Her bourgeois red hair, his gainsaying oomph, we're cruising at altitudes of theorem. Quack probabilities dim until we restructure our credit history, wrap it in clear plastic. Where does the political economy have us put it? His and her terrain is also yours and mine, since we’re all for one as subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy..
Let her go, let him do want he was elected to do..

Sorry, not tonight...
Who dealt this mess?
Lunar cycles are no analysis. The War Council is countertherapy.

Get me text edit. It’s what you thought, I did not mind leaving
You at Liberty of London for the republic
Among archliberals. Every symbolic conceptualist steps in multiplicities. Swimming
Synchronized. As in telekinesis, tele-spoken

As a narrator here, I’ve no place to hide, a swimming
Plateau = not finding hotter places to avoid. You there?
Love your inhuman neighbors. Ghost writing their ideology is pure brinksmanship, a reduced antithesis to fake sounds and false distance. We're all redistributionists, psychologically living librettos. Politics is anger, useless bruising rhetoric. And money is gross, always. We cross the road tonight.. Join the revolution of the ex-rich slicing symbols up for our very first media shower with an opening dedication to the Ramones covering Cole Porter. Or whatever revolutionists call you on short notice next door.
The camouflage in plain view is the focus in stiff wind,
a caption dedicated to echoes...

“Continue.” / Thus began the treatment.


“And so you know — pleasure aside, from then on we’ve been holding our tongues.”

He was home free — using his arms to create wealth, a dance work of adagios. It comes down to our unfinished music and happy mediums (alternative tax credits) until they leave us because we’re cheats.
The invention of worship is over.
A wall of calm is put up, under which pillow talk can begin.
“A week of such weather” an authentic first language, dance, charades get raised here and natural quests forcibly asserted.

Cultural obligations shape who we are, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance for future attributes

                                        like pond stones showing us our breasts.
It seems like anywhere unless you knew where you were

Andro-gyrating, trying it from fear buried in misty
Piano strings! precise and going no-


Floating up nervous laughter
It seems outside ...
An octopus taken no more than once a day.
Minutes after your work can be filed ..
Make that ‘work’ to ‘file.’
File to file. Or will we be going anyplace for sympathy we gave up?
The topic is civility now. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to Leitkultur, the treeway on a berm of civil-democratic permissions reformed as disruptive presumptions built along hedges and headwinds from within and, as it were, without civil unions that can scar us inhabitants. No way.

Do you read me?
Fast, lasting, working against deadline we accelerate our personalities, ordering a gloss over opera, albeit comic opera, smothered in delays, weeks of libel suits!

Watching lawyers fall to their knees, throw their arms up in the air.


Poetry is like poetry. Four beats a measure.
Clinging to one tradition, poetry is like nothing
In party management; it reveres collectivity,
Tiered access and spontaneity.

“Do we get hats,” asked a rich lightweight.
In another direction an ex- ex- (poet)
Says a close reading of The American Heritage Dictionary
Seems useful again.

Looking up spatial heroics.
The label was a headscarf more than obvious,
Wild-eyed, on the curt side, one makes a preparation response
Like all the others’, the ballroom looks glowing
& tiled back & forth mistily
Across immense miasma,

Half of it waxing along with the bride
Adorned along varietal circumstance.
She once kissed a cat at her aunt’s place.
She made an inappropriate shoe choice.
It’s probably 8:54 out west still
Identity theft occurred when the sky was an idea
Of seeming permanent
As a child utterly absorbed by stars.
I’m not religious.

Having seen again what I know about me,
I take note of what I like about them.
Apaches? More than their gods, I’ll miss the vehicles.
I have to store everything in.
Dining with compassionate Anne:
Cicadas are in there. For the first time she
is a friend. It’s great taking part with you.

I like what you did last time. Thanks for the straw.
You brought us spring joy.
Conquest contributes to a wonderful unanimous

— just unnerving enough.. atmosphere.
Any chance you’ll humor me
and stitch me up for dinner?
At midnight I remember those breasts,
geometry that respects the brain.

I was taking no calls, I’m intent on success.
Somebody feel like a piggyback?


Splintered as your index in your left ear  
digs absent-mindedly,  
signaling restored  

to the figure of a hipster,  
you might address   
your head   
coming out of a contour of spurs  
bearing messages to your eyebrows  
ravaged from the start,

eyes peering until they see their backs  
the old, plain way —
Don’t you know it’s always the same kid?
Experiment 12: Declutter, depersonalize,
let’s snorkel down. Terrific view.
I saw you on ghost tv from across a dance flotilla

moving your future hands

like tracks on time, no touching...

you be a woman I'll be a man.

The simple complex of entire atonement —

touch television — now proceeding normally

the mercury-brimmed scree

insubstantial in its unexpectedness,

daybreak like absentia we left before asking why there’s a handful of the lily, too weak for real pain, a handful evaporating into the leg

— no touching of hair or face pumping like a fountain

                                        a dangerous, frisky slither

on the now-clear train to a continuum;

tv retaliates against / falling or falling out

in daytime, programming on a sheer precipice.
Sonnet to the UK:

There are no new recipes for disaster.
For subatomic life this is well understood, mostly
unspoken, but how was I supposed to know? I put my
finger there — this was the first time — “Great.
We’ll just hold your thumbs.

