Marriage is looking good, a mistake but “not a lasting one.” 

Who owns our house under socialism?
The times call for action.

Caliginous faces, doubts, pleasantly high alerts.
No tedious script but liberation from horror!
We heard from the ‘producer’ under his own death trap rubric
that is also an icon of his intentions.

And yet stuck at this end I’d settle for a shorter text than this,
a preface to a cookbook, perhaps. Straying from the trap but within lines:

We’re feeling besieged, a little called out
in the great rift’s meaning of no revolution now.
The disease gathered in a kitchen of the West Wing.
Democracy is a charity case. I have checklists from partisan television.
Civil discourse’s beginning to come undone, a mistake... a lasting one.


I go for the moody and unexpected.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and below, unlikely yet

I put my name in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. I found so much of what you say emancipating, but the data are hardly unadulterated. You’re driving me nuts.
Ovid called youth a positive influence. 
Reading and living  
Ontologically under-simulated his senses —  
He should be doing flips,  
Be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes.. get  
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips  
Under the prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,  
“A voice and nothing more.”

Pasach fixings.
Here, to protect yourself from a wrong-headed (naïve) build-up and still call a portrait “transactional,” limit data to easily observed phenomena and stick with expedient production from self-contrived ideology and history.
I bet in the future we have no mail from the here and now. We’ll be on site.
Indebted? to what?

We’re a special team. We’re circumspect.
Our sharing mechanism (pretext) gives no voice
to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence
we back off from. Nightly

we face life thickets of cloud & southerly winds
taking it to other investors who might stay offended,

the next step in the training.
11: 1st choice for a sonnet is to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce; x copies my life for yours.

After, I feel a burst of fresh blood, wisdom and your living endowment.

Wait. Later, without x... it’s cold, a waning world away...

But so like-minded so fast —
we convert to folly ..

The world you call yours we keep featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, like
Thought in agitated waves, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing here to help increase harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se, nature will age, decay.
Yet not you, my love.. The more you live you are given what you give.
Our bodies are made for each other. 
It’s astonishing.  Did you hear back, what? 
.. I’m changing my mind for a life you changed  
So relax Ihre form here.  
No cheap shots. Nope. Take the plunge..  
Now I’ll try occupying your emotional life.. I move in with a conscience 
Operating with data of the moment.  
Our biggest hurdles, memories.
Let’s see what we get at top of the chain of proxies. 
There you go again. Tax and spend. Death panels. Lyin’ Hillary. Toxic concepts infuse social ideology and organize perception. Political samples predict voter behavior.  
The kings are crazy dudes. Party “extras” play along or rue it.   
Turning to outdoors there’s a wholly hidden idiom of renderings, highlighting themes out-of-focus, left to twist in the leafy apolitical acreage.   
Art director’s cut.
As noted last century, there’s rustic prep for a painterly style and muddled cool. We come from some landscape with a father, calmed by his fear we were of a kind he was to others.


There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order.

The young gain on the old, those that would,

Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years. (Like the renaissance.)
By future standards don’t-I-wish
is disgusting.

How so? we failures inquire. Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory, you howl. “Mm,” the man says. He was staring at my clogs, wondering how they’re embossed.

When struck a lightning rod emits dust, after that a solution, a chemical substance that squiggles down to my feet. That’s how.
Suspend suspension..

Our hesitance to go there is weather related warmth riding in and a similar improvised sauna of fog going out, all but darkness offshore the day before.
The atmosphere wheezes through its pace emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, I’m a musician.
Bliss. We were looking it up. 
A battle between two distinctions  
among few rules bringing up a few others,  
times no more of those brain-states showing pride from Asia.   
A marsh is now interesting  
(as well as vitae) for the sea.
For the eye, nothing but applesauce then shellac the sea brought in without consent, leader of the pack of earthly rule breakers.
39: Sing how in your absence, thoughts on love with him hint of torment. Separation seemed brilliant manners far back, before today. Thought of that now is oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.
One difference, then, sing: you are the better part of me that changes — I’ll praise you while praising him.

