Simple Theories

Passes away because language. The mom, mother, there, not. The original is thin and transparent. The mom, mother, there, not, soon or only, in moments. Reflection is language. Language is deer. Deer go passionately, into wooded conceal and forget. Death is mother father. Time is go. Rain on a moment, moist, present, then mushroom. The onliest course. Rain mushroom. A poem becomes a mom dad when oh Words, Words, the precinct and tradition. The moms and dads that are many moms dads, peering boundary and over all. A poem is a place in a city that makes a town that becomes a family that stays tightly Unsaid. Such canvas of opportunity, for the children, and the willing drift. Lease to pour and and pore the Poem, at your exact time.

Fine English blood lines the cube. Full Germanic envelope, scattered Northish. Germany current exists with various switches and tooting but not when roving bands of dna were examining latent excuses for life in a particle of home clear birth canal. We can all say OH, to emphasize the human involvement with an inexplicable. Start with dynamic. The great racist reasoning procures results. Home work like truck, surety, political abandon. English then, an elaborate protocol prior to draining T S Eliot and filming the natural result. Once drained, he will vinify with the flies. The flies will smell like cheese, cheese like dna. A slow start will announce the end of slow starts, like Eliot said, but the cheese will remain vital and worthy of knowing the featured racist name.An imperfect result of the perfect result will compare.