2/26/17

The one state is jaw dropping, turning away from independent public scrutiny.
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy controlling the sciences.
Today’s game harnesses breathless slurs to insert alterations within argument’s force and structure, redoubled in silence.

Argument is a figure of speech, already shrunk to pellets against heavier armor just before the death of death.
I confess,
game was called, rain spat.

Progress opening the whole book into darkness
w/ stains, residue.. not now, what, never?
— I sat on the wall about to be torn down.
Arvo Pärt on Art Farmer,

Obsessions flattened into praxis

— tho it’s instinctive to watch who’s singing,
few points to jump off.. unless I break the law.


Just synecdoche / leaving no sharing to chance
/ sulking colors
The small of her back —
Yoga is popular everywhere like in bed. Biting existentialism comes to mind, in fancy pants.

2/25/17

If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back.

This is a transparency first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

“is” a great uncle of frontal oportunism.) When you’re young
nepotism is rampant in meaning maybe.
Maybe not as opaque.
Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts freeze in total makeover

as this recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.
Eden. It’s drizzling in one panel.
I’m a folk musician perusing low interest loans. I talk thus in a low register. To effect a good commission my face sports two layers of sleep relief.

In one direction the focus is lost. I grow accustomed, so to speak.
In the other I’ll let the snakes speak with English subtitles.
Assembly required.

A ruse can be your generic object that looks transparent, emerging as sleep.
So you’re still in danger within the same maize corridors
— How do bricks
hang through the duration? (How is the easy-hard part.)
Ruses write themselves.

Belle! The steam fitters system is not brilliant.
The best go up front.
The back office is an eyesore, half the hurt.

That said, show’s over. You go ahead.

Systems execs set the controls, blast the volume up
to drones like butterflies w/ rabbit ears..
overviews regarded in their wholeness, contours
beeped forward w/ news that smarts enough.
A cubist staring in the mirror — back to her tapestry, a big girl with a pineal gland attending what’s neat in the future, and she finds me attractive!

2/24/17

Dennis the Menace grew up. I prospered, no guilt.
And it’s a bigger kitchen now.

There’s a stranger pulling apart shmooshing an escape hatch.
Clouds are in slacks by the fridge.
The comment box in which we’re about to speak is crowded without words.
The machine I never saw before flunked me —
A glimmer of its prolific aroma

calms me down. There’s a piece of karate with top notes to erase and something else fantastic, piquant, active against the grain. Your touch reaches a point when time management is unleashed.

But I’m just commenting.
A poem is a picture. Have a Shrek glass of water after sunset as Blossom’s arfs define bird properties degrading, shaken to a brink ..oops..
It’s a picture like hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares)
..in this one I’m emotionally shot with depth as a thespian-rapper rounding off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence. We never meet on a Ferris wheel.
This is a fugue

talk talk future talk
..I’m spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.
You may have noticed we’re on the side of open doors

abhorring a vacuum when it doesn’t matter,
vibrato and sunlight close their distance. Notice they
never saw it coming, old and new senses strung out on sectionals,
an untapped socialism of oblique pup scents and puckish

flair. Someday all this will be yours. Acres and blocks
that lean socialist purring with snappy dialog, steeped in
a plaited glow living to under-simulate amounts enclosed

..spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.
Sleeping with you, I’m blackmailed looking for mnemonics to store in a palindrome.
In order to pass thru there’ll be at least a few minutes of interesting, then more of inter-interesting.

2/23/17

You may have noticed I’ve been planning in my head,
flashing a badge. Home is a test pattern across an all-species
life span — everybody under anesthetics for a mo, lunar waxing
credited to lexical whipsaw. A foot of sleet
through the window, the surf comes to mind in
reverse as if a long eyebrow, roughened

over & oh, hold it, we did this already —
this is not a test I’ve been holding out to you
for you
Your advantage expires, Floppy Bear.

The performance is renamed The Chad Deity.
Blood lust around the frozen came on remotely like a fireplace.
There’s less to gay literature now. Sixty thousand fewer jobs. Young arrivals to the city will be wandering into the new wrong play.
It’s tragic but we were in camp with surrogates.
At the time we called it puppy love.

I unbuttoned my supplies and began to think of golf.
Nixon loved China, I recall, followed by the dead end of history.
The descent to choral music stipulates a view.

Parts on the golf course look back facing the street, partly passing it... a science fiction flushed hollow years ago, bit parts looking on outside it and still walking through adhering to nothing, just passing, dead and dreaming but also taking root ornamenting impurities of the electorate.
Massively cool but no gracias. This is tomorrow.

Rescinding our directive, we constitute the Non-
Group taking part in I-hate-new-calculus speech acts ..

