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Showing posts from August 5, 2018

Car Bombs of Hope

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.

Do Some God

Contrails rich has has control, looking stats. But when the slanted light from our vetted sun just writes, a believable colour begins. Yet logically no blue exists, only criminal intent. Smoky words after elongated thoughts ply, offered to the pleasaunce. The people who are children can accept reliance, or spurts of ocean spray while inventing morning. The gruff features of the feathery days start promo early. People as a mass have words. Ignition matters to the unignited 

No One Knows What this Means

Basque is prohibited when at Tina's appraisal. Bison remain the doubting.This ocean of delirious pittance touches the wheel. Bison heart the discussion. Elabourate decorum has always had The bison. We just went out with the puppy. Bison heart is in the beaming rain. We are going out for the first.