Sunday, December 25, 2005

18) Seasonal Definitely Still

I replied to that dulcet
clutter: number. it was
a sweat of light just to stop
on this day. holiness? a rich
effort in glum standing. yet
offset in the squeeze thru
sunlight, maybe direction lives.
settled in an emptying, losing
nothing by being still, and
bandages are worn as
numerous interest. we could
all remain in this statue, settling
and nervous, placing a sound
wave over the wording. each word,
then, commits a night lightened by
moon. moon gambles overt
solution. solution nestles in
stuck detail. detail is where we
live daily. daily means a ride
over closing hills. hills are strict.
strict is defined in a book. book
does no damage. damage doesn't
fire. fire wasn't always safe?
safe wears a thin mask. mask means
umpteenth. umpteenth qualifies
switching. switching concerns
sentences in fine form. form resists
definition. definiton begins again. and
after all this guff, you imagine that
the range could complete a
circuit of styled nuance, words across
the map. sure, the map exists in
obstacles, crushing heights and
stern depth charged to
our burden. can we love
over and under it all,
then? gesture the holiday.

Saturday, December 24, 2005

17) Standard Reply in Deference to

until we meet
in the Mt. Everest
cover story
the draining time
clocked in reserve
such as saying
Merry Christmas
with pouring motion
feeling strict as the
last laughing
in the dark crevasses
cols and cyms
freezing my ass off
says some pioneer
in strict emotion
strict headline
strict comportment
while serving death
but more likely
the snow will
mimic breath
installing some
measure and
reversing sad trends
just breathe just
breathe and
forget about
the days long for
longer dashes into
quiet reflections
of moon against
the freezing sky
and pictures of
sorrow made better
with cinematic virtue
all over the sighing
place of remembrance
all of which
branches to nothing
and we pour
another coffee having
survived another night

Sunday, December 18, 2005

16) training along

continual straightening the drifts our of passage, we ride somthing closer. weary thru the night, cool plane landing, a freshet of just a little moonlight. baroque in the excuse of tidings, too much season for one moment, and off we go again. to think of light as littler: so much for examples. when tired like these cards of explaining, driving the snowbound trees to the instant of distraction, we churn over the rewarded document. someone else dies on this night. this morning prepares another day. we've set beams to intention, striven to the waft of love, and meted out stakes of debate. known portions of the ever more look clearing, with moody dullness in the open field. come into this magnetic constant and settle the enquiry now. later will be too soon.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

14) Basic Find

that season, in a touch of snow on intimate morning or left at that. that singular sopping by the ice dictation, looser and romanza, a terror of just leaving behind. not just the simplicity of dying out, crossing off, slip on ice, but effort of only last language left. each animal in the age becomes another spoiling bending limping off. draping happenstance sticks to the implication of ice. a tool losing ground, a spacious part of stepping aside, and years are given back to years.

15) Boisterous in Instantly

a staunch republic existed, just to see us thru. thru out the wet of cold, the cold of dark, the dark of fear or finding, we peddled like simple monstrances. there are no simple monstrances, yet on we went. we hit the skids, said lengthy goodbyes, settled softness for the sound of snow. did this vanquish the guardians, let out the toll of word? who can see such answers, on the planet of plain and simple. no book was writen, let alone read, but that turrets are obstructed and raided to fall down. falling doesn't hurt but half imagined gestures seem to try. we almost fall and that relates our work to other places with particular years and a bond that doesn't actually die too far. express love, then, in all that work. a year can pass, slaking like a dream. this effort becomes a fund for choosing, like we can name the next immensity in time for the place of poem.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

11) stem of icy since the
freezing. still as endless
snow, as vertical snow, as horizon
snow and peace left to the
rock. slump of deploring, confused, and
dusty off of
period. the period ends a
sentence only slightly.

colours force an issue of light.

danger radiates and the feeling sternly moves the buttress of tree in the wake of morning tide.

a singular component of setting.

crap shoot chill deeper than terrible vocabulary cares. slight drop in pent up, slowed with the slow molecules, pitched top this end. a greying around the edges of words, even as the winter stops another risk. dream as sleep. trembling executes further orders. picture is a rascal.

draining as cold hint, knobbed littoral, a pining for sun. askance detracts from the very, reasoning that full on becomes a fall. we manage a minute, particle, the drawing of lens picture.

statement of a Tibet, milder tea, lost mountain wave, surety as a [political range. features smear in weathering gloom, but no one's listening. this is the fable of share.

winter isn't endable.

charges across the remnant field, a death of Pol Pot, an inauguration of George Bush, a study of the ring around. colder yet, using viable terms, nothing seems to stay. attendant smirk looks hopeful, we're not strong enough to guess.

