Simple Theories

About the communal family and the first leg of the world. This world, thank you for inquiry. Begin sentence. The communal family has a leg. It strides. Forward is best, crawling with the blank satire of nation. The step is a quixotic have to read the novel implementation. I vow, etc. The world, noisily, and so forth. Legions of letters forming words that name names: they establish a requisite of communication. Communication resolves into the story of spats. Spats were integral to those who wore boots that someone else cleaned. Thus to communicate is to expect clean boots, despite the froth of current imaginary warfare. We rely on forming opinions, because, Sage Voice, opinions insure despite. You own a town and now the days darken under the spell of your laundry. Period. Next expectation.

Are you kidding? The woods are green like shale! Easements of petroleum guide the nation of interest. Bees remain in the winged category. And all this is yours, Chosen One. You who clearly, and smoke with a gun. We must remind vegetation of the effects of torpour. Worlds spin for a reason, and reasons commit tone. Tone is the bottom of pot, and the fire is hot. Waxing ecstatic causes figurative language. Ecstatic wax is a pronoun. Most pronouns are personal. The woods remind us of oxygen. Oxygen is a classic altitude in a scientific function. When we breathe, certain offers from partner companies inspire us with intent. Today smells like lilies. Something bad happened, or something good could happen. An imaginary tender of these gardens must be told!

These nations of interest resist human compunction. It is up to us to colour the hedges green. The path is ready for squirrels. A sabre-toothed feline writes a labour of isolation into the words called history. It matters that beavers get wet. Lightning rises from the earth to kiss particular clouds, in parts of the world, at such and such times. Meadows wake up mown. Arrivistes satisfy their heads with naturally long sentences. In brief, these sentences survey the landscape and calculate past drama. Those of us who stayed, who were, remind ourselves with flocks. Butterflies match leaves with wind. A patent contained in a poem restructures the neural patterns of complacency. Geese startle in the sun, robins signal to moonshine, verbs become wetlands.

Minerals in the outer stage, finding flowers. The least flower is the most colour, ending in words. Beginning in words along a path, with flowers and ticks and every spree of oak. Seizing in the instant the perplexity of instants. Rain was relaxed and falling, only the night before. Tufts of birds and snakes and gear arrive, memory with a kind sentence or two. We read all the letters, and back and forth. A motorcycle in the invented distance. A turkey trots with purpose. You have the colour of heaven when you walk in the sun. We are the name for recounting. There is no heaven without Kim Kardashian and the feathery flight of birds. There is no heaven without you.

Grey clouds startled bending templates, and the words change to tempo imprimatur. There is no rain in the cool unbinding. Worlds constitute a legally binding miasma, sentiment stands for state. The elegiac underwear of Sarah Palin and Rush Limbaugh, with a sordid wheel of cheese prompts inquest, request, and bonus. The year includes days, fading for a rent. You used to own Lakota property, I had the unction of Abenaki. This historical thrill brought home the exacting disease, which would later be sold to Jimmy Page, who asked his guitar. The years total for gain, sliding toward proxy.

Dear Fellow Enacting Heroes, When you contemplate and assess my work, what greatness do you see first? When an adjective changes,do you yourself become embellished? In the course of a rollicking sentence then surprise then a disjunction took you elsewhere, are roses coming soon? You've seen the neat exactitude of daffodils in merely saying a noun has wings. I pride myself on this aspiration. Do you see the willing verb even as you wonder at it? All these elements bear the impress of torsion. Words turn, making sentences turn, making poetry turn. You see this, of course. A rectangle is one known fact of a circle, just as circles make sentences in years of discussion. We all know the political pile of words left behind to cheat us. We voted for that protection ourselves. When the first little bomb exploded, too many chose to hide in a national debate called Cozy, Fine, & Let's Pretend. Let us boldly say we can change chatter. In coming years, each word will not be tuned but...

A piano remained when everybody died. The piano was named Karl as a spoof on frequency. Its tone provoked a resonance, and everyone talked with verbs, nouns and the like. The nation's imagination threw a bolt of what is your favourite flavour into the air of chance. We decided we were coloured transistors from the planet Diagram. North is a point to discuss, as is South. The piano we remember was a spot in a sentence. The sentence meant to provide an action, and colour it with adjectives. No one expected the piano to remain aloof: It was friday, the living was fine. While the program constitutes a nation, we stop mid sentence. There could be a change, like spirit in a desk. We're told so many things. The spectacle requires a mask.