Let us arrive at a sense of place. Harvard is not a place. Poetry is a gamboling goat or metaphor. The professorial pride of knowing poetry presents a state of acquiescence, socially involved. That is, knowing poetry is a people/social equation. Words create impact and impact creates poems. Poems are far things, of course, but we get near by saying we are near. Statues seem to stay still. Natheless, some kind of evident indication allows for social contract. This may form a less surprise feature, in the words, but as the machine encloses content, content becomes poetry. Do not request froward distinctions. The exact academy has worked out the details.Teacher emphatically the teacher. And since words empty at risk, the flowery garden remains open to requests. Here is the latest poem.
jagged resemblance to truth floridly spring flowers pang rock crusted ontological squat serious stubborn box conclusion peppered trail pending slower overage undone of starting on It's a holy war royal ooze Stoop Herd Toxic tocsin I’ll oil decline wall burn bum burn bum
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