Even divided we prove we’re the same. We live to entertain thinking of our love at times. Yet even this is separation. I dream w/ you.. as you sing.
I have aged for you. You may have noticed I’m on the side of folding in meaning that has no purpose, sheer falsetto.
You want in? Try eye accessing cues, carve out what rafter was last seen all strapped at the top. A name for emphasis might be imagined.

A serious pronominal.
Frag-mento steps in, We came from coming back, he says, never the same last excuse when you like to stay running on a folk classic with breathy cult components, listening and showing we both are here. One part synergetic Weltliteratur giving less weight to fantasy — another now is where the renaissance part sways.
After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.


Can I state my own fact as fact?
We’re nimbus-wet. The dark edges must be why
Two very different outcomes equally square
What we (a) hear;
(b) wear to the worry dance;
(c) fear on all edge with work.
(The lord’s will tilting my ribs reflected aphids gathering on a wall, also unanswerably, in the hand. Whose hand? Those were my sentiments. The last ones. I’m pretty sure. If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)
36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho one, 
you’re also mine. Yet you get so far then it stops. You’re not alone.  
I acknowledge you are not my one delight — you’re not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love that keeps dividing us in stolen light. I confess that — or let me confess both our loves are shamed into love’s altered effects —  
Your love, mine — separable remains from our nervous systems that distort our open love into two, radially.
I hear your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it sounds fast.

We wanted to go to
This point in real estate, stabilizing the new office — over the ocean
w/out ‘water- or personal-contact.’ Should we take 
a message?  
We’re talking to what must 
be figurative breakpoints with fate and fate’s consignments. 4 walls as examples.  
Empty messages recall nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
We’ll erase that message. Also 
Politic display of paranoia recommended for staying cool and stable in an emotional tri-level.
Surely I have ideals and uncoded momentum, bolo intact. 
Rain twisting, “tensile lines.” So wave back, s’up?  
We’re at the prelims of collapse, I suppose.   
I’m on the outs with prelims, down with the innards of English.  
Down with variations as conjecture too. In fact   
I’ve been breathing without conjecture too long,  
restrained in my language on earth.
As noted last century, there’s a rustic prep for a painterly style and muddled cool. We come from some landscape with a father, calmed by his fear we were of a kind he was to others.


We were wondering about invention of the planets, empathizing 
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative passage to sing.  
Not a foe, no spite  
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment got cut! Getting  
To there uproots the light series, exalted then stiffened into parody..  
Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray  
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing;  
This was not true showing you touched, you took me. 
What go around and come around left to their own desires and systems.
Heart asleep, little love, I remember looking up at you, at — 
ahem — feeling an urgency in ideas taking heat. Women, men:  
Legions warmed living in a debt growing city state. Maximum restraint  
= get it done and don’t talk to any of me.  
This pumped with mandatory inflows of feel-  
oops, they’re metering to block counterfeiters’  
hen of steam: From which — from art of algorithms — all  
personnel will  
have to be shifted or fired,  
coming to work anyway, achieving a remedy, a seemly  
bliss of the non-willed state. Enlightened but as it is,  
lacking the middle way or new age.
Exquisitely handcrafted 
meditation retributions..

In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
All a given. In this case, someday.
At some tiny level there’s spontaneous disintegration of what’s on my mind until I find myself in a half-life where speech still matters. 
By way of a PS on bohemians, Schuyler (ravaged of course) was more of one than Ginsberg, unravaged. And Brainard (ravaged then unravaged then ravaged) was a big boho. Auden? Think so. Jim Brodey, a boho. Even less narrowly, Harry Matthews.
149: Cruelty goes by a few worshipful metaphors. Not loving you down the road.. going against myself.. all due to future Mars invasions!

Heavenly and new, classic, easy, unforgettable metaphors to our surrounding revenge by taking off, fawning over you / fawning under you, quiet and respectful in everyday nudity. For nudity earned your just respect, commanded by your eyes. It’s always a swing reunion in that ritual expanse, a whole new side of narrow and hollow at center, a vacuum spinning on wheels!
Blackened windows:
We know we don’t know.
Prose is a marketplace,
a rendezvous to encapsulate data fields for the tongue.  

