Clemency Of Prognificant Lytreses In Baste & Hurd Divination

Props should go out to the barrier reef and the back fence and the chasming of frozen quarter plash. From the high and mounted passes to arbolic imbridges, the frequent of pathos in the culture and mythic tantamount of available avenues for traverse and hop a long freight.

There is a space of exemplar consistency in the cornea of the animalir eye. The cascades, the fountains, the carousels, and the mansions in heaven. The meadows brooken tythed with sedgerose and lorilie holt. How courageous the manager of torper. His ancient and menial store. Always returning from near points nil. The mile mast, the monarch milk, and the doting modus of apparently tardy deli cleavers of a nosegay to the proper feat of probisquine receptivity.

What with no available equipped to make out glad. With a turn of the wheel there is simply the downed gait. Alrighty slant that meets with dymn in mentions passing. Quaint and contrapted the semifores of flyting triage in arbitrary lessons dusty stamp. As would come about in seeking out the penchant for no more reckless dismissiveness of the abrupt and calamitous.

If the crashing of the bill upon the emperor’s plate proves a jagged course of salted porpuquentity. As is it to assail your tastes with surfiet and to the point of blindness. Beyond sympathetic requittal. Assuage only in remorseful mulling of fruit upon the palates of head of stadium cheer squads.

Time befitting an old gray wanderer’s domain. The running passes of field and stream come to reckoning. A crackerjack sketchbook in the hand socks of the feigning auditor. A public Canty told yahoo Jimmy not to get stuck pulling sharkteeth out of the sand. That’s the way you will tout horses instead of laurels. And all will be good with thoroughbreds and doodaw

A slakers tin it make out good cup for a water fill in the spring thaw when the little wheat remain. And the year round grass peaks back through. There are bout hilly ho the prayer go out for temperance and miller’s crown. A bit of gumption yes, but the teat toll on witless cats atop drawn tourrilous poles.

Well it is of little interest but for its subterfuge. It’s grinny by the nape thick. Start, and start again. So for nimrod and runaway Jim the wild wins. And it’s nice to have baseplayers in the band. And for the blues to get an occasional banjo strum. Holy moly if only it made sense on multiple fronts all juggled about and periodically brought back to the merry need for acquaint.

Saws, and lineages. Cut and drawn. The blessed jig. What career of rampant tropicals to have the goose down by the backwater creek just watching an apple floating on the current of its stream. Slowly, much slower than falling. Lazy, in a lazy in the stream.

The Omnibus Augury

At a remove from a West facing wall. The notary opening up her longstockings and pilfering the gratzi welcome to bear it toward another in geste.

Stingy mitres. Cocksure kissing bangers looking out for the hoodoo. With a Chiristian Church of the America’s being consoled. A whole way of looking the other way inconsiderate at spotty cupid slights of hand.

Dimly lit and menial wit. Hard trade for the unrepentant dirge. His slack and lackluster taste for the gruel filled hunter’s bowl. A goof of the bottom feeder school. Apprehensive tailings of a bifrocated sort and pile

Hankering still for his suttee and assorted pets and potted plants. Our final contestant for the dog house boob. A besotten attorney, shoestring of much bung water. The rimey sludge pit sucker of shark tooth grind and pitted olive puice.

These grave to laud figures inhabit the close quarter of a single traveling zone. Rain and fog bequeath them the gnarled mien of a heretical judgment on their questionable fate. If these streets, these alignments of foot tracks and cart wheels, now set to spin down to the idle of jailtime and worse.

Like three bums and their mitt. Catching air and catching hel too. Thoughts of the goddess. A dark muse this time, rye, macabre, gallows humoring. At its proof almost.

The dirger, misunderstood gets no quivel. The tears that issues forth salient and salty from the eyes of the maiden fall without consolation. The profligacy in the paunchy one would remit crows slovenly. And our little bookworm considers burning down the back forty like a vested ruse puckered at tacits and the impudence of gorillas slapping down their bananas for sufficiency.

