Monday, March 30, 2015

Nothing concentrates like consecutive sentences about our love and its promise of a more palatable wardrobe. That’s if I’m hit by what I feel in the a.m. I believe in you. Evening you’re different.

You give me a musical temperature, marvel.

What are we fixing up? a few rounds of bluish vistas; for others there are many a soft whorl of moonlight over lakefront.

It’s just off the boards, like when the water lilies kick off their work boots and women rule. Snipers crouch,

the idea of Burberry’s.


Hi cute girl in black hat that works here, brief punches of text look great. Works in evolutionary niche construction.

In a wartime between paragraphs v bullets, guess who’s won?

Tiny, simple, the better ideas to clobber you, short iterations. That ze plan.

Garish tulip brocaded with energy.

You are man-y crisp, a color too orange for anything that can happen if you pretend you care.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Friday, March 27, 2015

This is an impressions album. Can you take dictation?

Ultra blurry, anamorphic, bound movement sung by writing it, but turns in the latest form of your payment,

— Dear, you
weigh nothing in and get no credit, no
spectral, tiny swaggering to cash in
yah there’s a substitution agreement containing you
and me in force, pulled on from inside.

— Dear, and oh yah asleep awake again, more than once w/ a face of a poet. Or a filled out line. Or lines. Smiling lessons.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Involuntary ideas of thin dots and stripes are a mess.

Sunken gardens w/ a fountain at each
feeling cornered, raw dismembered bones.
Rationed compliments appear w/ secret
ballots that float situational math

then I saw you in a documentary.

I saw your name written on walls

(sons), foam under rush-formatted steam

disappearing like figure / ground battalions,

pretexts (w/ no sound) — more

appreciable fear a cappella —

There’s product on the loose. Good tailoring

faintly reeling w/ descents into moaning

nonentities.. the Ralph Vaughn Williamses..

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

There are centers of wishing beyond closed doors.

All batteries are charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber — I’m about to walk the spiral and more! Ladytron is carrying this note of irony back to my pals.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Joop is not here. Inexistence is left over. Doors are left open as raw theism was a main event. Secrets of satire went free of the situation (music) and structured sky, complicities (an ear for sex).

A contextual effect (another procedure) becomes more fearless (less indiscernible) when innocence, dance and one’s acrobatic partner cross boundaries of codes. Codes of boundaries. Crossed lines scored from beneath. 

I notice your underwear in a denomination marked with anti-jealousy. But they pill. Yeah, that’s funny, take some of mine.

I hated this luau. I killed for you.

Why’d you bother?

The Bronx looked used up. Mr Evandro had a life that seemed poetic, occupationally.

Joop sports a motorcycle jacket w/ a feathered shrug. 

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Ode on hold a sec. There’s a world truce out there (frog protection) ..

We can remember when wisdom lay in de Staël turmoil, a title for the ‘rhetorical’ surface where middlemen / women are loathed today. Owing our words makes everything phenomenal. (Our addendum is in the mouth.)

The French Suites get lighter, immune to desire & intimacy in the grips of mistaken identity.

I’ll lead you to the border. Just call before you go.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

In a song of ourselves, all emerge otherwise,

Officials had had enough of fish. (It might be better being a big tetra instead of a little one.) Next day Ed took a new job in the equivalent of an education cafeteria. Growing up fish evolve. It’s a measure of the increasing clout of fish this message strikes you like a fin. This is a message! aspects of which covered debts dropping glassy eyeballs in fake vomit.

The sky aspect above the new moon is a flung, shorter hue of our echelon’s ideology. Hmmm, it seems. Dividing vendettas, your feet never come back.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

I’m no judge of assembling
jerks interested in robots, one’s the narrator, urinates on flowers.

I’m sure I don’t want a Baptist grabbing my shoulder
but he rusts himself in, damnation de Faust!

Or, that vital prick. Ow gesundheit.
Afterward, he and I leave the tribe and go to first grade..

We got in surrendering our fingerprints

humming to each other’s making a windfall. We

toast anyone else holding this suit

w/in one’s center, letting touch slide away.


Everywhere there’s fog in sky off a force field I tend to dislike, nowhere better!
No ripped off melancholy, no lecture / rap / blues, it’s taken none. I’m lying.

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

Monday, March 16, 2015

A mood is an emotional state. Comcast.