Simple Theories

  Intent aliases, also known as American storax, hazel pine, bilsted, redgum, satin-walnut, star-leaved gum, alligatorwood, or simply. Eminent cheerfulness exuded in sticky symmetry. You have been known to see yellow thru long life moments as well as death in the falling. Anything can be graceful and alight. Chance the scowl of winter in your mind but remember whole moments or just breezes among the leaves. Seasonal panegyric abuse fells trees and folds skies into harsh, heavy mattresses without relent. A turtle will choose to vacate this premise. Forget the furious entropy you were born with. A nation of towns processes secure documents but no readership revives. Leaves that look like stars will almost be science as you see their gathered litter on the ground. Death is just for practice: sweet gum startles in time.

  A few words in the landscape, planting familiarity. Iffy franchise correlating water in freshets with flawed bounty. Sometimes the engagement falters. If not feathered with fishes, the stream may perchance effect under-radicalized situational landscape. A beaver might start something with earnest application. Progress heralds lack of progress by simple elongation of watery raiment. This stream can be recognized as a rivulet of spent snow or some equal upheaval in short time. A stream could just bolster the time you put your foot in, deep as exciting. Or mud reproves the docile days. Where do you stand when you seem to be standing? Fair resonance in time for the word of ever. In your time, that is, as the reminder comes to you. The stream in its station passes you by.

  Towns seem human, and almost that. Vegetative imbroglios happen in conflict for land spot but in people way. You belong to an entrail after all. The dump seemed a smart establishment after too much mindless splay of energy. But how were mountains seduced and torn? Mines were created, people will dig for anything. And it all made nothing but a register cry. Yet here the land and people see to roots. The trees teach roots and the saw says no. The circle exists too, tho, cognizing fungi bigger than your thought. The size of sky when only overhead means a place perhaps of comfort. A collision of kindness sometimes happens. Are you ready for a larger language and doubt? The town begins to mean, back to dawn to mean.

  The quicksand of the world, words holds things. Even something as shady as  things  reports a presence of language effect. It can't be helped, and pronouns don't help, either. One thing becomes another without entitlement and joining. Just words. Pronouns follow paths with distribution plans. You cannot be clear with such a horizon ahead. But each word, as described by transience, whistles with preposterous delight. Words made trees in a flash, then an animal rose. The thought rose to rise. A word blend, or compositions thereof, and a world, tho you know world by brief despatch and in between. You think things until words match. And still the world as world. Try laying down in the music call of each word. You've got to do something.

  The mechanical instance of wind, freighted for daily experience. Simply temperature gradients charging the atmosphere with utter balancing and crisscross virtue. Leaves sail, snow drifts, clouds portend. The gods, when not imaginary, seem imaginary because carrying portents. The wind has made tears, some your own, some for others. Do you remember those who died on other days, lost in the wind? They may still remember bracing flags describing specific wind as illustrative loss fit for sailing away. Away in time while space remains. You remember those that blew away, and space is never same. Your next string of gods, however, will be your best.

  Meeting fruiting structures to disperse spores, but it is more than that. Community of solving Chemical reaction in spacesuit, all the while practice. Disputable teeth of oceans sort of metaphor in the long view. Broaching wartime reactions in title of safe harbor. You can respect this synchronized morphological response, identified as instant. In time of war where war is no time, the bellowing of crisp colours makes a breeding soil for the imagining of death and the proceeds of life. Can you identify the morphology of not changing the beginning? A simple explanation of monster on doorsteps, meanwhile reactive process of the system. No better word than  slime  when freehold of community shares all venture.

  In the beginning the names called In the wilderness the words Salt Marsh, secret cranking sound of ocean saline and lift water from ground. Bird mounds and mammal input, chemical processes from friendly eternity puddle. No forgetting aching grasses to imagine. Plesiosaurs somewhere underneath as type of atypical brood, while tides.  We haven't been clear about beginning to end. End shapes up in no shape and in no time. Ladder not to the moon but towards. Venus brighter than Jupiter without trying. Trying would occult now, for the then already seen. Meanwhile Votive flabbergasted in the sense that in the morning all becomes revealed as flat town. People make hurdles with strenuous tidal sluice, an assumption of power dictated by inconsequence. Friendly slime mold congregate in implication of season for season growing now and then. Staying neutral as a masked gastropod inkling going on about land qua land, home. Breathe with gills if you can. Once a lobster always a lobster. R...