetto. And all the names and numerations rattle the big average cage. The sun seems partial but it isn't really. It doesn't have the words for that.

waited until explicable, waited till document in hand. seaworthy explained while first reaching these bonds of tempering, in moments. riches of a music, say it: the proud, endless river spent in explanation. thus in preamble was the narrative form begun. here’s the next step, the particular box and latitude, so you may wonder. the dirty way is the only way, in until. and it should be explosionary, foremost. with sea air, spattering social deeds in world view beyond a few ratty miles of pavement. crisscrossing the nation is the story till it is about someone who has your same date. position cries in the dark wilderness, the sour notes of penetration. here, ladies and gentlemen, Manhattan Island… poetry isn’t excusable. the buffers are rich, amazingly so. talk of going central, and watch the excavation work. the city is set loose. large enough to contain so much, it is small enough to be believable, sometimes. yet your tour is mindless, loose on the roads. St Mark’s Place saw names s...