Simple Theories

  The quicksand of the world, words holds things. Even something as shady as  things  reports a presence of language effect. It can't be helped, and pronouns don't help, either. One thing becomes another without entitlement and joining. Just words. Pronouns follow paths with distribution plans. You cannot be clear with such a horizon ahead. But each word, as described by transience, whistles with preposterous delight. Words made trees in a flash, then an animal rose. The thought rose to rise. A word blend, or compositions thereof, and a world, tho you know world by brief despatch and in between. You think things until words match. And still the world as world. Try laying down in the music call of each word. You've got to do something.

  The mechanical instance of wind, freighted for daily experience. Simply temperature gradients charging the atmosphere with utter balancing and crisscross virtue. Leaves sail, snow drifts, clouds portend. The gods, when not imaginary, seem imaginary because carrying portents. The wind has made tears, some your own, some for others. Do you remember those who died on other days, lost in the wind? They may still remember bracing flags describing specific wind as illustrative loss fit for sailing away. Away in time while space remains. You remember those that blew away, and space is never same. Your next string of gods, however, will be your best.