Talk, there is some. Bad sauce, unrequited love, sour punch, hard knocks, and even close calls with the grave. Like a minute or two of the long, flat,, line,,,

Hum? What! What happened there? It was the notary who made the claim. I heard it takes something like an exorcist to get a body back from the grave. Yeah the devil doesn’t want to give you back! Well she said. I had been up the coast with my uncle Charlie. He showed me to his very own cask of rum. Something you have that much of can’t be poison!? Why? Oh you didn’t know. Not much no. Seems very traumatic to me. Going into the grave like that. People would think you went there to rob it. No! I want a buzz, a dream, an adventure in a night cap.

The omnibus stopped and the drive spoke with somebody. Unknown to the passengers in the pokey a gate had been opened and the bus was driven inside.

Morning Hangs Over 2015/04/05

This morning. Tending to things early. With the remnant. Of the night previous. In your down cantank. Rousing you surly.

Is it any call to agress. In moments few and jaded. Like a flown coop clawin’. Sacked and raided.

Mock agonist bely. The drawing light consumes. Now embarrassed in the guise. Of a temporary righteousness. The call to privation under such orders. Whelms against the figure.

And post tensing shyly decides upon it. Best kept silent when wanting. Only to lay a bit longer beside. The prospect and the urge to. Make one’s mindfulness alight. Upon sorrows quickly passed over. Why then could the music sound a cry. Drumming, summing, and stirring. The next chapbook and galley swag endevor.

Cross Correspondances

Looking on my baby this morning I am reminded of the time we have come through in reaching this day. I am reminded of those who have helped us with a smile and I am reminded of those who have lent a helping hand.

A gratitude journal. A writing partner. A constructive critic. A head above the waters mentor. A discerning eye. A sounding board for ideas. A fair witness. A practical enthusiasm. A diviners’ rod. A broken in pair of shoes. An attentive child.

Point of reference. The pleeched wall of an entertaining estate. Many emboldened Sunsets of the welltrodden floor. The Linden glam of trepidatious children making out skirts in the surrender of conceits unto the acquaint with the elder. Whiles and fret. In the decisions of necessary amends.

A garland by the spin. Eloquent hand me downs of the honor and the thumb. Green and hopeful of the bounty on the gate of the festal host at the evening’s door. With exhibits of extension. All repeating to each other the signs. A pressure spot. The arm and Armada. Brings high upon the swollen sea.

High and tight. Drawn cover of rubbing paper. The sand on the smooth talking tourney. A step out for the fillybuster. Can’t have to man window breaks in the glam watermelon sugar. Gumballs, edibles, and trout farms. Woody the woodpeck. Zippy, puppy, poppy, puppy, love.

The rye discerner and her swaddles of duck. A ferning gate by the riposte of a striding cart and setti on the washboard streaming thrawl. Got to get to the church on time. Somebody call a doctor. The limbic creation test splits the hide of the soft cream. Venus in wiles. Sporting a riffy for the bag.

The conjuration catapults a lacey conscience. There are the remove and the hand me down. Saltwater strag and the knotty pine is in the river bed. With all the confluence of little Bitty bleak water lulls of current and lapping tide.

To the quick with ye wallowing toads. Throat beck great leaps of the fatted calf. Run amuck you gals of the leathern boot. There are a bang and a bulk to the bulwarks now. These stevedore cutthroats have quit the ruckus all right. Sitting on cot and floor. With arms of Summer closing fast. The seaside shanty has glibbed it’s freshet and it’s languid pulse too.

With a righteous look ahead the exit sign leers frequent. The parade has not a rears to hidder it’s camp away. No this joke has too few faces to recognize appropriate changes. One between the other, as is, and should always be.

Mystery(Let It Remain)

It is not wise to work the onus when approaching any great work. It is not well to break our knees chasing pavements. It is not safe against any liable whatsoever to offer up murder in the various Western guises of fornication.

In a pinch there is sympathy well enough to know. There are maintained beyond sighing that may one day be ascertained. There are sorrows that have we need counter by letting go with joy. There are names enough jobbing a rose 🌹 to entertain the riverside, the ocean swim, the ship sound 🔉.

What proof there is to rely on is seen there in running out on contempt and savant explicatives. The double Dutch bus has to skidattle on down the benchmarks of an adroit posterior. Stoics aboard and skeeterbangers making long daddy long legs out for the yard without alarum. There are cantilever placers getting out the way. Radioactive sextons and theme park pensions. A good luck throw at likable apes. No shit! That is powerfully in tune with powder kegs. Did not know they could blow the Jimmy like that.

