2/15/19

Reeves has a libido viewable within Buddha construction 
From a cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,  
 
A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt when Buddha’s metamorphoses are active.  
In plain verse we round this off in latinate stencils for amnesia’s fixed width.  
Spirals discharge. Reeves was great, shaken tame.
92: To my love in constant revolt, stealing away... 

Once again our life ends. Next, I’m happy love never stays; love is vexing weather, wrong to depend on inside scars. On manual labor. A heightened blush. Learning to fear the worst I’m happy to have had your love — I don’t know, what’s a fair question? — is there one last best state to restage or not to live in? It depends on you and me, not false humor; I belong in this humorless state without you, without dashing all our love. I find my lifetime love for you is self-assured and formally difficult and, oops... Others happy to die are on fire. 
Happy to die! — do we take their place?
No foes, no spite — 
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting 
To there uproots the photon series, exalted then stiffened into parody.. 

Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray 
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nil and showing 
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.
Let me grab a pen and clamber over here to the landmark network... you’re right, this isn’t the window for me.  Before the heat dies, if ever, I’ll try praying in all directions, improving parallel math skills for our window cleaners’ carnal satisfaction as we pivot from top panes to a ringing merger of gripping madness.
Frame: Socialist by nature, 
Not sure discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income  
 
Consultancy, honing the reader into two dimensions on the surface, cashing in.  
 
Looking around emptiness, embrace it for goodness sakes  
Yet reading the usual way subverts those expectations.  
We’re dealing particles of thought, pastiche  

To paying homage running across a subject, 
Finding how axioms move discourse far from oversight.
Violence resolutions have been approved, schematicized for good and 
remuted as gossip to evade a “mating strategy” to partner our 
heirs’ viewing planks. O Headwaiters..

2/14/19

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 in the eyes of men?

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

Last, best, fair in gay 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.
It’s hard to do a mock-up & care. 
That means you, banshee.  
Maybe I am foreshortened taking up prerequisites in criminal governance;  
I won’t cry to lessen the g-force of my depravity (your territory), but I hear  
squeaks. It could be me reduced in size talking to you for crissakes.  
 
I shouldn’t but I won’t.  
 
I can’t tell you I don’t care.
83: Life with Mr Juice comes up short — charm
-ing & familiar — unfair tenderness in a paper sack.
Hostess Wheel Clacker, bike spinner & fake license & plate.
A poet’s debt.
I found (or again I thought in silence)
Your eyes are nagging me for more .. admit you miss modern art & text devices.
You miss the first drag. Painting

Mr Juice imagines my wearing her new credentials
As an inner being when others would give life.. I have nothing set.
Have you read, praise & worth get ten percent of their daily

Calories from soda & smoking — sleeping to excess


Mute beauties become hereon slack
As I never slept for my sins.
Thereon I’m barren as I am dumb.
Atom of the future = the 1st head turns in which a detail is explicative in several ways at once. 

Clockwise = second head turn: 2 or more meanings re-solved into one experiment; foul results = few explanations.


Counterclockwise = third turn, in which there are 2 or more reconnected experiments.


A pulse of light of the right duration = 4th turn, alternative explanations but none good enough for clarifying experimenters’ state of confusion.



Superposition = fifth, lucky confusion: the experimenter is enamored of her idea in the eventful processes of argument and experiment. 



A row of 10 = sixth, universal yet irrelevantly ‘sweet’ shades of experiment, this time many experiments join in minting explanations, makin’em up.


Measure = seventh, and it’s official. Unbending full argument and testing of dogmas and contradictions, transforming ungated minds turning heads toward amplified democracy: All are counted, dirty outdoorsmen and women, kicking big toes, sailors, all on board.
To chide its beauty has to be done but it’s too one-sided. 
It seemed artificially important  
The screech then was spherical.   
A seagull.  Now 
No one’s there.     
 
I missed it.
Sway your head. That means dance. 
 
Don’t hold it in. Talk to your doctor.   
 
Try something cartoonish. I’m whirling around, pens and markers in hand in roughly 4 minute stints. Learning something about what I mean, high jinks soar belying despair over entropy, a quiet smoke, losing gravity! 