12) Under Well

deliver letter to 52 years. swim particular thru cold as totals mount. snow will come. bound to die in a breathless word. that word is only a letter, small, and could be left. it demands an inception. a book of language until frozen. until fear of frozen. until rocks on the top and bottom, frozen. a silly wind of word left. it left the planet and all its belongings. it left as quietly as dark could make. it simply made another sentence.

these are trial days and tones of covered rush. there is no daffodil plenty but the excuse to plan. a haze becomes a reticence, which binds a path to staring. once we start out, narrative intends the rest.

taxi finding
wealth a
minute yet as
always angles
demonstrate captive

poised to rebel
against the
sameness fitting
allowed trope to
hall, down which
process, after which
wide open and
beaming. the sun
arises in
all hemispheres.

eager in date of falling. insofar as little versed, yet darkness plunge a reference, winter nail, cost as hating any named thing.

peerage sense of structure lobs a big mayhem machine in any valid direction. it is made of topics and it means something curled. a word or two to define the pent, the strain and reading, now a gloom is for anything. snow falls and wind rises, grey is all the beginning left to us. so we storm and storm.

13) Letter, Sentence, Saw

not periods of time but mild statements, particular to the climate. eager to inhale the last drop of spring arch, the way our hands hold anything and we are together. but the cold is white, asking for something. do the cards spread upon the table explain a hidden moment, or is the poem only half expressed? a sheet of snow, upon which to draw conclusions. a shame or even more of a point. we could discuss the distance of cold, but later, after we having defined our warming, and the effect of rating our time together.

moments later, like a thump of snow, the churning of extra snow condition on a dying race of interest. interest sticks to point, point remains the 'same'. period. closing signifies the intent of opening. winter becomes a verb, somehow. touched after a calm. THEN heat, a merriment of fling. fling seems thru daily, with weight added as a night. night construes dreams, lifts full moon, drugs the candidate. and we know the sentence. it was saw, a cut together.

saw delivers impressively. cuts downright, until mayhem of letter. letter improves the word. we're together. together itself has a home, a making, a poem. sudden. summer ended suddenly, autumn came and went quickly. Walden Pond (nearby) dried up, then filled again, all in a trice. the trice was interview. it was peopled. it took time. then time reversed or was sensed, or enough of a word survives for fit. then it was quizzed to be generous, or curious (what's the diff?). then a trance of fighting thru some coldness. here's a present tense. it becomes you

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Seize Song / Seize Song Now

1) Ax Mass 12/25/04

a trumpet offertory crimson on nowhere snow. In goad of leaning past those extra words to coffee, the idea in flux for difference. rationals need a home, a plus for far reaches. Think how the world will look inside the meteor or weather balloon that will inscribe the later date. Think how monuments kept us. Think as if language...

a space inside the extra space, which documents our time and palace. Our need for work, or stretched the length of one long cat. This as morning seems like wassail. Everything is equal to the base in step. Gaudete, the range of turkey prints in snow melted into memory, a nice picture to take. Establishment of dean in the school. Cries out louder than temperature or gait. The gait is worry, he's very old.

A more bringing in coffee, wish you were here. Wish you were every time. Wish you were somewhere and a place. Wish you were diligent on top of the program. We watched what we could.

We read the name of love, and the instinct of loss.

A grey road often doesn't mean a word. A word doesn't govern these details. A time once delivered, flowered, filled the glass. Another day did the same, only different, in line but also broken into links. Each link is a tower or excuse, a landing craft, an incredible date, a plot of a movie. And then came onto the beachhead. Omaha! But that's a song I love, remember, read when I am writing I. Omaha, which was and is, name your preference. I was the country in the sighting, falling for the usual.

A lot of light and just enough. Each is sparkle. Each word joins each rest strop. Sharpened pin or pining. As much light as one enormous glint, like a shaft of ray or piece of flow of. In that moment or momentous, just enough. do you remember?

I make the edge of plans, telling seems so. So this is the name when I is at home. The crimson ran of dawn. Turkeys spoke yestreen, and coyote and beaver and bear and moose and local and fine. This is true or true enough, equipped. Luminaires along walkways and driveways and anyway. in the eve and evening. sometimes coffee is a place, sometimes wine and beer extend for pinches and princesses, princes and pincers, and the whole match of distinct stars. Orion is a-buzz.