No he couldn’t ever write a mystery. Wouldn’t even reach out to solve it. Just let his fruit hang on the tree. Pneumonics and heuristic displays toward the interrogative stuff.

All that fly. As in the space of the puerile and taintproff. The glass eye Sampson dredging up the same old piles of mud. A manner of man managing mange. The rooting Berber gauging the trip of his gait. The footfall of barefooted partisans making good on the deluge. Taking to both step and stride in the comport of our redeemable figures. Seasonal and laboured. With a clubhouse to rest from the bonnie peats.

Such sing-song morphing of the ad Hoc synonym. The escapist promotion of rich corporation. Leg ups on handing legends down. Another charlatan in the devil may care daylong procession about towns

The blessings of concord are not so well understood. Leave it to generations hence that there will be received some truth along with the complicit fictions. A volksgurdy semblanary of those sanguine and worthy of being judged feat.

The back alley ratatat of coyote crawl and losing black cat strategems. The lax meander of wild dogs straying. A newsome attention for those things civil and defining order. The ungangly and adroit attempts at prophetic intimacy. A clarion call of quaint aptitudes. Laying low with yesterday’s wine. In a dredgers sync with proclivity. Speaking in turn amongst rascals and theopolitan anglers.

The fisherman’s test and the fisherman’s rest. Given to the round by the generations. A viable means for the occasional gather of clicking good company. Where wander friars a muck as well the private practice of accomplished shamans.

All turning to the guise of Sharon and her rose. No morning peaked blue singer by the drag. Early risers and the havoc they are led to create. Coming merely in search of acquisition. Mawing at the piecemeal and crowing faulty louting a different tune.

Little room for compromise lest your Jesus be hanged on the wall and the old day be gone. The mission of bedsitter lament. A much more subject intent and hedging on further remonstrance for the lie. Forgotten luminaries of blow away terpsichorean lullabies. Bought and sold in the market place now finally going unnoticed and bright at rising true again.

No mishapen shadow drawn across clear outlay of formal repeated lines. Of verse, of solliquey, and apologetics. The only way out of immanent doom.

Please hope to see it for being truthful. And welcome what will remit unto your sorrows by payback and bitch. Ten to one odds that what you wish to forget will only come upon you at being forgiven. Seek this and be surprised.

Size up and size down. But choose not to beat on it with a fucking stick. Thinking yourself funny or otherwise. Some proud concouring spirit of obsequious deportment. A real chuck Wallace minute keeper out to change his proportions. A maddened dummy with his strings cut and not even seeing to the end of his cloned out tail.

Riposte and learn all the more to twirl about. A legion in the air, flyting like plagued children. By their parents and the henpecked lethargy of confuddled spirits. No more market here boys. You are in camp now.

Mind your manners that someday they will return. Write letters to the old folks at home even if you feel they don’t really need them. Object is no judge. It is the reflection of a fallacy knocking at your door and on your head. Kills planets and sometimes people too. No mild quatrain. Strong stuff for old pig stuffers and reprobate children.

Rube Ware

Julian nightshade variety. Growing at the Gates of Janus. The tripartrite opening of the door from within to accept visitors by day and for longer sequesters into the lot of haitus and sabbatical and fortnight.

You know you attempt to pull a big gate. Someone is going to wind up kicking sand. From the lot on the block with the stripmall. Flying turkey trot. Rural in the rue of road. Damn if I will ask for the traffic kit. The long time king of keynote speakers. Diltz and Doyle. The almighty coil. Insy Theo the outsy. If you look again you will miss it. The demiurge is out front and racing the habit. Time to break with the tide. Let the beach take on the breadth of the the brunt of the cresting wave.

Coming up roses in the design of labyrinths. A curious salt upon the Earth. Loss. Of consciousness. Of peculiars. The gauge of fretting propers in the shoeing of horses. The cabal lay of street with outlyer mosses and stray counting grains fit for the dialectic of native and supplanted pidgeon.