We win door prizes in the periphery
if we let politicians get wild

losing the meaning moving sands and forgetting about it —
Tasting shale, we met some firepower to prevent further questions.
Lilac is a favorite zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.

2/22/17

A song just so you know
we dislike a crackdown that fabricates otherwise normal project managers on the roof, smug in outfits and at the top of their game, which seems synchronized, written over from scratch.

Whilst you and I are born to achieve a breather,

on the third gulp you really had us and were all over us. You didn't have to what the aitch? We told you we agreed a little but not a lot. I forget now you need to repeat how you sound.
Sensory predicates are pointless but you really care.

The prospect ices.

All the lapses are angly in winter, no lie.
One thing is the climate’s performance yesterday and the morning before that. After you wash off, you understand when to pause and leave it there in the reeds.
Right Wing Tomboy — a date movie with Milo peopled by self-helper types, a few cavities. Switching phones, I look up to the crazy intern waiting to take me out.
Silence is oversexed-enormous but I practice it.

I’m sick of nice things.

Not running, walking rapidly, I cross the hall, the long one with the heat transfer ....

... come out the complex, take the duck walk ....
...go through a dedicated lot ....
... and into Q7 in one STEADICAM SHOT.
*
I’m a dental monitor, not a dentist.
Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there you can move forward back to detect undertones that encompass your naïve expertise.

Yours and mine.
There are no nasty hues in their nesting place. There’s a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and greed. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up the visual cortex — pasted-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — tooth and nail radiance powers of color broker for enduring benefits.
Define sex come of age, pleasure long-
stood. Helium released. Populations drenched.
A circus repatriated.

2/21/17

The plan is set in stone, according to Hoyle.

The
End. Wa? a lip-synched koan?
To continue there’ll be at least a minute of morsels to review.
No outlines? There’s an overload.
You can put it away, our brainchild had shown
Overloading is forgivable only in sleep. Even more so without a bed.
That’s how dogma wins.
I threw together more self portraits today.
Some have kind eyeholes,
a measure of gamblers’ intelligence, along w/ their eyes
of course, pieces of the tea puzzle

in the background — and to sweeten the brew (attention)
young bodies keep moving bets on everything.
Burbling
*
the milk rallies across the Atlantic, abundant, compulsive, redemptive and busy with slivers of disruption, some rousing start to en plein beauty.
It’s a trap, why were we going?
It’s easier to French-kiss over Europe, more natural to pose
— here we repeatedly set it up — a painting in asterisks.
A Kremlin of lips. A Cyrillic vowel.

A Workers’ harmony. A song might leak



out when silence is the acoustic remedy,


but how can we escape by foot an occupation of wings?





— Anne Boyer, 2008
Then it’s said repetitive motion has gone too far
and some at all levels got enclosed, not spoken of,
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting
our lives together & keeping nothing.
[Trained] S[s]taff encourages sampling
sharpened by a moral duty.

That was the life of the party speaking. Highly attentive,
morally camouflaged. Way
none of the above.
So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. The ride will be a brief —

2/20/17

Stanzas are replicas for what’s

On the island of afternoon aliens.
          

A colonel-general. What a night. No problem

Erasing the narrative and

The ordinary structure and storied specs

That were. 


Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up nothing seen

Standing far off across
 your just dreaming it up.
Wha.. sorry. I was wondering if you’d care to show us around..

Last night or the last few nights taking the wrong bus.
Dropped off in a maze.
No, no food use. That’s a warning.

‘Normal’ locals with misleading directions for the way out.

A rooming house. Inside, every room named canonically after a poetics. Defence of Ryme, Habits of Empire, Preface to Sordello, Being and Event, Thick in the Field, Prepositions, Camera Lucida ... the kitchen Untitled.
To wield a conceptual brush is to terrorize, even if your motivating injunctions steer clear of violence or unregulated emotion. Terror here is poetry’s swift, certain, nontrivial insertion through a hole and/or through self-negation in certitude and flatulent controversy, such as with Basho’s disproving human sound unable to transform animal to mineral, or with Duchamp’s counter-ploy to the rule, men’s room accoutrements are never foreground. 



Controversy, like injunction, comes to us commonly or frequently as back-formation, a provisional ethos after the conceptual stroke. We were constrained by the profound assumption, for example, that a play requires the tone and stage be set in more than five words. We were tacitly sure of this, marginalized more from different affects until we read Beckett’s new direction: A country road. A tree.

We’re in charge, we’ll stay here. And while anyone can stumble and a few of us slip into reduced circumstances, the failure to consummate a redeeming relationship is no problem. Repeat deferment is strategic, and there’s a sequel. We keep the sweetest for now, that is, we’ll keep the best of what life offers, the youngest males and females, unperched, close to our pulse, and poke them tenderly like endangered kittens. And — sure — there’s still an itch — we can’t sublimate — needing cougar flesh, dog fluids, and more infusions of cash. Savings, inheritance and loans that paid for all this look more ghoulish under the froth of rulership, the new austerity in mirrors.
Nobody’s a bystander.
Ice is a mineral, undead in the water. There is no guarantee, however.
Plan and organize.

2/19/17

With all due realism, it’s not enforced. Interior freedom is personal. My supply chain is.. national, informed realpolitik ..

There’s a state insect bullied by the beat — a big smile across its face, appendages gone wiggly.

Summary of charges not filed.
Wait here for the supremacist outside.
I sing of an average gas delivery totaling hundreds of therms;
the stop-and-frisk repairs to a separate clearance aft

— a quiet pace except for clanging plastic : Lake Drastic
containers hanging along the bow : the cow?

There’s a rule-of-thumb
exclusion with relaxed directions.

The cow district is in the peroration,
a normal pfffft..

Tomorrow can mete out facts to impel comfortable indeterminacy —
as if we could rush ourselves thru devotion to our next decimal of the property.

When it comes to half-dog leitmotifs
things pick up during voter fraud registration.

I own two-way ideas, to scale.
It kept adding up. I had no modesty issues, none detected, fewer and fewer policy goals.



Soon we relaxed our balance to parry something (or perhaps two things) that once seemed clear enough, but not now, here we are...

like two radical vapors, untitled moods.
Your statement is enclosed.
I’ve highlighted failures in a box to select whom you’re with, reaching through the outside, athletic, sandy from Apollonian aromas of polycarbonate, a statement like tall, gripping in a raining birdscape.

2/18/17

Our treasure is sunk. Formerly breathtaking, we were amazed, once, at all the money. We thought it ours, Oyster Harbor, Eelfleet, Burningseed McMansions shuttered, careers punctured, a sullen style still deferred!

I’ll speak for many. We lost sight of bowls of irony and riches and a lighter time, reduced to our surface (essence), the chilled gimmick of our inner teen vegetarian vampirism. Well, half-vegetarian — we drink only discounted blood of nonhumans for the moment, ha ha, since we’ve gone through some bucks, and since the lovers among us hanker to appear manly and acceptable to a widening, treasured demographic, prurient moms and their frenzied daughters and sons. For all of them, we won’t make it harsh, except when holding them out of reach from other vampires.
The ‘universal’ that is so obvious in Joan Miró
is less so

here — I’m just making up excuses.

For the city & surrounding areas I take roads by a shore in bad translation
blues, stock blacks pitched toward numbers-to-be, no part
to fix, no concupiscence & no comeuppance.

Provisos & driving pull me into conceptual realism, along with brighter composing subjectivities.

You.
Kittens 1st

— you translators are a close second.

The end divvies up the ethnic accordion out of the rain from haze, round wedges shooting blanks!
A brick housewarming
and your point?

You appear ordinary. This is about barricades, something else.

Horizons w/ no rooms.


I don’t like the idea of holding you but I touched it and it shook my being.

Hidden risks shift weight (your merge accounts request).
The herd rushing to our rescue (there’s a deadline), a tumble of inventions then an ambush ...

A kimono has been entered, explaining the senses without thinking

(An official soundtrack includes J-walkers and bystanders, walking renditions of zealous counterculture.)

... you can’t do this job alone.
Targeting methods
To appear transparent
After a button is pushed
— I’ve heard that scream.

2/17/17

Landscape:
I won $8100!

Today’s real estate curator has a raspy, I’m-married voice, a little loud in a tanktop calling for contingent inscriptions — it’s very cryptogrammic to mis-arrange arcades countervailing seepage along tidal flats.

Marriage is looking good, a mistake but “not a lasting one.”
My job is moving the marsh until it gets exaggerated.
How does it resume?

Who owns my house under socialism?
Propose a synonym or work on it.
*
Filming you again and just your voice, the glass house (socialism!) perforated by meta-action heating with data.
Doggie, I choose someone who reminds me of you — we’ll proliferate if
we try — if you take up any passage we weigh —
(you get no credit for this)
it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth.



Our options are bubble-footed in dark briefs!

preferring lunacy in kissing, diffusion at any cost making a mess / by chapter and verse.


I know this sounds lame — you and I annulled our thingness with a few hand-waves and felt pretty rapt, the way we inspire open, emotional austerity, rubbing eye cream in, admiring buzzwords but no ideas.

No fins of infinity. Nope.

Rubbing it in, pigeons pattern heaven where detachment is trimmed.
You and I have no major issues!
Most rainbows taste of sitcom blown up for Broadway.
They never make it, go back where they come from,
corroded with physical self-disgust, chained to their desks.