Simple Theories

Hobos relinquish as ditches. Times change, bears die offensively, and ditches remain. The human potentate decrees that time slices things. Not for us even, but news of Republicans. A course of action settles the ditch. The ditch frequents surveys of pain, but does not count. We are poured into tight situations, the special concrete of our vision, and peddle biological remorse. As homeless as a door folded into coinciding planes until the offering of one sluggish being seems enough for the taxable porch. Speed endures, ponds space out, books dilate, frogs frequent maps, and hobos dock in the dark while raining scores rock. Indent your every paragraph, in the proud excuse for position.

This morning, the legs of Jimmy Page lift three inches into the air. The air itself reminds us that water left our tears alone. Seas became a virtue of cessation, if we were so lucky. Cessation is the spot-on word for what Fu Manchu in his novelistic approach sought for perchance. Jimmy Page now delivers a proper escalator to the next floor. This is the definition of some year on record. People were people back then, not memories or assertions. The Mamas and the Papas were invited to be terrific. They were rented, but the imprint remained. We will have to ask later, when later arrives. Hours later, in monstrance, the scope assumes that Jimmy Page must have risen 2 more inches. Five inches of certifiable altitude in a world that denies the nearest mountain. Jimmy Page scoffs at alliteration, he can make any noise possible. Hijackers felt distraught (historical note) at the ambiguous idea of liberty. Does that mean chocolate sauce? And how much exactly, prosecutor of exactly this v...

Creation limps to see the sea. It’s a lot of trouble. Verbs work, okay, and nouns mean something solid. Then adjective colours the spaces between and around solid. Adverbs declaim the speed, tho our presidential discoveries may not know this. I heard a preposition once, going towards, I think (a tree was involved). In Lowell, Massachusetts, literary punctuation mark, and historical byway, there were attempts at language. Mainly some factories, a river, and canals. We hear these instant things, furrows of effort, and Charles Ives looks at Aaron Copland. Less saturated is the sentence, when you carefully place the period at the end. The end must be indicated because ideas are formal institutions. Like slavery, and stuttering function of the griping class. Creation begins to see paragraphs, rewards of effort. Stanzas are paragraphs, make no mistake, just as the moon circles aimlessly while clouds obscure the facts. In Lowell, steeples fulfill the promise of skyline for a while. The tenor ...

Fancy that the Concord River spreads a milling water thru the trees and now and then, increasing worthwhile shoes. The strategy of the Shawsheen embellishes small flood plains where people stiffen. Further west, remember, the Sudbury and the Assabet flirt with numbers then meet the Concord. The Concord, turned north for pleasure and empowered by the will of cycled response, finds the Merrimack and willing. The sea could be the only rejoinder. In other ways the land stores human production and beginning. The mills of Lowell make great possible planets for aliens. Original awesome works down to abrupt stoppage, like union dues, only spoiling for fight. A folk song of three verses will contain everything needed to expel that mendicancy. Trees start with oak, then diversify to apple. Oranges are unheard of, palms repeat blurry phrases about time. Maples testify rashly, like we care. Everything else is contained in something else. Fox stay back, coyote feed. That porcupine you met is ...

In these days of buckets, victims of haze process religion and other. Dates reveal other dates, confounded by duplicates and fidget. Reasoning supplies iffy contours on the well-brewed and inviting map. Why are the positions on this map coloured orange? This is your season, taxpayer, make the rules . Then rustle of papers, or cattle, and object becomes abject. What were the times doing to the endless stream of positions remaining? Strategies and pork . Now gum on the shoes, called Libya, becomes one more new long training session. We were expecting John Berryman to rise from the floor once more.

Feeling definite? The family sloop, towards inhaling horizon. Testament strikes bandwidth along definitions of protocol. Moonbeams are reaction. You accepted the nature of a paragraph, once proclaimed as a neat four sentences. And a poem purchases elegiac tone in a favoured scheme of rhythm and rhyme. Then Led Zeppelin formed a pill, radiant as an ampersand. Rocks thrown on baby wish, pieces of the last guitar, nuclear fright.

A reward in simple testament secures a veiny process. Streets fill with the essence of people. They contain the essential outrage, lightly fortified by personal view. Did they know that Hitler survives in history books? Common knowledge, like the birth of kites in paper and string heaven. Some mansion that could be! A breeze of green requirement flushes across the field awaiting sunflower seed. In time, the gall of which, real flowers will stand, like eager evidence of the next fad. Trial and error makes the new warder. Error snips alternate routes. You are my President, Mister or Ms Whosis.