Irritating city.. reminds me, Eros is immediate, overwhelming, terse & of a Castilian order. A hundred décors in one & one metal rubbed by hand at the piano. Piano hands touched by guilt.

Bellwethers, fey bloodhounds are sub-jazz. If ripples reflect the instant barter handing off potential thru another, then you... ..this would be how long reptiles flatten lips, usually wet, blue & silver white

becoming day after night. O no thanks or so we have one thing in common.

Tomorrow we leave, a sunset among clouds.
Sing: I love it when prose or song digs in and flails, goes 
down. That about covers it.  
(One’s destiny is that emotional core between personal and professional.)  
The larynx becoming free is a moving and intimate narrative.   

Got to run, prose.
43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Skull with putty.
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth in dreams, darkly bright, best seen directed by dark.

The more you put on earth, you know shadows, Hades’ colorations are evidence of imperfect unseeing, but blessed (made more adhesive) and happy when looking on you.

It’s much clearer in the light. Yes. Quick. This is a speaking animal in heavy sleep, you remember —
all days are nights and nights bright days. Time’s up.
It’s pie for the new year to set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. The verbatim relishes living among a slew of lucky design ideas orphaned to an alien ethnicity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age. 

(Welcome home.)
Ambience is a novel with your logo.

Amusing to read from sobering, antic design. Likewise to write it, at least for you and your author. As a poet who rolls with deadpan offshoots of good taste and reason, you might string sentences together like paste rubies and artificial pearls deliberately mismatched. Sentences would shine in meh as the wily ends of ideas fail to match up with new beginnings. Beginnings are lit up jewels of propositions before each gets dulled into falsehood yet contextualized by the faintly plausible, as if draped over a bowl of fish hooks — jewels, hooks — an incident in the making. You and surely your author might throw a personal datum in, offer the bowl an opinion (not yours for real, clearly) a bonne idée around sex as a gross linear process or, similarly, around the death of family, so personal mentions achieve the same (but no higher) level of emotional force as boilerplate for standard FAQs or photos. This produces scrubbed sober reportage typical of social democratic atmospherics. The arbitrated décor of your short text can then be looked after in “poet-novelist” ways (as this is a mock-up toward an after hours bildungsroman you are attempting). Your author’s ways include weighting the bottom of many pages with partially extraneous footnotes — beginning with number 31 (footnotes 1-30 are fully extraneous) — as well as mediating random elements, mostly unfocused snapshots but also font variations, lists, and a couple of equations. Humor is allowed. Humor justifies the enterprise but it is only one facet of shifts in planar and tonal assessment. Process description, your American ethnicity, John Cage, touring Germany, attending Carleton, “a face derived by software,” all these are data sets fit to be twisted, falsified or erased, as your author fictionalizes with what you see as temporary accesses to abstruse info, including fuzzy photos in a book.
Gas, food, lodging. You’re on your own.
A soulful lab mix, appliance and beast.
It’s nice to win over 90,000 grammars, all those associative halos.
Your novel is a conference. Believe nothing I say.
The back office is an eyesore, assembly required. It makes itself think...lets itself think... (It’s a coin flip.) I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems. Thanks for the memories. You ruined everything.


Pierre Bourdieu threw a projectile that applies this new year while top donor ‘families’ are in control — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of capital distribution are stopgaps like assembled heterodoxology while subdominant esthetic fields balloon and get consumed by baggier ideas.” 

Speaking of baggage as distraction, Bourdieu went home to his Cajun kitchen and added, “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings as insights.”   
The shortcoming between having things to say about ‘tastes’ back then, only a few years ago — and now — Republicans circling the wagons while checks and balances are nasally inspissated thru fear.
That slap in the face harder to explain now — a waste of energy on a streetcar..  
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropic action — wallops 
W/ a cruel lemon sliver caught in my nose, pairing up past reason,   
Romeo and Eurydice. Just a wedge. 
104: You’re fair to do this, my friend. Etc.
I saw both of us stop the actual dial, reset the pace. Still

you and I may be burned, turning toward seasonal
purebreds for fresher figures, new times and hot pricing, unless

Your turning from deception and envy is better.
Burn for me, friend. Hues balance in your greener motions

Since.. I have seen shaken fear and beauty from your eye.
I eyed your figure before you were born to me.

