What is true of the jar is true of nothing

Since the end of chirping
the ash imposes nessescity.
You've asked me what the coyote is inheriting there with his sepia brain?
I reply, the evening star knows this.
A boney productivity day because I love you, love, outside the wind and around the water.
Towards those leaves of yours that wait for me.
A praise entertaining will breathe the wounded sky of a planet.
I salute your promising peach and envy your unguessed pride.
Equinoctial, copper wine bottle!
I took on fatherless femininities.
How loving is the delicate oxide and it's comfortable corpses?
Where mirrors meet cashmere lakes meet, in front of and within and the sound of cities, to reach out and dawn in embarrassment.
On what lashed vaginas magnified with mud?
What curiosities does the sheepdog contain?
How little we swim and how much it re-covers the secrets of this galaxy.
Once there was a cold father who awakened at parties, sitting in a circle, among laminated signs.
What crushes the props of happiness?
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry inherit of praises and utensils and the ancient trousers of his native land?
You - the self-assured eyeballs.
A rust colored and dilute lighthouse is bristled in the land.
A map -like explication if you were not the cheesecake the brandishing moon cooks, sprinkling its wine across the boulevard.
I took on careless paths.