The cat and dog in each particle. Names of the time. oh little town of Bedford. Descriptive of.

You remember, in your mood, the Broad Axe that Whitman. It makes gesture seem like season of previous situations. Couldn't exactly recite the point, as Whitman's point was wide enough and hinted on both sides. our rustling makes it better.

So the ax and enough. The cat found something and waits it. If that fluffy colourful thing were a mouse and ready to end or fight or skitter into something, there would be. There will be as long as we can tell. it becomes an effort, you will know, and going is not strange. Takes a day to learn, someday.

Heard my noise and the day, roped to consider. As the fluffy thing in a winter on a for instance day, with a partnership day and aligned to this. Ave Maria is a favourite, I recall. would want to keep that, and what it brought. coffee is a mass.

Paying customers and the detail.

Jeepers of Nazareth, and on this stay. we alert on hungry council, fast to find Romans minding any. Loom colours rise spring tremendous. Not an only chilled but the song of gosh.

Every kind satisfies with elegiac grappling. The tradition of inklings thru misty morn frequencies, albeit winter's more like it. It's a rung in all the ringing. Finger the portrait and fill something immediately. The dull cold of could.

When so much bowls over, even into the winter, and half a day is dark or more, then stories tell of last over the fragrance from spring. That which is in the teeth, seeming musty or foreboding, fills a lattice of words, hello...

a trumpet or soprano, or regular like crush winds into the spirit of divide. Practical history doesn't count over and above logic instilled with relief. Populace encounters loss of war sense, makes a big damage market. What left when we spoke?

2) Flood Entire 12/29/04

thinking the perfect
tree floating
out to sea rhythmic
loss but escape
but times of
tree inside
let that go

let go that mirror
stun perfect nature of
the tree in floating in
sun disappointment
causes rounder or
notion steps
finally setting
wash back
death as
presence needing
dialogue with
rich rocketship

worked hard to remember
the piling on or
above the cuss
of tidal flattening
not much endeavour

peace fleers
in chamber when
something dangerous
of war kind
of natural enact

lacy stays of
being thought back
over the cursing ocean
slop and desert

muttered distinctly
numbness posing
afterward stiffening
in death which after all
resumes with

delivered just that much
among the star girt
clumsy folk of

you care as much as this
defining moment?
and you live in
language? and you
have a share?

day of after peace of pleasing meant to say outright condition of response among people folk us you and me we need a little tried and true

3) Near You Day

begin said.

Begin as much as into time of over those specific intents sprung from outer as far as night.

Begin ratio then rely.

At this spent temperature, thought words over and above.

These are radiation decrees, dry now. Once living until under water, no wonder but that a war zone includes anything. The tides of rising, alluding to a moment spun from the circle, into the circle that becomes presumed. Arrested into that.

Begin saying after said.
Saying was our drama, fitted, put upon reaction and the action after that.

Air masses and tectonic structure, after which, where are we. Where is mediation, after a moment, and the palm trees bend suspended by belief. Belief that is as a working pace amidst the motions. turkeys strut across the street.

Leaders said the new club is also seen as place to make connections.

Only if you dare, but that's the tractor beam, rocket heading. Collude with these details:

we were very, until that moment of exhausting credits and splash of light across the screen of intended field of observation. We swung around gaunt and try to think of the right expression, when expression seems right. Suddenly again and again. Then the raging enemy of non-enemy becomes stronger thru lightyear of intense meaning. Squalls on documents, backstory, lots of end-of-thing matter to inform the in media res environment. activate the whatsis immediately, says the swarthy caption of anti-embargo. insolently right-o, mutters razorless mate and can be bothered, sometimes, as the action gets heavy. Well you know the story, this one saves that, everything secondary gets to explode, sometimes quickly. The love interest is normal. We're trying to indicate humanness and excitement. Galactic eyesores come and go...

and furthermore exists, as far as making a run for it. Choppy waters suggest something terrible. Your fishing boat is way way into the breech and beyond. Your idea of yin includes something that you haven't. and yang as much as the other.

Write the boats.

Boats are as old as toads and spring from the same rationale, symptom of saying so. years end with clocklike surety. Toads borne of ambiant time release affairs of nature into our waters. Snow melt includes every reason settled upon rationally by the idea. Attention needs a ruckus amongst our own. When we go to battle, it makes blips.

