This vine, the glory of Vinland--if we could just find Vinland to jar our mixed feelings. Sure, the simple fleshy fruit that usually has many seeds is a berry. Not a drupe that requires one seed to fulfill definition. Grape explains fecundity by the roadside. Emboldened, vines extend reach, like a poem in the great book and ears attuned to how words remain invented or inverted. Grapes define seasonal with the smell of autumn. Bold sun investment and an urge to crawl about, the grape presents agile opportunity. Your kudzu extremism fosters that political gallop of the programmatic opine. Make americas mean something. We drown there. Please by compelling thought in sun not the dimming dimming force feed. Grape parties on in sinecure and homegrown melody, thanks. Thanks that you smell fruition. You could do worse.
It begins with a scanning of light, a settlement of words. The lightly fracture of Bird sound begins in the office of seeing. Not sentiment but sense, as cool as Green in the Early days. Pasture resists nonpasture, no one Refers to none. All remains including nothing. Morning Is belief and there simply there. Tides go freshly to the point.
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