It was maybe weeks later I remembered, “I
feel like burning myself.”

Yes, another form of dance, elf.
No aplomb in nature, please. No

Living among ilks of valid scouring colloids — simple?
No mimic measure, no ceremony swats from

“plinthing a drumbeat”
Self-barter, a potential volt in a then-this-is-now domain...
Just praying.

Too many ideas inside — I’d,

You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe after I’m

Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own

You know — more than 1 I,

— Things, myself, lots to hide
Yes or no, and I’m me too

So I should give a shit

Because when I speak you’re

Stirring up other ideas

What I feel
Think I feel, oh, Man!

Ma’am! You’re telling me
Nothing new here —

A stupid thing, knowing this.

Re-examining all my meanness,

Italicizing failures. I’m ham-

Fisted attempting satire.

Snooty, freaky I gay love it.

plodding from the Portuguese
Yves Saint Laurent and Bo Diddley died on the same day. Bofirst.
Speaking as just a single expert, you’re my business now.


Your immaculate body becomes detached numbers and frequencies.
“Pronounce” it —

That’s good.
Now draw the strings. OK.
— what do you know!

Mayhem goes off softly
So hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, rose, pale red —

A roving shadow feeling like
A thermometer — legends says,

Crossing senses blood standing’s a fossil orange.
More feeler than hand,

It shakes the nombril ray,

A maneuver on high just dimming the drowned thumb,
A sculpture with a cup on it.

Unlike Bowie & Thoreau in Japan, I seemed angry. I bought my first balance ledger. (Moleskin.) But I learned a lesson.
There’s no equilibrium.
Before that Japanese syntax got molded apart. Molded like sister & brother drummers & saxophonists playing to a micro environment, backing it up with inexact backbeats multiplying from before any interim tempo took hold.

There was no party.
De rigueur for now is farfetched. / Let’s consider what might outrank Zen. / Your dialogs sound libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio, some science fiction

— all right, let’s start the open air in complete command of nothing.
Wearing a wigless wig is one method and model.
Measure = unbending contradiction, full, official division in one’s mind and 1 other, you!
I’m refilming ways that seem hard to manage.

Let me hold us in the dark... It’s a future perfect thought

as your body keeps moving, clouds part. The lonely aerodrome rushes to litmus introspection, snug, sotted with the urge to fit nothing in.

That’s how being with you works asleep.
Religious type, agnostic, both listened to reason while a temple friend sliced off a nipple. It was the middle way, enlightenment simplified.


Well, our faith promised us immortal lives, backup roles that made us teen idols,

Central characters in a morality play we lost track of.

I gradually began to buy things in no order, branched out a little finding a passion for monster movies.
The focal point is the entity with many focuses getting to foci.
Isn’t that a calling?

Meanwhile, your eyes fill with unmeasured disassociation.
Your hair’s on the brink.
The Lord wait lists the design system.

Can’t be sure there’s larger yield.

Notebook open, wallet shut,

Occam never multiplied.

Irony-sincerity voted
Thomas Eliot, a flashy

Society writer, a modernist. That chintz is lost ...

Can you take a seriously argued philosophical position and call it poetry decor? Yes.

Like our sworn oath in a rustic wedding symphony:

Just before going thru with it, however, we started looking at the shower gifts ..
Poetry, jettisoned and as you wish, let there / not-there go, sky and river
will go, let people behave all the sharp, sudden ways Ute
speak, looking around and starting to rethink we’re
using our 1st language! Short iterations carry
such signs. Dreaming in bed deploys influences for output...
You can exit this field or not, burning at the mute
end then add features to nodules like in finer arts of epistemology.
Song: In ‘open’ debate and with most any staged lingo you learn to think for yourself fast, when you’re young, willful, if it’s in your nature to have people behaving as you ought; you start along these lines thinking in bed as BF Skinner must have

Nodded off. Doctor...


To throw out sleep, trust, and now nimbus-wet telepathy — I’ll never feel his arms around me again. Never feel the air on my skin, or wake up in his warm bed, I’m done, I don’t get a chance to try again for anything, not even for something I’m not. I can’t do any better than what I’ve done.
There’s an Ivy component to our absorption of Munch as colorist.

Nothing concentrates like rulings about a Nordic weekend and its promise of a more palatable wardrobe. That’s if hit by what you feel in the a.m. I believe in you. Evening you’re different.
You give me a musical temperature, a fine spray of marvels.
What are we fixing up? a few rounds of the blues, giving them up; for others there are many a soft whorl of moonlight over the lakefront.
There are blasts of creating fast, out of nowhere.. based nowhere near

I’ve discovered squeezing brings up more meta-activity.

Still. Very well, these charming Blimpie squirts fizzle midact

just like food that frays. Or

just read children get 10% of daily calories on outings

drinking soda (pronounced soder around here).

