Simple Theories

Children are real and totally free Children are virid and explaining a lot Children arrive and colours are children Children become perspective useful like steam Children say they cannot die like children but they are children The complex of words in the field comply with the strict leisure language Children with the ‘i’ dotted embark on the Journey  You can fill the children with journeys but you cannot fill children Classes of children are good enough  Fog takes its own

he thinks like a baking sheet fluffing fresh creamery prog to pre sent fax and farm re ports to center Jared head the beans of which foster excremental intention for auto cratic porch refraction directing any di rection useful to the bone of his head important

our low ducks make your more easier electric pelican framing hasp toggle switch dongle in reference to beneficence fight colluding highlights of colloidal unction in the name of Jared just plain Jared

Jared my   turd the   world’s toe   jam scuppers    the flee   cing wallow   wing bombast   vacuum   bubble bound    ary only   heroes  wet   their pants    the right way   went to work   for a pox    calypso slug   margin of   dirt frothing   East is left   and nothing   much  

tenderness is far too the relics turn and turn like chords but broken in winning crime laces of singular assault shout your name the ridges on a mountainside and the little govern mental vapours form a spacious nothing of intimate loss assume that you can you can

Rubrics add leavening agents with effortless vending. Solid food reeks of hesitation. To maximize the anvil, one must radiate the involved attention of a house sparrow. In practice, words become choppy. You’ve got to let them firmly inveigh. If there is no time for that, just sit by a table. Trees include all manner of title. Vases of green create imaginative panoply. Opulence is the next step. Yeast will provide influx and output.Then the words to the statue will begin.

I cannot help writing great poetry. Poems push thru me like words on a rocket. My vocabulary includes bits of mica and the best selenium. Ardent strips of baked whammy propulse the poems into conscious clinging. Bacon becomes the bastion of my prepositional phrases. Freshets of outstanding congruence exceed the ice packs of expectation. I can control nothing but the dismal swamp of verbs flown for first. If elastic were a pronoun, my poems would learn to cook. If plantains could talk they would they would ask me to replace the exchequer. All arches include victory, even in the vise of my greatest clam bake. I cannot help the exult except to twinge on the porch. Earwigs seethe for the vantage of my insular bray. Cost projections do not doubt my cascade. Soon my next book will endure. You can order online.