Perfumes of April so stand as axioms this June — in cold pride
you’ve already processed.. stolen for future use.

You turn summer into spring’s first age —
to me, such a future never can be old or done.
Making love is war. It’s not just money: 
I’m afraid it’s a Little  
Dipper: Emma, you’re handsome!  
Hold on?  
..membranes are functional! It’s an open   
Darwinian algorithm to back more  
nano-proposals, say, walking in, “hey..”   
No excuses, now  
make this a rite glistening of the wild...
In a mean perspective Bartok reached for
the moon. How is that helpful?
With your brand one constant.. you cut the rest off...
Remembering you forgot your killer monologue.

Taking your curtain call, you hobble

Away like a name dropper.

Emotions were something else, they don’t belong.

Follow instructions — slippers, noodles make us warm
‘As rouged scholars of what’s next to us’ repair to an adjoining display.
A starry equity or neurons? Words are beta worlds
that heat up while young at the edge yet a lost cause.
Vicarious is not strong enough.
And titles cost. Avalanche, a virus.
Cherries Hamlet.


Hail, love, I’m in hell with you
Having seen again all the mud we know about us.

We’re not living there now; it’s too far to drive, leaving us out drenched to the waist, hanging down on the sidewalk in blue and green concepts of mud looking a little ‘filmed over’.
The now is? I don’t know where it went or was. I wonder if we’ll show up.
These questions are battered about.
O ouch. I’m not sorry.
This is my first try in three dimensions.

There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace — w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —

Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, a humanist quiz.
Facts are a marketplace; figures look good when least derivative, swinging fiesta-ly. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B). 
It’s profound and prefigured... mark how the Frankfurt School’s defenders get nested within the keyboard to flatter contingent values within partitas, quieted down, trios and quartets for others’ voices from inventory.  
Our nervous system can distort music abysmally, Charles might say, ignoring pain to emphasize changes in radial evil neglected by the super ego. B is for Bukowski.
154: Once asleep I’m sick of true love, disarming love; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of yours.

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

mind and body worship by your side, worship un-quenched, a general practice that warms us before perpetuating our healthful belief system. Or

do I prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats your heart for a cure?
Our supply chain deals fatalism whose allegory
can shape and twist any desire, except a ready
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us.
That tells me
I love needing what tv does.
It feels great here. We’re on tv.
Flack? You gave me flack the moment you cried — Before taken whole.
Before moving on,
It’s typical, offhand.. rather:
My point if
— I’m probably not taking this all
In for the sine function that it is.

Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.

All the time, staggering!
There was a boom in robots once.
Then Alexa came along.


I remember those breasts..

A geometry that respects the brain,

Fred Astaire kind of shit.
When I win, I’m

Drifting toward us,
It’s a back-drift

Under your blanket. I’m

Over you now. I’m half-awake

Falling asleep in the speaker’s presence.

It’s deeper than that really.
Impulses to conceptualize or collectivize contexts are fabulously auteur-like;
sentimental to the core, even if in fact especially if sample texts (poetic treatments, meta-essays, e.g.) argue on the surface against individuation & sentiment. This is self sentiment affecting triumph.

The war rooms (ivory/media towers) in times of blanket authority — assumed — instantiate slaughter of memory & varietals of ‘superseded’ texts, schematic petals or stems from where the other goes after s/he drops a thread.
Nature is too loud for poetryts.

I’ll stop here, because I know you dislike machine habits:
Des ert-wise, how’s it going?
Well, you know, for a few weeks words like ‘trounced’ came up.

I lost how small I get.

Here are today’s avoidance words.

