Simple Theories

the current marsh beams with documents and change. ducks force exact sounds into the argument, which traces simple phrases into pulsating pattern. a poem becomes a constant, blending words into the landscape like leaves and water. ducks subsume, starling and blue jay rent cost effective dowager settlement, the world wakens anew. this swarm of intention brings bold statement from political casuistry to the door of memory. the clang of weed rental outweighs the spoils of dynasty. fences receive admirers. all patterns include one stray note of sharing. language resumes potable conviction since we are stern releases of antic gas. now spring starts anew, piles word upon word. a glimmer remains to relax in, then the shoals beckon ships, or snakes bask in the sun, or many trains of thought pour into the empty. these words that might be poems remain in traction, not debarred but pressed to glass. morning is dark until it finds a portal. portals bring everything, just as every parent di...

there was easily seven in the precipice of township. the shit bags of diunal pulverize stun winking fits on total nostrum. you are punk cost fiddle banshee. with electric clabbering cuckold penchant screen for verisimilitude (just so that you know), the Klingons banter mildly. the gold coast auction panda grumbles on arriviste tunes (tendency shackle). Stalin proves a botch job fungo bat clerical whizbang that just shows to go you

the helicopter sank in daily news, 17 of 18 passengers dying. dying planks the mooring, folds simple people into rushed stream. civilized society draws stripes in power maze, as Saigon falls several times (Dong and Thi fled to Cambodia, while Diem excoriated the United States for a perceived lack of support), like helicopter ditched in provocative sea. android is futuristic, thank Star Trek plantation. a sentence sticks to rules, buoys upon cold sea and the facts thereof. we read of things, hear more, add something called data. Data, the android, was powerful message of how you can stick in the mud. mud is at bottom, where the sunk chopper settled. it no longer chops but creates a place of rest. not really. a poem wants all that entailed, then data for the margins. thus Star Trek, a winning combination of actions and reactions. we learned today helicopter. period.

Jennifer Aniston was a flattened pungency but okay, Donnie Most had flowers. flowers bend to truckle and tone, which damns sentiment and wings fieldstones towards nascent spurge. ranuculus (meanwhile) spoil for a fight, which will include the diametric repetition of Jennifer Aniston walking down the red carpet towards the certainty of slagheap. no other prediction fits the tomb so well. jonquils fritter away in snow, then undulate, and we all go sex bomb. forests are deprived, like normal children, and the wind from moose-ridden Maine collects in bad breath. the world stinks, because it breathes. knowledge base, however, smells like teen spurt, but without the market share. Donnie Most is a heroic dimension of inquiry, fan-based, and a free iPod in the middle. sentences are archaic, like attachment. Saturn is festively ringed by dust and shit, but the tonal message still seems opulent. we will want to collect in Afghanistan and fix up a world. a poem is posh. it wants to be treacl...

Captain Element, on the beam of star front, sector-embarrassed, realizing the next day, poses before the gas giant Jupiter. work day approaches with radiance of spring in positioned sky frame. words prove diligent. rocket is assertion, black territory of thinking aloud. we will 'make it', says Captain Element at the helm. the word helm begets the ancients, their long ships bending over the horizon. those pitiable sorts hugged Jennifer Aniston, proven dust. stasis provokes stasis in the mind's eye. Captain Element sees thru space and time, what could only be scented as reward. a poem culminates in a truck thru history. each word is on edge. Troy again has no chance, just like yesterday. even so, a status-crazy asteroid plummets by without a thought. Diomedes strikes a god or two, for which no battering ram except the exacting truck of day. reason fluctuates and popular music seems like Jennifer Aniston's hair. Captain Element says, Remember when we invaded, then laughs, ...

Spare the distance of condition. We are full of resumption as we press the text into fields of historic presentation. Words are not random but constant. I was ready, you see, to step from the mountain. Yeti, as creature, was already gone. Others as well had left. Excellent English remained as companion, and we let ourselves move. Pressure is constant. Villages here and there, the moan of hurdy gurdies, oddly sudden, and a brisk ukulele strummed intensely for moments, and we see landscape. We walk on. On went Long Knives, a spot in history, as time resolves in actions, which are tolled. This strange society explained action as war. War seeped from caves and holes, over places where people stop. People stop suddenly. We hear music lose and fly. This is a strange escapade that we can only inhale with the hard breath we need. The world is hardened for us. Excellent English and I feel ready. Everest is such a temporary mass, a few more chunks of agelessness will lose it completely. But we w...

Poetics was a child stuck in the mountains. Cool, river waters ran downward, from the frozen to the liquid, to the provenance of use. Each word enflamed on the mountainside was read with equivocation, the vocation of equality. Certitude reads a passage, presents assertions, melts slowly with factoids. This is what we learned: The wind was furtherance as Long Knives, under aegis of Clark, march thru water up to their chins. Everyone ‘made it’, except that life extends beyond triumph, and the draining is inscribed. Clark’s brother, William, stayed focused, hung on. Lewis, remember him, made a quick dispatch (what story do we hold to?). Now we read of history, it has children. Poetics children ride thru clouds with express purpose. Nightingales, butterflies, boiling hells that Blake and Dante concocted survive for a preamble after which sulking presides. This refers gently to tomes and wet nurses. Sighs engendered noble closeness. How did the poem stick to the words that were laid out i...