How tall stands this mountain. Raining in the day with the shadows of the mount leering heavenward top heavy and above. Are the pilgrims here to progress from their mission into further reaches of the chain. The lackaday need to find transport to the next station.

Who cares. Whatever. Nothing meant to do harm with the community of nature. An outrage need to consider from above. And so as to focus the narrative also take into acquaint that which lays below. To make good on a round in the overall and outstretched arms of the conceived.

This is a righteous call but also a rumor to discretion. The platitudes of the extant are not to be disturbed nor shaken from their bejeweled dream of morning. The rube is the guise of frequency we pour forth blood. In the Eucharist. In the slaughterhouse. In the thumb picked thorn.

Be wary and be careful. For you tythe the baying of the dogs with your par courses. You let the cat out to wander and you walk the block its round.

Creeper (The Sympathetic Vine)

Second par second. Minitum upon minitum. Approbation and cluttered frequencies. There are secret shady spaces and there are bright sunshine wakes. The tide is rising up and the moon is milling song. Mano y matate in a corn grind pone. Poetry of the muses on a midnight ride. Our cool chill subterfuge making out to surprises of a whole lot that is great.

It’s the creeping, crawling ivy and the spook is a haul. Far wight shores hanging lives on judgment with stories of veritable service of the apropos. An ode to Western returns in kinds of creole batches of something succored and sweet. The Morgan and chase. The wild hounds maurade of formative legions. Hounds of the mowing greens.

It amounts to as much when a woman is a wife. It sits by the accustomed elder cross-legged on the floor getting cut to dready counts. Up on the cork there is a pin-up gal strumming ukuleles to the tune of a resort into the backwater town. Country rambles ending up in grace at the popstand for corn cake and maternal pouch.

Euphoria and a triptych. Time slips away to b movies on the inside. The down low continuum of placid tambour. With the daily trials under the test winds keeping down the heat. Of cats, of races, of days.

The well turning in the ground looking up from a wild oats grasp on divinity and saying glad univer. This is a theory. This drive, it is augured by dreams. It assays the pan a cross with the dirges of the sympathetic vine.

There are those in prayer whom laud the fatal seraph. With its pronounced feats of atrophy. Willing the fly on the wall to do just that. Fly! A relegate of nations making out the next balm on burden beats.

Have they any other means to judge than the splittying of hide? This truly I do not know. For the bane of atrocities is that you don’t ride out with the consumers on an old blue laws Sunday blues song. You show some reserve. Well don’t you? I mean no matter how lazy one gets it still comes down to what is a stinking mess.

Conceivably all one would have to do would be to clean it up and be done with the charade of ill met and inconsistent fuss budgers whom are out there riding on a day like this. A day otherwise given to rest, and really if you could only remember, a day for returning to the earth with your labors, your inclinations, and your caring for the scene, and for the given environment.

What comes and goes need not go so quick. The vine has sympathy for you. Please show some of that hard earned resiprosperous action back to that same vine. It represents Mother Nature and if we need to be reminded of it then yes that girl and her creeper have a spooky good old way about them.

To shake up the heady locks. To tickle a bee. To go so far as to make the planets whirr. To razz the bronx betties with some of this American country’s best homegrown cheer. And don’t be afraid! At least not for long.

Sure go ahead and play out the trick but remember to have a few good laughs when you do. Show each other some of that same endowed kindness that hopefully once she showed to you. And God bless ya for at least trying don’t you know.

A Study Of Themes 2014/08/13

Appraisal of themes dramatica. Liet motiff theatrica. A fabling hour empathica. And the wanted embrace deeming.

Can sweet bye and byes. Urging anyone to sympathesize. With the quick of light and the wise of lies. Set sail or leave the quandary scheming.

With letters addressed what may avail. The pearly gates endangered to prevail. A certitude on clement street writ scale. The vapid aether winds up in the air creaming.

Liberate to flag a qually dodge. Stir up a pot of fleshy homage. Make good on done deals about the boarding lodge. For a night’s stay out in the streaming.

Make roost of chorales on platform decks. To take on a burden, treat the rejects. Waft fleeting bodhi the gain elects. To find out for good the weather’s down in the dreaming.

Anima animated in like cullies supposed. Fragrant meadows heavily drowsed and low. A malarky train bandying with Augustine groved. The very light comes liturgical and gleaming.