I’m sorry this happened. I was going to stay  
from the moment we set the stage from squinting within representation 
until I went broke. I was then indebted. I am now.

I just can’t say enough.
Now an international scale opposes the lexicon of my body. It’s scary-loud, yet there are comic arguments as dreams seem to centralize.

I have come to my senses, acting my age with your beauty inside. So what I say prompts the assembly I made of torn Gillette letters and smaller decimals.

Each step (of my essay) ground in my heart.
Fair, dark warning. 

None of this is pressured by déjà vu. It seems rational, with a little prep you can achieve more intimacy with a poet you’re initially wanting to know. If you want. And, of course, you’re helped by the other, the other’s writing, I mean, since poetry is one medium for splendid self-introductions of a framed sort. No, what I am about to say ...I want to put here and it’s not entirely rational .. there may be a blushing-waif-zeit and atmospherics, but certainly a range of collective empathy (psychosis?) with a potentially or partially vulnerable social manner.

Wanting together with his and your own empathy and vulnerability, will put you both a way forward; you’re talking fast and can’t control your eyes, even before you have intentions. This happens fast but not forever, especially with one who has submitted to selection-pressure before, one who misapplies both your moves and language to enact motives beyond the immediate speech act.
You all right? 
That’s a title for most any time lapse. Stick around. 


To chide your beauty, sculpturally, has to be done but it’s one-sided.   
It seems artificially important    
The screech was spherical, chiseled in  
a seagull.    
No one’s there now but you.      
I missed it.
In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
All a given. In this case, someday.
Our thoughts at this point raise magnitudes of meandering graphics, 
having left a lavish record of the human hush-from-hand-to-fingers-to-mouth.  
I enjoyed it when my innocence sawed into us,  
turning us into this 
beginning of infinity
even if sheeted in asterisks. 
Our area is interpretive search. 
(Want to read our minds?) No symmetry among unequal strains.   
No that’s not right.   
The ‘search narrator’ feels self criticism got way over-modulated becoming 2nd rate, NGO, poor argot sampling hostility.   
Masked or not, my marketing allergy steals from my super ego stuff.. ..easy to cite in tones stressing processed shock and inexactitude.   
Flipping out highlighted weak spots, our freedom, our top level surroundings. Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting.
That’s not to say there’ll be any more food. 

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently. 
88: Patriarchy expands fraternal allegiance. You & I so belong.
We’re well acquainted with our own double weakness. Well, I really enjoy it. 9 out of 10.
What do you look like now? It’s right to ask? For your right I can set down our story, bending all my loving thoughts onto you.

We both gain an advantage (all wrong) to prove you virtuous.
The local is inside you, sang Pete Seeger, Bob Creeley  
when I tossed my head and rode 
one foot, pawing the ground before a gallop.  
As for my consultant, he shook  
the bed, broke a baby toe, stubbing it  
Like nowhere else in one place, 
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the very era or epoch of the perpetually alterable 
— a stream of gasses embossing / conjoining an invisible roll call gathering around
so much as ‘the way things were’ stay the same that day. 
I swear while we teeter and travel further  
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts —
All these props are just to get in.  
Or I was wondering about the knowhow that causes new wonder,
That licks both problems.
You, my man and woman,  
Pastoral you and all it initiates take humane power in socialist space. It’s rare.  
Home base, hierarchal Finland: say it’s working through the population. 
And we’re the entire crew. The socialist’s way.


Yes or no, certainly. & all right 
All attempts to throw your voice were patently dumb & of a special force,  
Interventions & addictions too disproportionate  
To unknown risks. What’s semiology chanting?  
No futures present advanced phenomena — what older worlds once added —  
I have a tiny soft view of holding to the new path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord configuring another.)
I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two    

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan  

with no memory how it got there?
My last friend is 
my most erotic partner. Our joy’s a start-up  
And has nothing to do w/  
Opposing ideals of corporations —  
Our music brokerage remains in aerospace   
Within no sound where there is none  
Other than the last  
S’up? nothing else —  
The more he said it the pushier he got.
As one says in social sciences, it’s too late for Cy Twombly’s complete nervous breakdown. There are lucid gaps we spot now and see through... the universe in flight enjoins the loyal center, Twombly’s cocktail expanding and accelerating. To resist extreme sobriety of the autodidact bouts of hedonism are recommended under the guidance of loving doctors, wet nurses, others beyond family and school though you can try your luck there too.
147: The float seems to learn love fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant wares,” 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the fair as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no caption.”  
Mad discourse throughout anticipated that base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave me now when there’s a move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please. 
Same with his mocking Plato —
It’s all hideously exciting if you’re fair as well lovable.

