Simple Theories

In day Cloud with harbour Light not the light Of day Period but  of day Comma The groan is of Rooftop, slanting Slight light The beat freaks The pothos and jasmine Talking blue In the cavern There lessening of Brightly It seems so Isolate in defining It Figure today Would be the Day when Language At a beat Alien instances Close to how And Home Home is Wending Way Charles Olson today

Yorkshire pudding stars flour and eggs with supportive milk in the union of language rises best? Elephant of surprise: high vista of perfect pudding. High is the experience of throwing, loose. You inject Yorkshire pudding by peaceable means. Resist cancers of all sorts, and their political haven. Lord of the Rings is a tale about the rising of Yorkshire pudding in the landlock of political meandering. Gandalf resorts to more eggs in Yorkshire and its pudding. England of course is the land where the Yorkshire pudding secretes its messaging. The words rise in egg clusters of fine vocabulary cook. The space between words remains thoughtful, unveiling an egg, milk, flour cluster. Bring forth the ring, the one ring of Yorkshire pudding. The birds, when they make Yorkshire pudding, involve statistics of ingredients. All elements rise in the fire. You shall not pass alone.

Blue the babble that Darting uses majuscules To pronate. These elf Signs attach Promulgation Bus. Alliterative  R in Rejection smells Fancy. People Are looking Bought. Same day service With elephant Of surprise. Overflow of Surcease brings Beans of sunshine. Today today As party to Blue envious bus-filled. Repeat as needed.

Brigadoon the story of two elvish brigadoons, begins slavishly. A wink and early snowflakes become more like elves. Splendid the outcry,  It is reigning, elves! No hesitation is quick enough to explain the facts. The brigadoons foment a circus on intention starring famous name Waves. Glory of the best kind! The elves indeed and have wholly nothing to say. They melt Frosty with glee and brigadoon marzipan. Conniption, thou art of elvish trace! Who better To handle exclamation points than fresh brigadoon from the Shangri-la district? Early and often, with macabre seatbelts, they seat in Bus that flies.

We were talking, exilient. Braids of avalanche suggested the rough season of time. But hark! Slavish popular vote empties midden. The town encloses town. The children held the hands and sparkled.  Trumpets invest trumpets and the day is day. The Flying Bus of legend purrs in the plainness of future. We will see the stars, and their friends the non-stars. Sing choirs of angles!