If Suns recede from surpassing rays. Like a dew laden field of feeling clays. A pleasant reprieve upon toppem cat Heath blades. The hooks and Barbie tabs remit in flashes beaming.

Backwater country making out a spirit for this dew. The meadow press warmed alive under foggy brew. A long lasting look on the lady and her eyes full of blue. Like a shiproy stir nums the grace to go on steaming.

We may just be together apt to surmount the idles. Take on a stretch of the rising gait goin’easy on a bridle. The bunk down night of affable chow and set on fiddle. A truth for the overjoyed parlay of Philly ziet teaming

Over Field & Glen

Run free with the wind. In the fielded glen. Fast as a cloud with few minutes over a valley to spend. Then rest beneath a few trees. With hints of azure skies. Above the boughs. Or bath in the cool of a mountain. Streams during Spring thaws. For such occurances. I bodily strive. Bound through natures’ eternal struggle with happenstance. To keep my life. I write, I sing. I fly as in a dream with birds. On a wing. An augury of flight. Innocents of the night. With our lives like ritual. And a foreboding sense of might. Where we will land. To the predator. There is given no clue. Simply a fact that. This story continues. Later, is true

Are You Holding?

The clave horn. The well trimmed board. The spice of life. Some friendly beasts, the canines. The home of a Franklin or even deeper into the well with a bucket plummeting from the common beheld ledge above.

Good company and fine friends. A home in the country. Fine upstarts in offspring. Stables for those beasts whom carry burden. A message from the hall. Dinner will be served on the hour.

A babe in my arms coming up with new ways to express most anything. The call of the Supper bell triangulating. The good company of the fast crew in their implementation of menial slake. Time for bounty on the turn and the sea change.

What is done is done is done. Forgive and forget and in this brave world of commizeration go afield only to come again some day. The blazes are beaten but the impaliar is sound. It is sitting right here on my fess. Cute little thing the way it switches from one to another hopping feet.

Sailors in love with time it takes to put the distances between. The trust in the work done. A one off with no way back in but for getting nasty and drawing marks. A sluice in the byway. Utility hats beckon the shell shocked laird from his ornery corner roost.

Oh I see you Sam. So over my head in Alabama. So ignorant of everything but that Madam Georgian’s new hit song. The thousands lost to pallor for dollars viscount.

A gregarious means to shake off the lethargy of connubial thoughts processii. When an apeshit bum in the garten tries his best to make off with the jackal’s ladder. The only climbing gait a pack of rabid rat racers could have laid out before them in the country.

Downs to await the waters’ course a free meander of able bodied mastheads of cross the paseo reaches. A trafficked palace street of the arid and clement. Where there is situated the respite spot. A glam space of trekless passes of eyes across the plane.

The ignobled stretches of grimacing big cats. Touring the brushy fledges. A house 🏠 for the crazy moon and her lucid manner. To behold the tide of a way through the field of precise star 🌟 laden sky.

A night’s pleasure in slow transpiring glances at the painted mural walls. Depth of field dipstiches of the drumming aptitude for martialing the airs of the tree borne greens. Through Summer and pining to give soil leave and rejuvenation.

The wrap up of a minuteman melee. Fading blue jeans canvas of old Army tents. The scoop of beans given to ward the hungry from the holding commisary. What lays in store and what only remits to entry of a given day’s collar.

The irony of dispatch from a trust back into the mete of the matter. The actual worthiness of viand and calabash as means to carry forth the fruit of the greenwood tree. Sturdy find of the largesse and illuctible.

Treats with a stash of the strong drink. Passersby accepting the good news of a favorable wanderer’s message in having traveled through. No more than metaphysically strange. The real need for familiarity in the circus of estates.

The bridge 🌉 that traverses the skunky stream. A spring feeling for the back meadow passes listing out in frugal new grains. Catching the fine and golden taste for shine. Each newsome bandersnatch to aggress upon the dates of frequency.

There arrives to races the folly gander, the eyefull snooker, and the workable embrace. New to old in a matter of labors. And the success rate of proud mamas and papas with the crest of there mountain ⛰️ home now brimming with caress and touch and holding a swaddling babe close.