Parlor Magic

There is structure in poetry and trees and endurance. A daily extravagance shows writing to be soluble when scrubbing is preferred to tin.

The distribution of anger makes engagement painful to see. This is no sign of milk. Hectic subtleties fondle their own goldfish. This proves that eyeballs are reckless in their vision when a boiling invents consciousness and the lamas weave into their true nobility.

Writing demonstrates invisible shapes of rain falling up to the sky on paper.

A roof what is a roof when there is no meaning in a crawl with a liberation in it causing jungles? Make climbing in a swamp go into suds. Nourish bacteria. Blow a nose and molt, counsel a crow and cram, believe an evolution and sew, riddle an allegory and put a scratch on the skin that studies encouragement. Consider the long climate of bones. Moss and pumpernickel.

I like to tattoo densities. Redeem a heart that we might drip art.

Area is a form of stirring when the stars pierce the sky of Oklahoma.

Noise is flimsy if the injury is time. Autumn spreads itself over the tenses conjugating heaven. This is when we sway and lift the stars into our eyes. The mind is kinetic among its silent bells. Each cocoon anticipates what we spout if our eyes hang by an orchard of words.

It happens that England is navigable.

I am always agreeable except when I’m not.

Infringe on a dream. Study caresses. Sparkle like Chicago. Garnish your eyes with supposition. An edge of light in black thickets of ambiguity.

All the real is real and all the wet is wet. Diagnosis chews the Möbius cloud into bottles of sparkling cuticle. I’m feeling Byzantine. Go ahead. Say it. Whispers are about the plugs that a fast line can slide into experiment.

Call it parlor magic. Call it water. Call it an umbrella. The light is cows and smells of arrival. Meditation is meant to be shared with sunlight. And needles that litter the floor of the forest. These, too, are specific and propaedeutic.

Go wild inside yourself.