That’s how they become bilingual while selectivity
pushes school rankings as superstitions. Based on fact

bulldogs are hurling on a seesaw feeling fine, really
most footage balances if you acquiesce — my point may be lax
tho fake news is visually relaxing.
This long out I stick with iambs, no questions asked.
Do I have a taste for disharmony and disproportionality? No, I elect to be ignorant.
I believe in undertones and the mimicking hidden force of gravity. You guys go ahead.

I’m going to walk away w/ Gil, that’s the best stunt.

You see, Gilbert Ryle asked (and asks), “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”
Something accrues.
It makes me happy. Was that supposed to happen?
The signature concern is a reader’s experience.


A religion of dance sharpening endurance, risking focus..
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, ones who advocate for peace. Their reputations recede but the fact of early apprehension holds way before guns were worn.
Nice save. There’s a title now for most anything.
The sentence: the Bruins lost squawking about losing
diagrams the opportunity.

Diagram: ‘But should we use quotation marks?’
That’s a whammy..
let me think.

By then our thought freezes

just why we reserve dopey incongruence

nested within notes to adjunct scenery,

the right tonal performance, a normative outcome.

Nice save. One of them.
Ah ‘summary’ jitters keep an eye out, a Bruins fool fence
-sitting to guard tall shapes and volumes of light

stuck on could it really be “quoted.”
Eurozone class struggle is slippery. Or peach-dreamy. I’m not sure discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income distribution, honing you /
one into two dimensions on the surface.

I’m socialist by nature, maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy),
spooked while cashing in analytics
(lifting data, ripping them off) to mine parallelisms (partisan gold).

Atheism is otherwise the main event at The Hague. Secrets of satire want to go
free to find an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) ...

The glue is “Token Austerity.”
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one more subjective state, a quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height.
This is a dance question. Fibber Perseus v radium Dana (his mom). Which are ya?
In one draft Perseus can see big futures, taller mouthpieces enter the salon [B flat major] rolled ‘into’ burbles, ‘into’ spools of Dana’s pedestrians sweating lead colors.
The Chinese language must B sung.
(What went wrong?) Morning Tang! 


Though nebulae are curved and hollow,
The atmosphere squeaks common sense. We can’t feel it though its pace is emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, I’m a musician.
The bellboy in me 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.

I live where you belong.
They are holding his brain illegally.
à la mer...
Cri d’une patate de sofa!
Dans le cas de cette pomme de terre, même si on trouve des tranches de vos amis au cours de vos opus,
tout sans blague, je pense, c’est

(a) impressionnant! Le patineur est soi-disant sur une échelle pour « blather » ou des étoiles, peu importe ..
(b) mais lâchement moi-même, je ne suis presque gêné, je ne me soucie guère la façon dont le poète est formulée, est parlé de comme un outil pour juxtaposition, parataxe, tintement ..
(z) .. encore pourrions-nous sauter quelques couches, ainsi en quelques secondes ou pas, prêt ou pas, allions-nous faire de patin?


Cry of a coach potato!

In the case of this potato, to find slices of your friends over your opus,
(a) bittersweet, n’est-ce pas on a blather scale for
(b) I’m hardly embarrassed, hardly concerned how the poet gets framed a tool of parataxis.. juxtaposition.. tinnitus ..
(z) still.. let’s skip a few layers, ready?
Some standards.
Shined asides.

We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,
Really a vase,

Set it, let sunlight pitch in its foam, infer
Poetry goes thru many drafts.
— I see your potential; don’t wait to be huge. Time is temporary; eternity
Later... it’s not much. Get your share, knocking the love-moment down with small talk, unscripted, unpredictable.


You’re exempted from outdoors, Psyche, Mme Crocodile —
Mme is exempted from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..
That’s before I inverse your fragrance,
Schubert playing outside, giving away the struggle we’re good at
— gosh a population for tears forms in cozy motels.
A class struggle in hourly rooms thinking it’s for real.

The struggle, not the tears.
Time for wine out of a box —
                                                        Urban attitudes from La-Z-Boy.
A life is charged by the menu.

Occasionally you sleep, given immunity.

Not every detail is for a generalist’s eye; still I’m clueless about vertically integrated brinkmanship, skipping dinner, combing through motions and low pressure peeled back from almost getting

our tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brings you and me home.

I don’t think life in the mind can be made up. I’m not worried it gets easier.
Our children hatched us, as the blur goes.
We’re trained in (bank) logos and several theologies.

Sung language has a light nonsexuality.

We chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties

Hanging out in unusual white corridors

Suggesting you’re still trembling, owing to

The chew off, just a short chopper ride

From the bank and trade. A vegan chew.
With a so called mother gloss, 1st-
Order phenomena pitted together as cognates

Still coming to seed and adornment
(trade), inaudible ricochets feeding us

To remain disciplined on our new celestial motion weekend...
This calls for comfort and drill, “...habits of empire.”
1) many immediacies, many readings / IT

2) consider sources, be friendly with some
3) available materials, define availability on the run
4) improvise (and comment)
5) I wondered about
6) who are you / pertinent to whom

7) how does that sound
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, holy body of ... could be Christ —
Sir, m’lord,
Parlance should sound ok, staying measured outside,
What Esau called discourse in action ...