Simple Theories

Sometimes, words in a stadium. Sometimes left wants right in a pressure situation. You poets know what I mean. A piano ascends the gracious leavening of human oh what the fuck. A guitar can do the same smart-alecky. Which town do you wonder? Ambient flakes of creativity flutter like impulsive dynamo abreast human level. Explain Donald Trump, plain vireo. You are virginal, with conceit. You have seen nothing virtuously. Donald Trump arouses the sentient stone. The stone says, “Stone”, “a” Mutter makes cream of wheat like a livelier nation.

Listen to silver or something molten in the clouds. Direct heat wins minutes, you are able. We haven’t left this minute yet, but plans and slight conjunction thing. The best thing of people, really, and you spin. We have this climate, and it’s in time. It reels further letters, from a batch, a field, a lot of other time. It doesn’t matter if you say you say. Today’s a branch of glass. Donald Trump invented pantsuits smiled and carking, why for sluggards. Sorts of bread and teasing dishes serve with prone. Alive the crop of hairy endive, the Donald Trump as pointed time.

above a river of Republican armies culled Democrats, above trees known for deem imprecisely, above gull known as water, safety known as cloud, path known as sad, then watch, of loose and stunted language, you, you have been a lax farm, like me, like the period between geese, like the egret as a time, like saying each poem concludes a community, but then reading goes straw, and maybe maybe reeds drinking smelly water, listen, free verse, Donald tromp

The bass player in the middle of direction. Time passed filing date, a logic sent from when words were. It isn’t easy. A sentence has flowers for approval, late in the rhythm of only a poem. You want the people whole. Whole is the heaven of inside. Words as a direct sort of godthing, laden not prepared. We aren’t the nation of knowing, now or today or the last thing left. We have to tax and look around corners. Well. This plain where the dogs and cats adjust to no dogs and cats. Specious remark left for the space between us. Donald all trump, you are the gorgeous loss lit finding not a pasture fit for approval. The sun was blue.

because abbreviations realize after all, and the token within the mere asking constitutes an emotional response, and death is a nightly thing, and verbs seem preposterous when placed near nouns, and the fact is, and the day seems lovely for the grey clouds not against them, and the heat wave allows electric, and anyone can surmise, and Donald has a friend over there, and then we watch a plum.

Ignite was a language when we, trees. The time in the way of being in the time near time when we could be, that was nearly timeless. We could say anything and a crowd or almost and some agreed, we were for fighting or fitting. Each word remained in the time or until. We sent messages or reminded ourselves that messages were peering. And the days of delivery, those august days that were or were not really, over the coastal plains and into the fat bring landscape, we heard mountains once. We had time for nothing but nothing had time for us. So the language, in conspiring sentence of logic, albeit logic grew that moist and flowing, like something meaning nothing more. Later anger became present anger, yesterday’s sad brush painted something today. No guns were reported to have spoken. We didn’t have time, much as time liked us.

The rigid insane mean something. Dumps sweep cantons. Language has no possible sky in the mean mental man of woman, woman of man. A sentence prolongs the state. We are eerie. Remember the back of the room? The course extends thru tidal indifference. Deep space—we talk about it—is a question. Language is the closest to almost anything. Remember how a leg feels. The dead seem superfluous, but that cannot hold space. Space needs plenty. My aide-de-camp did fall.