You’re good doing this. Just in stealth.
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest 
Misery looks a lot better. Go. Fees balanced. Get out! 

After.. there are vector 
Utilities (direct flares) for expressing blinking enzymes.
I believe we never saw them before. 
Burn, turn, run away 
Suffering coincidence in time 
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come.. just..

And stop waving that grape juice. Language is tired.
Your eyes fill with manpower.
Your hair’s an apothegm to my health.
128: How often the ear stands tacit partner confounded with sweet concord. To be in concord .. (I know jacks about this ..) 
To be in concord, how often envy falls off — as tho entr’acte — wiry but fluid motions, a nimble boldness to harvest for saucy change:

Blushing to be tickled I kiss your tender, inner palms that sway in and out, 

Either side of my lips, poor lips, more than nimble, blessed, tickled! so dancing for your fingers and your lips to kiss.
Hate altered. 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
True physicality fills our minds on other matters even as  
Our faith hangs down to the ground in a sensibly mixed fellowship. You can’t throw self consciousness out. It helps, after, there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are stalking — working on it.   
There’s animal hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, I think, accompanied by our addiction to uncertainty.   
Come here often?
We went nowhere. Propositions became a poor promise.

At first random, as noted last century, there’s a rustic perp to experiential style and muddled cool.
2 million years a species, dream on, we know the $ is good, sexual liberty never expires, but the cool gauge has to be slipping

while I’m not going anywhere; Spartans hate to travel.

Do you write while you edit? There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore.
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?


The status quo models verse as living matter re-involved with impulsive energy coursing around flecks of appropriated ideas, especially when it comes to appearances, tones and language use itself. I might call this artful transmutation of intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t a history of folk enslaved to procedure.
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.
Alt right verse’s meta-conscious. On the surface it projects text like selfies, “poking” materials, assemblers, audience. Selfies however adhere to full if reticent agendas.
Pedagogic systems schedule exams for dominant samples. Absorbing that data is high achievement, praised and sustained so long as it’s duplicable.

Rightist epistemology’s key reinforcements: skillsets bias embodied by algorithmic sets; respect for hierarchies.
29: I am deaf, “bootless” you say, never hearing I’ve been scorned, despised, all alone for desiring you...

Yet I make a fortune wishing, thinking of you when? when disgraced

Remembering hymns for love rich in hope, wealth, art, a human scope.
How all men’s eyes rise at dawn from birth, this outcast state without you, when..
Almost enjoined as to the sullen, least contented, almost cursed —

Looking for you and singing from earth, thinking of you through daybreak.
Staring you in the eyes 
In my illusion of minimalism  
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,  
I should say the accretion settled down  
Inside us, lost and scattered trying to remember.  
After all that, it’s a misunderstanding of gym etiquette that gets you ashore with one* shoe in hand, mine.
I’ll find you.

*that one shoe = two I stole from you.
Misshapen drops of fog storms — major rain —

affable and fresh earthworks must

carry the air out in fat, thick layers (thick in spades, hearts racing).
We can see our excess atmosphere conning our right brains,
because we share weather it has importance —

... here’s where I freeze. (Every-

one does.) You now me.

Clouds yellow, experimental at night

— flakes wash themselves now in dissemblance like kittens in lust.
In vain a head transplant brings on the knowledge affect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching the seasons float in willpower.


Solitary dark
                          the air pushes..aside

— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / language.

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.

I knew and now know I am unhappy and, like most everyone, not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..
Classics are for romantics like the Raveonettes.

I digress: y+z (1-x) is a blind patch of petit point. Kissing is sick. It’s bad for you but wasn’t as destructive as the filching of imitation.
Anyway, kissing where you are is so blatantly filled with what it spreads everywhere completely negating its purpose.

So why does it get processed in your eyes through history?
Maybe I’m a critic who’s decided to blab about all the wealth we have coming.
Each year corrupts the interference ultra-field. The elders have rules. Stay funny and
comfortable is one.
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert / handkerchief.
Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy never to see you thru the eyes of men?

What can we do without sleeping around in our active subculture?

Last, best, fair in determined love. I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure
and going out. / According to slung
Allegory, it’s called Stepping Up, Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.
98: Smothered abstractions. Absent from you in spring. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams drawn after you, dreams that forgive me for holding the moment too long for paranoia’s trapping both of us. Summer’s story, flowers’ smell, lilies too, roses are but sweet: The sweet spirit of youth losing control. If we let it go we yield our slim authority.
Can we straddle the divide between convention & sorting through unattenuated sense-making? 
Between waiting, not wanting, untrimmed desires crowd out an undercover, captive thought pattern shaped through long derangement oiling up baby..

at the eye’s edge of clemency.
When you got up your voice was 
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flat into dust in 4 motes.   
I don’t know how motes, much less how 4 rush   
And flounder into mountains. I only heard   
Vibrating = Sturm und Drang,  
Dust controls anger / how severely narrowed minds are wed.
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, a holy body of music.


