Poets call for improved marveling. Too many words left unregistered. More lilting could do trick.
Exotic dancers cite location as imperative. Their sitting replaces words. Words aren't properly situated. Time now to react.
Later agitation occurs with revelation of loss. Nobody meant to mean nothing, it just happened. A poem harnessed for years becomes unglued.
What are we to make of making? asks poet, some sort of dullard, or expert in raining.
Trees instead of vacation, asserts the remedy. Unhand the glossary, step back from function.
Tremendous tides in the sea place risk on shorelines. Ravenous sharks eat openly. Swimmers divagate in the morning, digest in the afternoon. A poem in this oracular jungle cannot stay trained.
Literally pulled back, as if track of each word would dedicate too much. Some explanation was “necessary”, yet diligence could not hold on. Shark swallowed something, performed no evaluation.
The poet has gauze for eyes, observed a textual champion. Inside observation replaces outer reception. Programming language paces a display “in the future”. The future cancels poem's beginning.
Shark futures distribute food in randomly excited parcels. Poets like their chances just staying afloat. Poems, meanwhile, remain mindless.
