The tallest paintings remeasure your height.

Painting ideas.

You had heard maggots eat über-paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s wasted, emaciated planes, junk and emptiness.

Painting double quotes.


“Devils were seductive, motivating me to seek their darkness,
Pick up the guitar and write more songs,”
Talking Chimp squealed like a talking dog.

Lean, fluid, sleek and balanced, clipped close,
His daredevil is fallen into a state of confusion & loneliness
— just to feel a cloud pattern about being no one.

We reach elements within the set where touch management is unleashed. But the scenery is suddenly beyond diagram while the crew is calmed down. There’s a dual nature to anonymity that makes what’s inside disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of escape.

What’s semiology? unless we un-gnarl affects to figure it out?


I was nursed from the beginning. “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer)


That’s good, because I sneaked across those gimme-erotic catalysts. (I don’t remember whose or how.)

I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisios, integers-to-be and no buzz to fix.

Waves beat my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.


Bio note:

Larry Fagin works under Jamie MacInnis, Murder Inc.

Back a while, in the 80s, after I lent Fagin $200 and after I broke up with Jamie, Fagin began his obsessive campaign to obstruct my ‘career’ in poetry, spreading wholesale fibs and fables.

Maybe that’s why Anne Waldman has never included me in any enterprise she oversees. And she oversees a lot. There’ll be no NEA for me. Nothing at Naropa. So much power!

Good show, Jamie!

P.S. It was her hair.

I still write poetry and I remember the salad shooter.

Yet I have no regrets. I can’t recall being as excited as I am now.
— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.

Runic, compared to poetry now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy poetry until only style prevails.


Tv interview:
The enigmatic eaten alive by song layouts,
Burying the syllogism for life.
The Meaning of the Bright Side Sketch.*

*The strategy goes on because it’s clear.


The elevated prose idea of August
helps you get through life wellness rooms
circling a moratorium on consumption —
help yourself — June thru July.


You bet monkish materiality does not exist. No dissonance,
no disruption! There are
appearances, such as a vantage baseline and shopping boundaries.

The book covers a lot.
An interesting interview had to be done in depth,
‘staff may be prosecuted,’ toughing this one out.

Still, there’s no lack of linnets and authentic wax.


Rush to earnest sentiment and keep me there, do me up.
Only four exceptions: I wasn’t speaking to you.
I was speaking to strong, sustained interests of Oil Inc.
Oh, and incidentally, I can’t keep working with you
Looking over my shoulder. Don’t be afraid,
I just kick back and relax, the year will be half over.
Summer .. if I could let myself be completely a trace.

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m writing on borrowed-spores.
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a truce..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs,
A pragmatics circumvents the will —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..

I’m backing Mr Trump.

I just unfriended the not-to-confuse option. Thanks for the potluck. Your
hair is what's wrong. Hand it over.


— I haven't slept a wink — Try sleeping pills.

Yeah. Well, that’s a good idea.

I know I’ve been deceitful, but I had my reasons.

Maybe they were dumb reasons, but they were reasons.

I never said I was the best man in the world.

Give me a little credit, will you, credit for being someone...

who tried to love you the only way he knew how.

I know that speech

— You do? — the show last August...

when Devon meets Bolt’s empyrean nephew.

Oh, God.

— Get out — Please try to understand.

— No need to use that language.

Get out! Now!

The sleepless love me. It’s phenomenal. This is a nightmare.

You promised me you would get rid of negation!

We were both naked, and you promised

— Naked! — we were never naked.

We could’ve been! Mother. No.


Ted Greenwald, RIP

Bill Berkson, RIP
What I do as a human is take an ordinary subject, senior-itis,
let’s say, or a lamppost, and by urinating on it, over it, I ..

(The ache of summer for a senior is palpable — snorts
of derision dampen my naïve representation of democracy.)


How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pull the trigger, replacing
subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, use, media —
no eros in ideas.

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

If that’s allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped 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.


One assumption is tomorrow’s flight will be an extension of how it’s going now.
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced
Or displayed. It says you’re due an upgrade but there aren’t any.

This introduces the cult of the squish factor. My
Luggage did this to me.
Leaving the beach

— dazzling lethargy doing our cuffs as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, a handshake spreads the rain,

flowers, rain,


(That's it!

The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we
can walk on with. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows.

This is spring history.)