Blips as an affair with something trussed and spending. I wrote to the guy who read about the making of the movie Fahrenheit 911 concerning awesome expense of bringing around the boat. The boat with aerial view, until sinking seems to matter. Until when does expense make a difference? When does coffee growl? When spare moments sting there and there, as far as we can stay?

Write the boats some more. More off the coast of Gloucester into a kettle. The kettle is trouble.

More off the coast of New Jersey, anywhere outside New York's exhausting.

Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve, filled by the very balloon that took away. But that's of no concern right now. The boat has been a-sea but little tidal moans. As children, we discussed the craving. Now, adult or more so, we hedge in with something about troops. Troops give their Marxist a slip. Troops bear up. Troops were news and are own.

Finish said along a lane or provocation.

The portion that we keep strays back and forth, caged to rely as when the time seems right. If you left and all the ocean tides combined, and dismal night of unbeginning, where would the trouble be? To serve this instant, like a dusty combination of all those verily words melted slow for comfort. There is no exhaust or income, only thee as plenty or the mirror of the same.

Troops give the Marxists plenty, look under the wind of bending tree. Were races assertive as the tide went out? Could the plains be seen in the troops of perfect loss of Nepal? The simple facts are best in back, lent a posture and relax. Relax is the staying tune or year in and out. A believe of isn't it a right or wrong, under those terms until the backwash, out to sea. Every sea has moments in the since and when. You control the doubt but fill in with sorties required by base camp. You'd bet the present tense.

The back story comes back for us:

reddest rockets of the universe, that stick out like sore celestial thumbs, and in the present tense there will be time. These rockets are earnest in the giving of wide to where we'll be. In time, vetting something with great civilizations of anteriour creatures who've crossed vast distances to exert overthrow or just normative hopalong pleasantly. Such as the gainsay, after we have met. And the whirl of future trust in spins and spans, halting only when the movie gets too rich, and residuals take the story line. you can see the stress factor of living such a life, there in the future, which we make even now. Trifle of laugh but mostly real screenwriting hard work, getting heroes in position with a kiss or two, and looks of flashing things of circumstance. Language will follow us everywhere.

And wend.

4) In Believable Tide

a delivered modern as improved. touchy captive state could be our means (once more). voice arranges purely symbiotic truckload to the spaceport where, until motions stop, the core reflex begins. Captain Instant on the rocket to beguile. future history stuffs its gourd with logic lost from early times. those were the days, so far as possible. the history of spellchecking provides a look into many phases of time.

spellchecking from the gods, who filled upfuture and let it last a while. spellchecking from the other planet, other time, a fending of terrible things against which no person ever can stand.

a mutt of pushing against that terrible instant harrowing. the field has been made new or at least a truffle figured into relevance amidst the dirt. are we given enough circle to surround us?

the thing stirred up by the trembling coaxing.

bursting stars have quantity and liquid pursuit. we fill rocketships to land upon correct spellcheck planet. the tidal drama or draining either comforts or erases. anywhere close to nothing must be something.

a checkpoint then at which we seethe, freshest. new colours stood in the range of sky. processes governed our every. people cheered that their drunkenness absolved. and so the pleasant valley seemed enriched. in the midst of the spectacle, but unnoticed, a rocket launched into the very next question.

ownership proceeds from standards.

groups torment alike.

a trace for the guidance falls on leaving ears.

normative means take hold of spellchecking machine.

5) As Drift Into Daylight

not normally, never clearly seen. chirpy yells from the youthful audience then crusts and years alike, poured from the earth and doffing the respectful hat enjoined by losing the thread. so much space to occupy. and the rust and fidget between deeming figures. awful as the audience makes its thinking spread, posted on the side of disaster while under any witness of moon slides down: it's a call from someone you know. earth is a structured place. the children really want to dance.

absolute blue arrives in time.

but this is only the beginning.

terror is only a finely construed spacebetween gestures, or so much political thinking falls this way and that. inevitable gravity plump as can be. it comes across as radical, leading the rocketship into space. the moon's a great hunk of turf and expression, as wild as the push of waves onto shelves o sand. the dream remains in the cluttered summer sun, then dourly sinks upon the next up. references fade as gingerly a words into meaning. something goes wrong, as an ad lib with the mike turned up. the shower of foolishness lasts devilishly long, like the smile on George Bush's cliff face. and the rocketship has barely broken thru the first cloud (all other clouds melt per force). but we'll wait the night out, and the next day too. if the waters recede, we can begin our search. till then, pins and needles as a way to say it. churches leave everyone feeling wrong.

our track considers a lobe of earth. the brain itself fits any description, fills those pockets with consuming knowledge. a wave over and above all others becomes a certain mess. fled by any means.

the current has pushed each general rocketship further. out is good, isn't it? it is a good means, anyway. someone lights candle, talking about the news. that much bounciness to conclude the run of days. then pack up all space ships, back to address that centre thing, and call home when the money runs out.

meanwhile, at the centre of the real planet, Metallica lunges.

but are you crazy about the tones and distances? someone asks, and paint falls off the wall. weird situation in space. time equals where you are. how will we react to the centre when we see it?

the next poem will be the first. do you mind the way the current contemporary verges onto the ends of the old contemporary? we feel useless in our words, but words themselves have oceans only severally.