I question the following.
“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling, sane
behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.” I still can’t turn that
down. Can I? Could he?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.
Spatter — rain on others’ happiness that neutrinos can’t stand scattering. Next the sun we say shines, nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual of our meaning it and not tempted. It’s still my life, we say. 
Some of you and me is here, right here, and more ‘you’ve been away,’ retreating to emancipating solitude, keeping / adding up wait time, sporting by degrees the related changes you seem to see and are.
44: It was nice once to have known you. If flesh were thought
A word could count remotely, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean within a large-scale dialectic —
No matter, despite the farthest limits of spacetime I could be brought before you if you think it over.

Will you think of me?
Dear September looking like January,
I went to your reading dreaming of cutting out. I thought I went outside
and cried. Happy nerves. I need a new sum of things, just remembered.

A heart shaken culinary distaste holding
my tongue on the verge of resisting you, thanks to notes of civet and benzoin.

In the right daylight, polygamy twitching inside a church, acquainted with women and men’s affairs —
“In each house a different white hall, adapted to sever the head
from the vines. That’s an odd thing
to say, are you in or out?

Another thing, I want all the pillars and vines shaken.
Remember to slam the parentheses behind you
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang
(to be on the safe side).

— James Schuyler


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
I’m a year and a half late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode, can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’ll making an ode to autumn and then winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

Kites: pinky juicy crisp, unlimited
Space parlance —

The language predates handicraft mottos and canned feedback,
Slithery, always waxed down toward our bumbled abstentions.

Life is better bumbled, a few times, even
Looking broke with pencil marks across gessoed

Pearls — a level of wealth that’s puny as worn parlance.
70: I don’t blame you.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds looking prime outside and you’re still passing, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval ornaments impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest talk.

Who are they who envy you? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.
Pollution control. This medicine causes confusion.
Yes, we can fudge an alphabet from a dirty grid of circles.  
We can whip up an alphabet of symbol systems within other alphabets  
helping us read from grids, other notions and homonyms  
as well as take on upgrades for discoursing in colloquial physics.  
Yet a steel door stays open. Here are the last letters of bliss.  
We best defer to the upgrades to shake it off.  Back to the distracting alphabets.
Deep blues and silvers with biological shades perform as vowels;   
consonants are shown with senior upgrades,  
slurred with what is always present.
Keep an order to begin —
Is it the level approach you’ve taken

Erasing most of marketing, any

Specificity that appears normal?

Looking over pebbles and snails
And tiny shrimp-like creatures..


Wok breakfast, man, a broad-armed chef
Standing off across my

Whole food outlook!
Compression is particulate and coarse-grained. But —
It remains
Both our voices have to grow

Until I know you from a prior flossing.

Hot sun, cool air, and no clothes.

Loss of pain penetrating like moral gelatin
That pressures, punctures social tyranny

duh.. After lovemaking, performance: spatter words and rhyming systems for married or unmarried. 
Once you think about it, think it over in any narrative, to execute thought is itself recursive — behind the thought beside itself.


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.  
Vengeful dioramas later ..
soaking up positron equations that might italicize sex (our hobby and bent!) annexing us to commune midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes?

Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing blushing shame / anthropological-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.
At some microscopic 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 was a big boho. Auden? Think so. Jim Brodey, a boho. Less narrowly, but also Harry Matthews.
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 time in dreams, darkly bright, best seen darkly directed.

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

It’s much clearer in the light. Yes. That quick. This is a speaking animal in heavy sleep, you remember regression —

all days are nights and nights bright days. All time’s up.
There’s a guru I listen to. 
I’ll dispense with details about me, this is what I heard.  
The nation is being mined. 
Mainly specific  
pieces of pieces —  
Most out in space are pulling in impact. Often this is how the latter day sing as we come to our senses  
with an hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity. Pull. Puller.  
W e’re pushing in genetic material prompted by the assembly.
Prognosis: It’s just getting started, more video, the century beginning with 2 decades that cannot be easily designated. As a citizen among millennials, it’s gross I live to blow off my masterpiece, suddenly recruiting a new narrator under my notarized certificates of hubris and vulnerability — Euros tumble. The sensual spy novel is invariably amusing and telegenic for killing time until 2020 and through the 20s and 30s that follow, so let’s narrate that. And about that. We were always lovers. The meta-tick-tock due now and pronto — calling in Cupid — the greatest emcee and dues collector of any new century, sullen, endearing..
Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Pet rooms to talk about (never hesitate) beating then shooting the innocent into a space fracas but our last victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee — 


Upstairs message, parts of it. We call it yeah 
Parentheses (w/ monocle) to explore;  
The 4-D printer’s, they have many followers, you on it?  
As one’s eyes reset  
Focus time to question more.  
                              Anything to take from the a-argument  
For missing stairs..
Solitary dark
                          the air pushes..aside

— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / language.

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.

I knew and now know I am unhappy and, like most everyone, not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..
How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and by pulling the trigger, I replaced subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, misuse, new media — no eros in no ideas.

Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic allergens.

If those are allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars tape-sealed to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...