Justice for all is only made to look calculated, he said. Liberty with caution, minuscule, exciting.. again.


petrified by striving to mend —
The forsythia is trying to warm up.
Do I have a taste for disharmony and disproportionality? No, I elect to be ignorant. As a singularity 
I believe in undertones and the mimicking hidden force of gravity. You guys go ahead.  

I’m going to walk on w/ Gilbert, that’s the best stunt.   
You see, G Ryle asked (and w/ this new knowledge he still asks), “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”
As one says in social sciences, it’s too late for Cy Twombly’s complete nervous breakdown. There are lucid gaps we spot now and see through... the universe in flight enjoins the loyal center, Twombly’s converse expanding and accelerating.


Didn’t they tell you 
thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof  
— our brains are being stolen. After  

we wander off the promontory back home muttering “TV,  
TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia   

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  
Hazards all sides. 
Talk? You hoped we might &?
In descending order of indefensibility...  

(a) Poetics is democracy.  
Evasion in poetics, as in prose, foregrounds style, motive — subjects for close attention. (They have tied me to a tree.) 

(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (writing despite the signs). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory kicking a signing agency when the signer is down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement. What tree? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, so much later. (Signing in hilarious light.)
Artifice, craft, life are short and drive you all over. 
Making out, I can drop the questions and shoot for craning my mien; by squinting everything visceral is scattered. (Behind artifice there’s an interaction lab.)  
(Behind life, a free agnosticism. Easy sway. You’re taken up on your offer.) 
Beaten up hulks pour vodka that swirls in determined tones. A film clip with multiple data fields and a crew of deft extras in malaise, one supported by another grabbing a ring thru a rope, dignifying pain.  
I’m told you’d prefer not to watch. Using your voice, better to ask a friend or two to make you hurt, pretending they are you, falling mute.
Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in a mocking form. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.

I thought as a lyricist you’d follow these leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —

I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bear bar repartee.
154: I’m sick from love, disarming my love god once asleep; I’m diseased, too hot a votary for you. 

I’m sick to vow a life of heart-inflaming desire never touching you...
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate maiden
hand abstractions... (tripping by... 
each note taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we grow 

mind and body worship by your side, truth un-quenched, a general idea to warm us, bathing you in a healthful belief system. Or do  

we prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats hearts for perpetual cure?
I am lewd, in a blink in my ‘true mind,’ stinting
claimant of photogenic vitamins to embellish the bleeding,
lacking historic truth tho settling in —
in a way — over a raincoat of moods.

Warm-bodied, visually queuing up.

So you get it now, assigning de facto completion thru catharsis
is no yes vending grafts about duality —
Send in multiple marines with hand and finger gestures to boot
and never complete, never shaken in how they prolong dulling pleasure
but at overhead altitudes.
Our atmosphere squeaks common sense.
I sensed him and he liked me. It’s an eye popper, a new 
Use for fumy italics — fumy on the outside,  
Different inside, just repeating, just on nerve, just on time.  
Like him I leave my stamp for no reasons, for nothing spurs dreams.  
Here take a wild guess. 
A young monk will then say,   

Tell us about your imitating experience. 
Your reading was beautiful, well pronounced. Perfect make-up. Had .. humm? Your boredom is poor experiment; that’s what we said to snap out of joy, lightness, eyes-open dream. Knower and known no longer clean, osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind others, our others. And I’m less affected by less meaning, un-giddy like you. Duly of course sounded, I cover my throat.  “It’s nice to be interrupted twice.”


