Simple Theories

Granite turned into model idol. The kids who die young improve road construction. This is a test. We are scheduled to debate we are scheduled. Some kids, after all, must be the blanket statement. We are tunes to create the common tone. Or if rain is a habit, in conjunction with explaining doorways and in media res , what lasts thru the misery of incompetent sentences will probably provoke. Your guess is good. Some people, and their words, tho, gangplanks. The truism of yesterday, gilded, slope. A preference for some words gainsays all words. Yet if a sentence still had human qualities, like a bear its hibernation, what of the warm breeze on this fog of night? Surround pity with something green and gaining. You have the word for it.

Starting into you, your Republic, along river and then. Along erosive becomes the fashion of emptying. The viable flight of protein turns old in the gut reaction where each word parlays something slid underneath the door. At river quietly, in terms of trash or a monkey in India, stating something in the state. Longueurs exchange includes information about history, franchises, competitions, directions, contact details and schedules. All wrapped in rivers along the way.

How the lights, the wicked general lights, flicker in the guess of a word. The implication of a sentence lists to the side of a word, or many. The light then causes off the trail playing to the tune. Lights bring calling, sorting, reaching, toning. The wicked lights offer ants in spring. The wicked lights long before, then Floreo , played to instill emotion.

The sentence in Christmas became an exacting tempo, but we can slur the words. A patient interest fills the pasture where the cows renew their flesh for us. We are animals, concerned with tickets to heaven. We need a few words and at least one complete sentence. That just measures balance for the human express. If the sentence says Christmas is victory, then well will the snow fly. It will cover. It will win. No victory is human. We are gestures of the fact, then of the sentence speaking of the fact. The fact does not include the central jolly elf, who is registered in far too many waning victories. Neither can a single fact bear the truckle of reminding heaven of our hell. We have to shovel walkways with whimsy, if the bleak coal day that tonight makes clear continues in reference to how our heart feels. We make tired trails to pant suits, leisure suits, something something suits of premium meet our cause. Folk sing of something. The thing is immaterial, but singing says s...

The easy tree eventually travels to swan. The meantime of swan pours for water's reserve. Champions swill the peso. In these days of no days, the great microphone. It cannot repair aqueducts, this same day delivery. Portals open. A nervy abundance requires a formed foundation. Meaning seeps in. You cannot stay in the garage.

Ten words with a strong violation of practical sense render now possible old teeming when the sentence goes loosened goose. A flock of even more than marvel flips the sky for a profile dalliance. A flock of words, counting to ten, and then a sentence makes a parade. We write poems in our dreams. Our dreams read poems and a flock. As words soon prepare more words, and a poem is only when a crow could stop action, then it has to be Christmas, just to make sense of winter. Now the practice renders a standard and picture. We have poems to bring to neighbours. We sit by the door.

Stop being Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, and cope with this blog full of suppressed feelings and semi motivational Pseudoclassical Tragifarce in a Bastard French Tradition. I'm a huge Yankees fan living in Boston.