Simple Theories

Something stops the rain, the train itself. Latter Day Sentences speak, canting right or left. Fundament pool in the middle of nothing. Sentence time reflects noun in passage. Exact word a dream. Next word brings next word, repeat. Doable framework of persistence against which undoable framework of persistence. Full version versus less full version. Ability to react to ability to react. Next time, first time. The last work comes again. Everyone said so, and so it was.

Purple in the nation term, rain evens out, to find lost wooden leg. Rock from somewhere forgets point. Point showed where low town left to lie. We have ours in ours in all hours ours. It becomes the town as the town becomes the way. Kids got nothing finer than reproach. Here again. Heathen seeks a prose style. Dance a possible arrangement in figures of elevation. These seasons of all that the finest in little word, a child of thinking what the world. Even world as a cage or a triumph sits and lets the heavy on. There is no— All meaning in the low town left to lie. We have ours in ours in all house ours. It becomes the town as the town got nothing finer here again. Heathen seeks a prose style. Dance a possible arrangement in figures of elevation, these seasons of all that !!br0ken!!

Epilogue : we’re not in the same town. (populace weight) Preface , what’s to be done? (calamity morsel) Chapter , kids do darn things in sight of adult experts. (optimal energy) Section , who is this one here, remains. (clean up work) Critique , what are the oranges doing in the apple bowl? (breathless exercise)

A savory meme-chose of umbilical receiverships. Lucid plainsong by river edge or more space. Words are limited to the religion they speak. Ensemble palimpsest vertical tic, Given the fresh.

Words carried over to the next sentence, in terms of first sentence, but impeded by following words. To the extent , says the finite snow one day. The president’s Twitter account as been hacked and the berries of wisdom scattered. No one knows a period, only commas,

Perfect town, your heroes call the animals. Pass the colour bridge, finality ring. The verse of sky contains an age of winding still. Peace on, Earth. New river in the trying times. We haven’t the language to prove anything.

Hello Emily Dickinson, The tire iron spoke like the wheel it meant to remove. You have a way with language, going back to words and how they are words, most of the time. They are not tried and in control, they are spurs off the broken, lately, seems like, tracking westward with a rush. The tire speaks of wounded roads, people who are people in roads, and sometimes. The tire iron works in the background as the foreground. Emily, we get it. Our president select is a safe house for transportation models that encumber the old gravity. New gravity, the boundless fields of exploitable gone, redeems in fervid fashion. Assonance assists, like any sound in the dark or light. The situation turns into a situation, some place looks okay for now. We have waited for the least word, and got it. Emily, two butterflies disappeared.