Simple Theories

Dear Assabet, the river that meets the Sudbury and floods the Concord. Dear river, you have moved something. You are not a regional rocket landing for the sake of what explodes density tribunal once. River goes out a spurt of earth to go some earthy miles in an active geology. Then the way water goes down, a religion of just that way. No guns and that famous spew right now. Paris is a town to the right of what we have mapped here. Assabet wants to be just Concord, you can hold your own. Own is the favoured stance. Poems are wormy things to dignify the vast whatsis of arrangement. Words. Words are tomorrow because today says something says something. We have to lie sometimes. Add that to nothing and nothing wants more meat. A poem become instant. An instant can handle the track, Aegean waves from after years star meaning moment. Meaning enters work, telling story, fractal. You are a useless reference.

The wind appropriate to the next word to say. The wind after some time. The place where from the wind starts begins more wind. The town in the recent wind seems frail. This is the town line. The known wind returns favour of wind. The wind brings word. The town opens each word. Along the daily river, a wind conditions the day. Any day with wind becomes a place. A town is any place, and with words. A river goes as it goes. Each word of wind arrives again, as town. Town is a little pall, worded thus.

The Canadians, avec joie (a kind of joy), survey the field of pommes de terres. The vrai pomme, true apple to its specfic tree, sends diminishing chlorofyl to the honest aether of sky on and on. The native earth (American or otherwise) escorts dilations of political hope and indeed exact words to a place of people and things, even into the evening light. People think things in this light. As soon as the flood receded, tout le monde described kings and queens and sweet oligarchs to their breathless journals. Words were invented forever. Les Am é ricains , sufferable for blemish and actionable taint, decide to blunt the scorn-filled trumpet. Allons enfants , the tractor bites the rickshaw. The brackish waters of clout resume majesty. Donald Trump has an asshole in his head. He is an homme, tant pis, and always will be. What wind, then, across the waters of trust now? Nous sommes arriv é es in the sanction of matter as mendicant purpose. Un livre inve...

Whole Foods @popular, or @wholly_fooled_downturn. Would you like a resistant kumquat? (Nightly military raids). The day after town stuffed in tin. You were regal, halftime. We pronounced a moratorium, a brand name for hygienic reaction. THEY were surreal, finding awesome in the packaged naan. Trending Vietnam, Elysium Fields, nirvana. Like the ekstatic over/under of could KEITH MOON (dead item) promulgate. It could only place language in poem. Your step to poem now.

Iran tests long-range report. Shiites in Iraq cheer. This dongle brings bombings at peace rally. Rally Shiites in Iraq cheer. Iran tests long range Xbox. Xbox follow Iraq cheer.

In an elabourate fixture of clouds, softer than comparison, the instant and a child combine for space in the garden. The clouds conclude a typical season, with capital sentences and the best assay. Leaves glow, needing to be remarkable. Inside, the doorway creaks and yet the breeze conduces a shaft of sunlight thru memory and into the tender arms. You can remember that tidal day as well as any. The garden does not resist. Symbols resort to words when we are backed in. Menial shouting stamps the ground. This is not a simple book to read but an oceanic rising in the trees. Our together means the most.

Significant letters fit names and actions, understood like the gelling wind today. Today stamps a cold impact on results, prided by news headlines. Pencils invent leery speeches. We aren't the perfection of doubt any more, as right as we can be. We read more into nothing than pragmatic witness controls. A violet hastens to be, a fleck of grass likewise. The saying goes but the minute has peaked. The cause of intention is panting.