More bloom in the rubble.. sands mint white
Sonnet 6:

We radicalize to what we know best.
Beauty is a 10 and like usury always a gamble.
My tongue in your ear refiguring 2 pair,
distillation, defacement. A fair hand, a treasure 10 to one.
Happy to pay or loan you the rest, and glad
you’re a willing fan, departing before

the winter leaves by the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.
Let’s say you’re a man in your teens — that’s how it seems. Also, you were a near-death nut, now coming back to life. You say you saw strangers, that is, the appearances of strangers that fade away, persuading you
it’s for good reason there’s oblong smoke.
You read in the report one investor came to deny he forgot
he saw angels act like strangers, glancing back

as though we never knew the ‘aggressively disposed of’ on a first-name basis
or we forgot the name of our buyers who were reluctant to pay.

The new world has been well-informed, laying out bike paths that emit
repetitions in the bushes. Tremolos — we just don’t know — beautifully made.
The pattern is expanding.
The polls are now tightening.

Your proof is the topic sunburn that we can take indoors to paraphrase with little experience.
Give it a chance. Even interrupted our conversation never ends —
You’ll be taken up on your offer.
We’re enormously self-disciplined torpedoing expenses when it’s cutthroat & officially sanctioned.
Getting a pulse, fixed pupils, dilated. Don’t try this without the others ...


Statement of purpose —

 Just because we attribute work to personality doesn’t mean I’m not a brute with a hammer in my hand. My nailing us together takes a moment of your life.

Whatever takes substance and breadth, I’m not doing it!
A hobby becomes the color of dreams then addiction.
Can it hold the same seasonal affect?
I know what I need, blindfolded.

My life is the intervals it contains minus your presence.

Which is a way of drawing in regret.
A futurist has a softer side.
His life is his poetry, which appears as a biopic on my writing poetry about our lives.
His life then is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory* of that person to come. Aw.

That a fact?
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire.

* Any memory part is mostly vice versa and simultaneous.
151: Our berserk contacts squeeze topical structure into gentle shadows that are too numb to know what consciousness is.

We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over the poor and often excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded combine doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When instrumentalists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross prize although our ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody 
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within practice 

To engage another’s psyche. 
 You’re always wrong to prolong your appeal. 
To vote is an act of federalism.
Voices in our heads are social media. How far is it to the casino?

There is a civilizing process to telluric space

entered into by putting some wheat germs in.

Before the kill, yoga’s fantastic. You complain I’m brusque. It’s urgent.

Beads of moisture are in a pickle. Who isn’t?
I miss knishes.


A fop sur la route is a Parisian invention, an essentialist’s incarnation.

Steer clearly. Highway safety — bow, I love what we do together

Like switching work bags, mixing it up then. We should be mortified but impressed.
(This siegecraft apparently works.
For my driving, I’ve hired a fop strategist.)
How far? Rub it in.
Think or don’t think of it as conspiracy of/in the sun

in/of a square committee afternoon.
Space time. Whole minutes, days. Slash pauses.  
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /  
not while angles of light are brawling over taking us home.  
Vaccinated, a merciless itch, what is this collapsed satori we travel into?   
Passing though with amazement the X+1 “casting  
of cities,” thinking past us, pressing against me.
146: I’m talking to you in American. 
Christ is missing. No more dying then? Not going to lie, I watched us dream economics weeding and painting over a radius of death, destabilizing temperaments like worms eating up one’s itty soul. A body loss. Looters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing well respectively — great work for rebel power, cuts straight through the soul’s restructure creating more chopping patterns to abandon as dross.   
The chips mount, background to soundtracks muting the key words. Entire sectors of us feel the large cost’s about time, so short a lease, epic sums on new slender, fading glosses. The 21st century walkway and manly instrumentation are enforced for open combat. (It might be feminists like us are on genome probation.)     
Is this that world’s decision theory now? Don’t know. Not going to lie. (Ideologues often get stuck on last lines.) 
There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore. 
And there’s a hypertonic struggle to housesit too much information, pliable and glossy. You know it exists. Human body fat is worth $100,000 a gallon.  
The good gold. I fall into it.  
A life is charged for care. I’m otherwise a coffee head! But let’s pare it down.   
Have we ever done anything but tamper with the weather? Oh, who knows?  
Oh, Ladytron. You seem so fake-ignited in the sprayed periphery, a three-dimensional muse keeping her balance inside a soft radical vapor of vastness, loosely demolished.
Did you watch the report?

Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of industrial knowledge that considers prototype approximations in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard. At first.

Moving forward we have all of an hour now to take in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume) outdoors.
Lights up — we take ourselves inside the libretto where we reserve dissonance.

Sweetness is vacillating as usual after hours on clear nights. Robbers, cops
Though fragrant, turn opaque
And poof — still,
It could rain.
I’m a little I guess confused

I thought you might understand I mean

I'm surprised, do you know

what I'm saying? I guess so

not exactly.


Physicalism (neural brand continuity) adapts to schemes.
Government is not that impregnable. The background is a colorful PROCESS shot. A lethal-to-pallid graduate group locksteps to the scent, clothed less formally, save motives for eagerness.
I see your idea. Gnarly aviation. 
Purity of the surface deed is recorded, perked into light  
Public-private property hit on a plan wound up slugged in disguise,  
A ‘contract’ on big physics, ghastly on its back.  
There’s envy of political haters’ swimming synchronized,  
                          beyond prayer —   
(In or without ebon ink, capitalists itemize all bets.)   
One pleasure is borrowing sentences to raise our debits.   
All experience is seriously snipped off.. how to wear a summer dress.
143: Kiss me, skull.
Paying attention is the field call haunting the future.
Be kind, turn back —
More bounce for the retina can unscrew internal hysteria pouring up then breaking away, embarrassing,

Losing both death and life in pursuit of other business. You’ll

Look how I feel.
No plan is perfect.
I’ll put it this way and be done. 
I misfiled my core principles, went 
for higher ones in baroque-neurotic REM sleep. 

Any higher, they’re not talking .. 
(there’s tighter discipline)  

Highly apéritif, 
morally camouflaged cold indirection.

Violence advocates
have an entire stance in mind. Our freedom is success.

But our counter was preliminary and really took off, along 
with raw emotions from a huge manuscript 
I’m freezing, since 
It’s none of the above. 
Pericles, Funeral Oration
Sing, my next self:
Balls of steam suspended in bacteria over our hands, discouraging others. (A boiling kettle contained prescriptions, a guess.) Better now not to digress but file out a shade apart trailing the other copycats.

At top the penis is everlovin-elastic.

Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos and documents.

A mood is an emotional state. Comcast.
Your poetry is preliminary,

I reserve comment —

Don’t get the above wrong

There’s below to mull over.


It stays in the mind when the words evaporated.
Where we live now we’re “into” military opera.
Adherents have henchmen, dogma and the finesse of needle-felted wool.

Clear clear bright morning.

I won’t do your religion, good day.

Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods for here in Four Corners.
A bright spot on the game horizon, we’re beginning to see a need for a blanket authority or foundation to issue antinomian licenses. A nondemocratic institution that constitutes only one of a set to which no democratic or parliamentarian voice matters, no second thoughts, no heuristics, and in which nothing un-elfin or hurtful belongs or stays put, holding ourselves to the test doctrine of multiple shots at Todd’s Miniature Golf. 
133: My strategy is sweet sleep until we wake.

Who is calling?
Your friend is coming. Must I abandon myself? then my next self? both appear wounded players, both slaves to slavery?

Who can say? Twice or say thrice double crossed and, again — whoever, it’s not enough to torture me alone —
Engrossed, I can hear my friend’s heart groan in jail, thrice threefold — pent up cruelty that’s iterative, baroque:

As if out of time Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.

