Simple Theories

  In the Winter of dead the clanking sour of winter maps conveys words in in dignant patterns buttressing the oily shock of advocation of human concerns such little in the vacant space un thought of uncheck this

  it includes ticking icicles and drab latex sad veining in particular maps while barn doors remain open and the idea recedes to just that winter warning circu lating the news of some dis tress some where plastered and gingham expanse on the front of all

  spotting diffidence in a ravine  human rights parlayed generously  custom envy filter  epic salt in maunder ing wound  explaining the marked bleakness of cargo  transitioning from revel ation in time  courting the fractious snort  pantries of just that’s left  ideal stop ping once for all  this day over lay