6) Least Word Enough

space setting the reason, a blue might cloistered as specific.

reckoned in tree terms, inside out splendour taken for granted in the city.

bluster flare on a compassion train. much of the city means people. allay to great buildings formed out of the word in idea, as colder nights prevail a mental picture. truck stops on a spot. the spot directs the placement of next time. loud hauling noise from everyone who has the time. relief strays into docudrama, into story about the field, into stuffed as much as possible. the heaven referred to has time on its hands.

the wave was meaningful, for why wouldn't the earth control its means? and the junction of too many contributes to deb balls and brought up that way. and we all remind ourselves, strictly speaking. and then it becomes a mirror, paused to allow a stretch of only something. singing along helps poetry once .

haven't even trained advantage, it just arrives in clean.

so the rocketship is part of many plans. hop the caboose with retrorocketry. bring the enemy in line. the rock then pierces silver. sentence depth now speaks over radium. a tradition of drowning results, just to speak of facts. rocketship into terrific, into style at last, into brush with all that encumbered. the wave as of all our focus states a given. given time and such process, yet heard all over town. then the rocket disappears. all that engine in the mind of too much.

whose perfect release cocks the gun so much? a daily dribble of intelligence into how to pollute the sea. each easy step means maybe a branch in doctrine. a trick for when you loved a last thing (maybe never). whatever is inside the other time helps anyway. you've been reading the rocketship past Mars warily and Jupiter justly fits conglomeration for our little place. more beyond the lack of leaning into light years will strike an excellent prose. what is out excuse, after all? if Marxism were a plant or planet, just enough coffee to sleep endlessly over time. not a pilfered left to it to tell fetching stories. more like a granite statement fuel. yours as when or ever. think that's enough? think? agree in lines, friend.

7) Not Much Rest

after long attachment, bending under strain like a given, yet retrained in asking price, piecing together yet another example in well-fed spaded earth, fit for a question inside the dear minute: looks out the theory invasion, a petty handling commensurate with down the single slope.

so after all
leaps after the trail eying fact as a condition. we perturbed in the ending word, flush about grey sky rattling. tons of sentences were given to one flood. each effort of crying seemed like a small town one day. each loss of life institutes a carriage to the gravesite. each endless partition becomes a matter of telling.

all is not well, and all suffers a wet place for ladders in time.

small variations detected.

as much as the stream becomes embedded in landscape, until frozen millions and the end of some dreams, then too the initiation of filters, thru which, in a biological sense or sensation, the crust falls away. even as the planet tilts towards something unusual...

the complete end of trumpets.

the total disregard of daffodils.

entropy proves a mighty switch in time.

a stun of instant population going. we see seeds of time rustled from the tree's imperative fruit. we see the danger in every implementation of maximum and minimum. we see the perfect in a region of dull inquiry. all washes away like a space between words. totals sour because we've given up. up has been used. we go down. down is new in the machine. the machine has uses, never tires, gives its essential mutation strictly. we listen for news. attachment breaks thru soundly. a drab title encloses the horizon.

more nerve to think of the indentation in the bulb, that will process so much, to begin again as a unit of constancy.

arrives like light.

emergent cluster
spotless texture
and nothing really
to employ full

in the name of thunderous appliance give dignity to each twig of movement amongst us!

