Simple Theories

  crammed, as a freshet flung over walls, inside, in a bout with just a language of matter and time sense, war pipes in the air, surrounding moment and the most to know at one time ( simple math ) : Sordello explains that they have come to guard

  Dante rover quick / the icky shades of hell post triumph in the end.  the end is flashy and seems big mention fruitful as an endeavor.  all things the world loves, big meaty roles in their world place.  Dante has Charles Martel quote the first verse.  Dante closed in Hell. a performance peace. said to arrive at. Virgil strikes a pose in the varying light. and Dante says to himself.  Dante has Charles Martel quote the first verse.

  We were told by Ezra Pound that we were told by Ezra Pound. A net appears and fish swim to capture. That much of love inspires and instills a constancy to process. The fish will go away as simple lifesparks but the observer becomes practical in need and almost (slowly) in interest. Poetry survives the crisis of being poetry when crisis becomes sanitary and gobsmacked with unbecoming and strickened advance towards goals of favour, clangour, or simple mulch. How tall was Pound at midday or later then? A cess and a say, boiled together with Martian spoke weird staring at you the consequence. Anyway. Why would poetry be important? Moreso: why would important be poetry? He leaves the wet leaves behind while readers bend in every way.

  As a simple sack, Ezra Pound, poet grandee in the turbulence, would carry on. His friends and doormats knew whereupon he stood. And he wasn’t always complete, wrong or otherwise. Some freshets smell like tuckered, specifically instruments with which tucks are made. The merest tuck, in the fabric, becomes a given. If taken, the cheerless will survive with logopoeia as operating system, glossary. flourish, sublime and gross nature. Pound heroically bound up and out, requiring adjustment and more reading, even some of the words. Words stayed crooked, fusty, bleary while also rated rational. No more maundering stars unless settled upon. This simple wanting sack in time for outermost scuttle but absolutely like pure. Personal oblivion counts for zero but zero itself scores as new excitement. So glad that words were there to be there, for the sack of everything held dear.

  one day you will always be there one day the mothers of and patron saints some days never suffice and would not want to You will notice Alexander massing troops to an intuitive purpose. Don’t read the entire book. Purchase colours the rough stones called words. The same walls rise to verse or believable grand city states or next best. Say the pure war elephants clump upon the ground sounding murderous and burdened. Guilt joins residence. This recalls today and the ambush of strong former positions and squeezed forward. Weak engines understand the strife, the complete peeling, smoke of everything. Cloth from Madras or Dungaree (Hindi  dũgrī  & Urdu  dungrī ) marks working tempest and blind contribution. The public in all stays standing. This bleeding makes rhymes and border crossings. A poem can go so far.  Macedonian or Persian moonlight.

  Michel de Montaigne (established 1533) spoke to the wood of his desk (le mot "desk" en Français se traduit par "bureau") because structure depends on craziness as a basic element  Sun (a satchel) produces reflection of sun and sum  all that remains here just will appear  boring poems make anatomy lessons   

  Rimbaud moved past Elysium to the third floor. He considered Michel de Montaigne’s beard a complete waste of time. New World jungle Rimbaud flicked a gesture of unresistence, promulgated by the surety of bad habits. Pressing words forward like tribes, and therefore filtering, Montaigne sits at his desk. He holds a pen, minutes screw tighter, ideas in words spring. Rimbaud settles to this thought, his head in one place and not elsewhere. A picture of Rimbaud looks like an evasive clock.