the perfect idea that no one else, please is something circular enabling a blasting false logical premise (hello modern mine), the muse of scorbutic cried call Amazon rain forest, too ill to go On, The name brand of choice, in the moral sense, is danger modified by you cannot be more than me, tin ear, like a traveling globule of I am someone, or alone, or empty till unemptied, jungles meant for more, Leaves really transit, After Language and such as province, when thinking in time, A poem is matted and arrayed anyone Can tell Language was here Once maybe Only once And the precursors Who we are Want more than After that
poems, fireflies...