8) Worked Edgewise Nascent

stories last on ornate pace, our human loose for tending. each circle drawn presents dozens of ancestors sitting lyrical station. each bald light tells specific invention, construing all the magnets and dire gravity plus the confederation of grace notes. organization needs us in useful beginning ,trailing behind the backwash. references have become silly and mulched.

not enough said in remain with. we feel the temperature of losing planets at a time, into a sentence that hasn't heard even little words. cost of control doesn't include the benchmark tidal gloom associated with a point somewhere. once the sentence becomes versed, it struggles for more control.

the story ran to the the end. this end fit something. hobbits hankered for a smoke. rockets crash in spite. waves toss furniture like people.

but if I worked in this season, with tumbles and you know where rocks fall, does the tizzy slip unfelt thru closing? if the rocket lands unexpected, stuck in beachhead that shadowed shipwreck, could I have been more wrong? could even the statement last to the end of the sentence? veils garner our evenness, trust each wave to break. a public reclamation needs fury filed for blessing.

a precious life lives in and thru.

a tower scores the sky with reference to the flooding now underway. all resumes in the littlest word. everything we have meant means more in the flush of winter on the ground. are you on the ground too?

think of these distractions (right, left, above and below) as plenary abstractions. our sentences run toward rockets spending gross national product on a measly future inference. trace the situational summary while the others back off from their plans. a moment of silence, then another...

a piano offertory resides on somewhat snow. fresh fielding turkeys state a process crossing the street. loud heaven mutates to a political program dredged from the purview of nightmare. alongside these arching concerns the indefinite covering clouds resist any pose of description. are we just so heartless? we could play a tune further, into the night, into the entry fire, and the leaning word to survive.

9) All The Good You Gave
not so much a tradition of saving but mirrored closeness in which we read many backwards proclamations. must be important, to come to us so! the colour of snow outside will send shockwaves to ports of call, distance, the trust in disporting merrily thru springtime romp of trusted tulips or hyacinth alight with possible futures. further radiated diagrams may tell us more of what else but the blindspot, chances of arriving too soon.

seasons made darker than attesting to the satisfaction of a nation under arms.

gross natural product.

cultural impasse...

where was the backstory when we cried over something useless or playful, a tumbled shack in the middle of something decorative (trial poetry) or emphasizing some radical interest in becoming natural. broken speed, capsule summary, legions of relief workers on call...

the rocket lands upon the base of backstory, which renders the stuck gloss of ice a miracle of disaster. the hopeless world lets ice inhabit all thoughts,flushed to the bottom of the tide and flattened even by the tender urge of war. seems like faring awfully poorly, reading thru the sounds of leaving all behind.

(( I suppose I should congratulate you on getting out of jail ))

mystery bluer than shocking waves
today or
ever again

10) Hope You Ride

cat station requires plenty upbeat. over there see glum miracles, bowls of food. on that the colour of sending sun to where we thought. under the table becomes a midnight, not the same as just a night of slump. by blue can mean a cold until 6 minutes. the floor simulates life. while we await that, something about blackening into snow. it's the cat again, a season fur. it's a carriage when we were young enough for spring, then a trace of over the hills. some smell as part of beginning. seems like any wind, joints of larger. underneath, the grey thoughts of daffodils, resumption requires pity. the cat needs a staircase, for a momentous instant performed without net. the blue over the hills means someday. after a really raucous requirement, the bending of years, we've ripped open our war chest and discussed the matter of prose. poetry is for heroes, say corporations instituted for the purpose. what of sedge in the marshy underpinning of the last idea of landscape? do we need vocabulary as much as vocabulary needs us? a running joke perceived as an event. then damage, a whirled desert. then donations to the cause of donating, until all filling has been accomplished, big time and sensational chords. modular announcement of current reflux. deadly need in disappear, apt for phrases actionably written on. key rocket reentry primes the linden tree of Orphic past. seems like a drizzle of intense ice, more sport than political savvy.

miracle stays in the bulb mention kindly tear period whenas clearly determined in language or the posterior rune, greed, flicker of daylight after many other days have passed. rip of mock step period, era, absolute. noise inside other noises, until explained by certainty. we've been vernal blue in [past period] now a discus spun from archive file. loss, simple things, the very word last year or forgotten.

how many other words forgotten in time, but s made cl;ear when written out or thoroughly, trying desperately to reach, etc, the variousness playing very fine stance.

tipping worldly reaction from bottom of concern.

a stone thrown with wilting.

plastered in exactly.

direction made of waves of linear thinking.

too much depends on read wheelbarrows.

end line wrote further story including details, which arrive in each word but without the stress of severance. we read about the landing, the discovery, the verse form used to penetrate the event. we read of greaer glories attended to. we read then stay behind. in a green theory arising from grasping, particular and welding to the standard.

a laugh at the end of telephone.

flushed from when theory could only direct partial statements, then story to telling noise from otherways. then a trust called definteflower, which isn't more than flower, a mist of wi nter's falling away. then the strain of sleeping ruin, almost enough in groove, distinguished by as it happens.