Simple Theories

Hello Emily Dickinson, The tire iron spoke like the wheel it meant to remove. You have a way with language, going back to words and how they are words, most of the time. They are not tried and in control, they are spurs off the broken, lately, seems like, tracking westward with a rush. The tire speaks of wounded roads, people who are people in roads, and sometimes. The tire iron works in the background as the foreground. Emily, we get it. Our president select is a safe house for transportation models that encumber the old gravity. New gravity, the boundless fields of exploitable gone, redeems in fervid fashion. Assonance assists, like any sound in the dark or light. The situation turns into a situation, some place looks okay for now. We have waited for the least word, and got it. Emily, two butterflies disappeared.

The class inside the moral rage up on mountaintop sounding. Liquid with the verb sounds, all sent by groggy nouns. Message in the falling. Which exact state refuses that animal? The drum inside the drum, the tower in the power. All is replaced by scansion as we repeat the funny look at something else. Touchy sentences once again. Separate but equal, mineral content intact.

Can this be the way of write? The simple clerical township formulates sentences and diversions. A pasture and trees resign. We are celebrating but quiet on the sunning day. Pavarotti wears a moment. We are, instead.

feature demos. poll taxed by breaking. music falls between non-music. sedentary opinion lops option. words as fellows, distractable.