But let’s be rigorous now and agree while in prison I am with you. I am yours by force.

And I keep you in my heart on guard for all of you that is in me.
Once your public is mounted on tiptoes you can
add your own awesome content! 

Your first lover, dull, expressionless.  Tho

he could heal you thru ballast. 
Then forces of narrative came
seething, your breath unfixed 

from the floor as it circles midair as if it had a right to. 
Large blossoms are about to push
Also we see their ETA
We won’t be a second late — your ex boyfriends 
understand we can all meet taking on a form of you. 

That’s the gist.
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
It’s close to a curio.. writing in sheer Lucida Sans
All the time, staggering!
Tomorrow a friendly caveat for the melder up there,
your ‘work-arounds’ bully sarcasm to un-wit ways and means to spiraling.

“My regrets,” switching phones.
Everywhere there’s fog off a force field you tend to dislike, nowhere better!
No ripped off melancholy in a sky, no lecture / rap / blues, no shelter against the curious. I’m lying.

Part of what I do here. Throw up my hands!


Sonnet 135

To commune sounds spacious, un-calm, bent to boot. In the same call you vex prerogatives, that is, your voice does. (I’ll table the large difference.) 
“The sea.. all water” 

— Your message is mixed but never better aligned for a way or a will of mine. We’re rich together in our acceptance of death — this will be our hideout, learning the ropes, perusing scraps and hopes of coping. 

The unoccupied mind long overdue. The you 

I reference in primary season. You with your suitcase. 

I’ll unpack for the gracious aftershock of your going ahead, reading, lifting, adding and reflective or reflecting? you in the foreground, all water. 
Socrates is made to say, “My guess is this. The very existence of Athens, however peaceful, is a deadly threat to Sparta’s stasis. And therefore, in the long run, the condition for the continued stasis of Sparta (which means its continued existence, as they see it) is the destruction of progress in Athens (which from our perspective would constitute the destruction of Athens).”
David Deutsch, from “A Dream of Socrates,” p 249, The Beginning of Infinity
Here’s a proposition. Start over. Compelling work toasts knowledge construction — in plainspeak — as well as finds, explains & reforms infinitesimal times-spaces reflected infinitely. Your optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning our work, always.  
Tho overstated, the mind is a beautiful tool of late capitalism (the unwitting effect and cause). 

Capitalism stands at the curb, a whiff of more aroma, waiting, eyes unblinking.
(Or one could seek documentation, semblance, something Swiss.. From now on the mind is Switzerland, ok? Two eyes staring everywhere, mein Herr, leave now.) Capitalism thus gives up its dude ranch, akin to its rustic factories on the way west to prey on the drunk and disorderly. This is the highway the slug runs out on, leaving us up here.
Here we go. I got you.
Here we are.
I got you.

My back!
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?


Naval voices wake me up. 
It’s too embarrassing 

pulsing in a deep mirror, 
light rain to snow performing butoh. 

(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.) 
50: A hip cast of super angels strumming harps, an encore by Zeus Arrhenothelus

Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far miles for me are measured from my friends left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members get authenticated —
They are casually let go as they finish groaning for us.

Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind
Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:

Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are far away while I am on the way at my travel’s end.
Having only a sec, you never know there’s an animal that needs you.
Someday tho the fragile male coloration returns as a feminine force with tinctures and inaudible signs from a long history of decision making, preparing us for more retrospective behavior, more implicative speech and extra sensory anger management.

It’s a speaking animal that needs you, remember — and

in time was up.
Another moment soon to stare out the window, a flood lamp over my shoulder to herald the swindle in wind farming. Craning one’s mien goes on in this vein, time passes — comments from barbers on stale movies, political lies — freedom takes off at many a midpoint. It’s personal, e.r. managers tell me this ought to be.

It’s almost sullen to write enflamed birdsong and comb back your hair at the same time.. Can you do that? At the barber’s? To sound like your own critic stay light with a spooky edge.

Life is short and good grooming rakes you all over. No victims.