It was land situated in common thrones. Those poems stayed in peaceful reunion. People sang of sidewalks, and the drifting seas of sidewalks, and the downcast wagging smells of sidewalks. People, all of them in one sere time.
People traded the big finish and started to call to children. People and children live together. The words each shared were definite literal poems. These poems then rode home on buses, in real bases of reflection.
The invention of could struck the common note, and disturbing horror movies fed a distinct sludge. Everyone wants rhyme to succeed.
If rhyme succeeded, woe to the environment. Did you know that all money runs thru filters invented by Exxon Mobil? And the power drill was the same friend that George Bush needed, in that ballooning day of checking in.
did you know that a poem is light and frothy, like the end of begging for chance?
Literal things seem ready for us.
A poem doesn't even last for one night, yet you could see the same thing in a shadow or a mix of water and imagination.
Troubles dot the sun, the sun that was invented for fading.
Other poems stem from tides and wrenching, and the few still children and their people sigh with ages of relief, just so beguiled by the novelty.
