Simple Theories

I know the inevitable controls the docket. I know this docket travels parsing. Freedom is the lapse of effects of Pat Robertson on Haiti while trouble is his gown. I know the gown that Pat Robertson wears. He wears the seeming and the dress. He wanders the Haiti that he was told. He is angry in a nonce, a pity to see. A real person laughs because Pat is a sap characterized by impairment of the ability to form normal social relationships, by impairment of the ability to communicate with others, and by stereotyped behavior patterns. He is the god of Haiti, but he is still a sap. He is a laughing reference to what’s wrong with chairs, but he is still a sap. His remains are a laughing reference to what falls downhill, a gown worth falling for. He falls downhill in Haiti, where bedsheets survive the excellence that will not control him. His zombie is a blessing, such a gift of words. He does not get it, those social cues that are strong as wheat. He is a winter parted down the middle. He is...

Not the commercial but a blend of reason and world. Pastures creak with essence of not that time but nearing. A sweep of increment shows blasts of sentiment, clocks darkened with cattle fury, grasses bent to Halloween. The snows defer or someday. We read a passage. There is a word for gumption: that word is gumption .

On our anniversary, many years include. A sighting of many indications past a door or window settles in our view. Muting single adjectives for the fine sentence that says certain words on a bridge, we mark the day. The day invites a child and casts a doubt on doubt itself. This is a strange winter place to start a light action, yet the passing river is advice, dancing pigeons are advice, and words are where we meet. Not the only place, and not the only diction, but we take the touches as they come. Process is mutation, or something like that. We will murmur along the route of feeling, in the snow of feeling, in the field of feeling, in feeling all its own. Human as trek and water and will and when, we are transitory, maybe, but not at this moment. We stay true, in our odd imperial ways, to the slanting deference of our unapology.

West Virginia with a wind nettled by nitrogen caused crying in little bays. Our people all called on, and later on. The drift of trees with all enclosure asserts the breathtaking and come back. Stains are prose dependents of the moment. Even as we meet we tend to bending winds and which of the rivers overflowing. That wild Walt Whitman whipped slaves with his cultural tag, but dash with the symptoms. We asked a lot of him. Still, the nerve of West Virginia starts a revolving nature. It started a hind as it was loose in the gloom of green. The mines were political mayhem in gross venue. We took that test as provocation. Now, seasons are startling. A coast of music makes us. We effort the strands of capture wood. A mountain blows up, skirl of bagpipe oxygen. And wet nurse the factotum, little wonder ball in. Square flatness plucks banjo remains. Adjacency ropes the winded monarch, and Boston is the west part of the final east. No ease but bugging the factory with hidden agency. Clocks of...

The town is filed and prairie. A diamond culled from our fence receives this victim: a chill in time. We stayed with our logic and felt lines. We searched. Close ingots plopped to mellow refrain. Wet earth asserts a sentiment and week, wild factoid omelet. This love of fineness, our love in fineness, stretches across the dirt path to fill welcoming forest. A poem, there, met with a reading eye. We light, perched as dew on leaf or snow when the wind is middle. Thus the plan and wings over volcanic stretches constitutes unique take and given time. Saints flicker in preparation.

Obama of the American rocks sailed into Ocean. He carried forward oil, unmanaged care, and causal alphabets that filled reproach with American style. Ardent as backtalk, streams were funded by elect and elite, which just says more goes on than a vast dot in the sky can include. Afghanistan was a place of exclamation, Iraq a fold of linen, then where and what? Clear fragrance and details wrought from exclusionary tactics, and impressed us. Working on principles and drying in the sun, Obama cleared the stage for more release. Guantanamo was a house organ for spurious plants. Palin was doctored for underground sewage reports. McCain caulked the leaks with lettuce. Pirates stood askance on the provoking shoreline, Democrats were crunched by berries, Republicans sloped for reasonable clog. We saw weird twisters on the plains, Bibles made of caustics, choices roiled with implied aperture. People, stand for the word inside. We have haze over haze, charging to condition, inveighing against ice...

A lake of Asperger where the words. Words are not flak jackets or cornets , said time to go. Asperger water is a drink until. Rain of reason stays open for time till winter. Winter is arrow after dark, across the sky that Orion stays. A lake of Asperger water waters ideas and then. Then is plain. Plain reminds us of falling into a point like a wee star in all that sky. After a word or forgetting, the poem is imagined, but only in time. Then starts and tears, like fierce amber held for time. Time is the water after all dryness. Asperger tastes like endless pools. Pools forget. Sentiment reminds Asperger’s water of afterimage. Chants reciprocate. A cauldron boils with onset membrane. Status remarks asseverate a benign condition exacted on water by Asperger. Our friends are water, said Asperger.