We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,

The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.
58: Deserting the beach — god forbid 
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs, waiting as the wagon sways  
with fellowship. Love in the future, at your call, a handshake  
spreads the rain,  
flowers, rain,  
(That’s it! Do what you want.  
The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we  
can walk on with. Good. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our  
This is spring history.)
As a persnickety moral sort, Are you thinking of me? 
I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy wind instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge. 
Mortality can’t be beat.  
No amnesty? A ship is on the way   
from mare nostrum  
or like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness for now.   
Blinds drawn, our preachy, scavenged opacity fills w/ sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking the globe w/ its bible pedigree.   
Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing coterie added to sempiternal space, entered into w/ a worldview w/out speaking, achieving access to felt qualities.
We were used by the demolition pros,
sliced, etc. Oh
You were fantastic, metallically shaded,
the arms race in recess, ribbons torn down.

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

Polarized as boats
keel and cover rubber planks
across their reflection,
a taste of being shaken flame pink
and orange.
Money money money I pray.


To a spiritual father in the future,
Deal with our failures.
The ruddiness of brown shingles looks right at us.
A house down the street, the “sadly” restored one —
If you lit a fire there, for real, and wrote it down,
Our faces would limn how today is going.
Writing forced to the surface for an earthly face off.
So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,
Intemperance, the flu.
Coming clean is part
Entering & staying w/in a value

That comes into you, fantastic to watch!
I won’t lie but sleep in it.
75: Every time I visit you in your mascara I become lucid about the fear you strike. Day by day you were food to my life. And I see the brilliant live again, sure enough, in vetted dormitories, always have, fudging abasement with rich food and neater drugs. Sorry concentrates. There you are.

Pleasure and then the transportation of souls and their wealth take place about here and now.
Nothing for me. I feel I’m a pursuer of no delight uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..

Starved for a look, now counting it best if the world
may see my pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, on / off your sight...
pursuing peace, all or nothing, with you alone.
A maple against daylight has breadth and the dark thin substance of shot up shadow; this is a guarantee
as local time is disguised among skimpy swags and willowish leaves, living structures aspected as abstract in the ‘inner’ harbor of glare cut from coastal space.

Space (within) doesn’t know you’re looking... doing nothing, watching you look.

Space’s slowed us down to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter, earlier or later

but even later it could rain.
I do what I can. It wears off me.


Having only a sec, you never know the glutton 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 strict anger management.

It’s a blabbing amateur that needs you — until

his time is up.
To Psyche,
After you
I went into analysis alert. We twins
bear shame? Faces change when I use
your words; plus or minus they’re so close to everyone —
in a glance we’re all about to bail out, off —
why are we even arguing!

Signed, Id
54: You’re back!

Truth is, we cave wantonly to your lovely sweet odor (fairer in our forgetfulness).
O wooed rose!
Before they live within you — and like you — perfumes were of dark matter, the unmasked buds that distill a civilizing beauty far ahead of summer’s space

Filling our eyes with unmeasured disassociation.
Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. toward the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
How does not knowing why intrude on liberty? 

Visuals today are overproduced.  
I produce Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate, Spot One.
Each of his microns intruded a moment before emptied of vague alterations. Then back to the same Spot. It seems for all that time.

Intrusions encompass free time, coincidentally.
One of these days..
I don’t think so ..


This is my 1st stab at tantrics, 
boiling sanguine, sad going through her pinafore of latitudes, so  
Perfect, she doesn’t see we’re getting our drawings from other traces  
and no matter. 
There’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed;
the oppressed are what we avoid when we can be free

on the outside. A natural voice bouquet smolders
w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

In better Prada, a louder voice would distort the status-quo on otherworldly streets:
“Where are we going?” This or that way. I guess
so. Not particularly.
Those who still insist on fighting state power, let alone directly taking it over, are immediately accused of being stuck in the ‘old paradigm’: the task today is to resist state power by withdrawing from its scope, subtracting oneself from it, creating new spaces outside its control.

— Savoj Žižek
A ruse can be your generic object, emerging as sleep.
So you’re still in danger within the same baize corridors

— How do bricks
hang through the duration? (How is the easy-hard part.)
Ruses write themselves.
2: We never came across it here.

Slow, like never before. Yet a thriftless parabola of your face intersects feeling its own pedigree (that was).

Face to shoulders, gestures are precise in your eyes, through them, the viewer’s glass.
There are proud motions throughout — the viewer’s eyes. Warm and cold climbing down a first, second, third hill. Falling lower down — a new lusty mainstream-underground

with deep-sunken eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Of small worth. Will

you recover mine? Renew me? how much? let’s call back
successive coordinates, summed up in fair praise

remembering pleasures of the eyes! neck! and chest!
Yes there..
Muse and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  

Then both can devise omniscience for a period of guesswork.  

Finish a stretch and all glory gets confused. Confused the way   
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
  ...pleasure before.. Hey, that your velour vox?  
Omniscience is sham-sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes off by itself as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes then custodians.  

Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.
It began as parallel ideas, say a few radio waves up on poles.  
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect  
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping  
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series  
As a glow that’s cool and regular. 
With dangerous gaps.
Cocktail wieners.
Kids love them!
Peel’em back and throw your knives.
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue.