Simple Theories

This is the time when the way of the leaf. The thing of turning, in a tree lifetime and with words, works for better days and this is just to stay. Kind regards and never leave. Or if you leave, be in forever ever. Or if the trees lose leaves, let the sunlight hold the tree. The tree will instant, all in good time. All time, all good, all tree. And if singing is a guide or poems made of marsh, then let the sound of filling fill. A moment is grand to taste. We have to be as we have. These trees are singular and moment. A hand is made to hold.

Miss you and the words. Claims fall in nettle bunch. Colours remain strive. A patch of alternate quick frequent bowing sternly fixes redolent patch. A period powers on. A stanza decides a breath. People include enumeration. Glad tidings when all the baseball teams win. This present is now now. Now the igloo now. A poem and anyway. We write our words and words of others. The present becomes a stag or feeling in the glare of headlight. A town precedes a sense of misery. We vote with our conscience not our conscious. A clicking sound, like a whale sound. Under- neath is a brimful of a whale in a moment, breath. We think we know. No, we think we. Today is a debatable day.

The person excited by the tree, relent. The person excited by the number of the tree, reunion. The person in the center of the wonder of the tree, hinting plane. Tree is a lane and pasture with thorough openness towards words. Each word in the lane of tree and pasture hastens to the point of saying the world. The world is the excited, the person, the tree. Your friends say time is an envelope.

The history of day is a poem itself. It tells the house to enfold and embrace. The topic sits with power merge with function clock. To be a person in the light, landing in the sense of land, includes the hand that says it hands. This is the thing, if love could attain, all along linking piecemeal. It can, and has all the time. All the time, that brusque moment. To embrace the house as love fills it, that's why we have hands. A time intended, and tended, with a well, out back: these are running statements, you and me. With arbours and bee hives and visual trees: an orchard for the time, and the bees: exactly all the bees in their nature. A deer is an envy. “Greensleeves” edifies. A pond is a planet. People hold hands, truly. A hand is a vast continent, and a love is still waters. The day is the history of Monday, or fall, or mostly sunny (until night). Night is the prime nature of when night as a feature, in terms of light as the caldron of when light could be by, fulfills a dar...

How are forces in Nairobi? I mean, how are forces, and in Nairobi? Nairobi is precinct or jail, something collective. I mean of the stutter, really, forces in time. The time when there was a Nairobi, just that time and a mall. Mall is a hug of convention, with stores. In that convention, and among stores, there was time. Time meant time, but where does dying killed mean mall? Really. Are you Time in a go ahead streak across the letters that mean something? Forces in Nairobi are forces here anywhere. Where did you, Time, get forces? Where is time, tho yes you are there Time, in time. But if you were not in time, and Nairobi saw forces, how would Time feel the time? If you are hungry, time. If you are forces, time. If you in the freebooting Conan the Barbarian toothpaste delight bring tea in time, and you can register, welcome. When time is an extraction, with forces actually in Nairobi, and a town in Massachusetts has a name Billerica, wily patrons of explaining sound the depths o...

In the a town of when you reach for a pen, white hart in standing light. This is an elevation of back from Syria with a report. The people are tunesmith, we all tell Ryan Seaacest. He is a field of amplitude, stomping on predicate. Sentences seem swans and sad. Loose marble crackpot radiations invoke Ozymandias. He was Yul Brynner, starred in The Sound and the Fury , for television popular. Meanwhile, grades for cast lines into streams yclept launching poem. People are proud, and rhyme.

Pope Praxis in the trees surround