Websites lie. This is a translation lesson.
I’m elegant and round. I can’t snicker. You can, though.
I’m off the wall. So I turn blue when I cool up. I blast by myself when you leave for work. And when you come home I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the new temp, humidity tolerance and so.
I can’t snicker. I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.
I’d like to bend rules for a stretch within a finger painting
where we get dressed for the weekend.
A place w/ subdued barks and rare foreign minerals that take on tree colors
where an icon is produced by something nonprofit
heated on sea plankton.
The jet gate opens to the drawing room,
once a factory made the outdoors where snow & sunlight
close their distance. The old new & new strung out on sectionals,
an untapped atmosphere of oblique, puckish Swiss..
The Swiss playing the stunt of relays between workplace & dogma,
everything everyone can live by w/out being
sequestered or brutally charged by objects :
so by these shortcomings we softball in harmony
around some parts of sky & parts of parts.
I can steal from myself to make something up and call it mine...
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent: As if upon death Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.
Since then we and Coupe seem textually modern as respectable Eurocentrics undressed for success and survival, avoiding careers, unintellectual, peering back, soaking up the city among savages of our own designs.
I’m my own boss.
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! to help solve you and me for x!
when we let them.