The door to the exchange was left ajar. 
Fizzy purviews haunting harbingers that hang around from The Inferno. Quantum waves beat our eyes off. Don’t you care structured improvisation vibrates thru personal diaries (volumes) over time? I’m chatting up my repressed side to save you from all our early decisions. The charge is to pass / not fail to remember our nonironic ignorance.
I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two    

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan  

with no memory how it got there?
Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there we can move forward, back to detect undertones that encompass our 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 — pasting-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — powers of color broker enduring benefits, tooth and nail radiance.
Ironic judgment.  There are a hundred butterflies in perilous art. What’s wrong with watching one or two spin like happy mediums, go crazy in the dirt, re-engineering variety and persistence?
We can’t always wolf the message down this way but here we are. INTRO: New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. ACTION: The brilliant live on and they always have, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).
108: Admit you miss smoking, drinking boy.

You miss that first drag. Have you heard,

Taking other lovers you become multilingual.

The smoke tows you in its stride, in its spirit
Among the underemployed in hyper décor —

Your glass half full. Your hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with fresh manpower.

Counting no old thing old,
Stay informal in no time,
Stay new so to speak..
I’m yours, I merit you’re mine —

What now to register?
Stop waving that grape drink.
How I do love you —
Tho graduate studies seem piecemeal,

I watched us dreaming like economists
affecting a radius of two coasts.
What happened out there? What for?
The survey said you and I made it to the 2nd challenge,
a winning session in crude instrumentation.

Looking into the camera makes this a document.
Gestalt-like comfort in disruption is one point of a # for our seminar at 22 hours.

I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out scene like in martial arts, barnstorming pen- 

umbrae, a pro ring planning to vanish on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
un-danceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 


I swear while we teeter and travel further  
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts —
All these props are just to get in.  
Or I was wondering about the knowledge that causes new wonder.
That licks both problems.
Firewall, a king wanting sleep. A foot of sleet, mush, your estimate 
From the royal window.. pane..  
Nothing concentrates like a.m. rulings on Nordic weekends and a palatable wardrobe.  

I believe in you. Evening you’re distingué. 
You give me a musical temperature, a fine spray marvel. 
We’ve discovered squeezing brings up more meta-activity as superstitions based on fact —  Blasts of selecting fast, out of nowhere.. nowhere near here. Not even now.
We reach back to no self, only others.
Been holding our tongues. That’s how it works. 
Non-interference takes charge, under which an authentic kindergarten language of crawling gets raised & quest is forcibly asserted. If this were true, working against deadline would shape the last steps of withdrawal from our deadlock with future attributes.  
Meantime you targeted a fan like me because of familial obligations to ageless platitude, your camouflage in plain view, the focus of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground. 
In midlife I once had an idea today was over. I forgot, man.  
With less & less destruction of evolution, we constitute the Odds-on-Group taking part in the co-ritual to outlast time.  
Over & over. Today again. 
Life & limb truncation covers about half the winners & victims in crossfire. How you question & answer — anything you come up with will stomach fair use doctrine — what the privileged young play by. But the next resurgence is an elaborate gerrymander where all ambiguity vanishes for a seeming long time.  
History is old as mutt. 
Sonnet 105: We express idolatry as science. Fair, kind, true. 

Amazing to meet you as well as science, two, all in one. Two!

Amazing to touch your penumbra, feel influenced by funky themes, o many songs.  Lawyers

Define pleasure you communicated thru love to last a lifetime. 
Take care, and take your time; 
likewise, inspire small talk between you 

while keeping your sum of sums under surveillance. You
look good together.
We’re not all to blame for unforced errors 
modulating the binary self  
according to archetypes of reverse daring.   
Varieties and perspectives have changed —   
There’s nothing to tell...   
since unforeseen messes at some point talk back.   
When they enter, they appear as though they have been with us..  
it’s amazing how they simply pass  
— coming from another headquarters, radicalized before they got there, here  
proceeding to be read in on the agenda 
in time to hang it up.
The service vice president wrote you a note:  
An idea dawns as you and I back ‘into’ the salon.  
It’s a salon poem, exquisite, uninviting, keeps its distance, so what?   
You contain only so much of me  
as I live where you belong. 
P.S. They are holding your brain illegally.
The traitor’s bags are packed.