New News Updates as New Effects

(Leave The Nine Behind Till Five III)




Her daughters are bluish

and cannot leave the house

The tall caw looks around

for a safe perch

Perhaps anything beautiful shines

the shining being beautiful

Perhaps a shining umbrella snores

the snore is the dust of a rhyme

Whose old oddly shaved Eros

is this Eros imitating

An eraser arrives in a mine

and men use it to remain

And mine is sleepy like a bin

of bins in a rushing cycle

Our cycles stand

for nothing tall

This stand is still

as a hole at dusk

This stand is still theirs

in the elevator’s case

This is the stand still there for them

when the hole is finally filled in

Their soft cat snores at noon

and noon does not remain

As soon as any white shining house appears

a new beauty occurs

Her daughter’s hairy magazine smiles

with Eros shaving the cover

Their rumbling wine calms down

with the passing green house

His little pen is on the sill

where the talking caw sleeps

His pencil is still fidgeting

with the stupid hand

Any soft glove smells soft

as any soft hand smells

Their purple book stands still and stills

the greening outside

Any hairy balloon sleeps

with the daughter in her railed bed

A round table walks

to the window and smiles

A small table is a kind of stand

standing for something smaller

As still and round as a picture smells

in the beautiful mobile noise

Any expensive boat is given to stalls

in the tide of a Sony morning

And her red magazine stinks

in her silver chair

And still any round soft bottle arrives

with the green wine on the outside

Her white wine stares

a Sony appears

A given noisy TV runs

as fast as the caw snores

Our smart small camera walks

and stares at beauty

Small cameras walk atop us

with printed phones

An expensive mobile phone spits

the caw expands its wings

However

the children cannot sing

The round shape is fancy

as a gag

The beautiful wine sleeps

in a bed of bottled grass

Their stupid white bed calculates

these lines in the snow

However

a sheet is as soft as her bluish daughter

His brother’s well-crafted i-pod snows

then lets go of his wings

Its value adds the odd shaved Eros up

in a cart that appeared then left

A moped is smart and still gets crushed

the road stops short

The sport shoe stares

into the hole at night

Our mine is deep as a well-crafted clock

running against the round shaped idea

The snores are the spirits of time

locked in the chair the daughter runs

Their red sport shoes are thinking as one

with the standing object

A bluish metal sliver in a bra smiles

and TV’s stand still

A bluish river of bras sells

what the baby erases with sleep.