Privilege the not status and function.
Read this. (I did.) 
It’s half a libretto.
Achilles, what can you do or cannot do? Are you sitting in the sentence  listening ? wearing nothing but  eagerness for a motive to  hear what we were afraid to be?

2/13/19

Since you brought a pizza —
What about these machinations to effect scandal involving because-you-say-so and human sociopaths to raise your own slave-owner stature, fabulously?

That aside —
I’m a year 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’m writing an ode to 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.

Summer!
71: We don’t remember your life, your name, for I no longer mourn you.

Like a surly, vile freeloader / poet, I overhear captions in robot clauses... giving warnings. It’s vile — compounded when I think you read this line into my thoughts. I’m the hand that writ ...and I negotiate cash for rapprochement after I am gone. Hey, don’t worry, my next line is not incompatible with yours, for I love you so.
The 10 polisciences exist. Do tell. So ours is a great America. Can we go for a ride?
Btw, we got here on big feet.
That’s what it feels like or sounds like, not always is.

So it’s no. Also, you know what .. we just can’t do enough. Sleeping 26 hours would be a flaw in my federalist secession. It’s a sorry concentrate: Until we went broke we were indebted.
Now an international scale opposes the light in our constitution. Analysis is scary-loud,
yet there are comic possibilities as we separatists are itching to colonize.
Why tonight?  
 
My day jewelry drove down surface tension and gave us enough balls to take off and run.  
No jurisdiction encumbers where we hurt — 
Show me holding the moment once.   
 
Once and be done.
I was pumping gas 
& going to say  
metabolically we’re all for one in suspension  
of disbelief  
 
... sparkling pen  
 

-umbrae, barnstorming on top  
 
tunes, dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes,  
 
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
My cohort flock to benefits. It’s in the evolution of avarice, loose ends everywhere giving wind sheer the opportunity. Looseness keeps younger bodies moving forward. And that goes for the sun shining with its belle-lettrist metamorphosis in the street, damning grown-ups.

2/12/19

Foundational bias underpins the closed argument for or against not being sure.
A signature concern is the cosmos’ experience. The bigger the better. It’s peculiarly nepotistic, another point, so many writers simultaneously figure out these expectations within multiple, extra literary contexts, politics, cultural construction for personae, nonprofit and corporate performance theory and the like.
My name is Marie.

Pointless breeding:  
Almost everybody is resolved, the environment is loaded w/ 3  
seasons at a painting crossroads —   
Filming = [is] composing. 
Calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with a control group that can’t be erased. That’s what I hear. I keep fighting the urge to pack an appliance for some occipital brushfire, active against the jittery ‘human grain’ inside my fasting body.
It’s a misunderstanding of gym etiquette but it gets you ashore with one* shoe in hand, mine.
I’ll find you.

*that one shoe = 2 I stole from you.
We like newness in a way and reallocation schemes when both of us leave stroke marks. Like
how I graduated from this shame of yours and mine, this pride

in the battle between the sexes. (The rich won.)

Can you place our names? I row a canoe for the alter-ego, frequent asides and decorative indeterminacy.

With full employment, I got to anticipating mind control as disingenuous.
Sonnet 10: We lodge now (in the presence of physics-oblivion) 
a headless pedagogue hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option centered more per theorem.  
 
Panning back fast to grant your audience more of yourself, your love to bear, your beauty grew  
beloved of many but tampering w/ so many thought experiments.. you love no one? Not him.  
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =  
hating yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts, only a few 
sticking to what’s un-enclosed in nominal trivia to locate fresh paradox.   
 
For you change your mind repeatedly enslaving romantic poetry so you can be taught  
(for shame a conspiracy loved by such an impassive number, so many..) ..
Substitute snow falls like sea foam over snow.

Read the inspection label. To continue, asymmetry solves perfection.

Snow lists a mood replaced as the driveway met you. (You’ll always be dad’s inside, animals looking at you.)

You don’t get to snooze.
Snow is a collective meme that takes its singular form learning to drive.
Snow is a collective meme that takes its singular form learning to drive.
Are you healthy enough for perfection in a gridded environment? This new thing?
A stencil of our dialog frames many others while class struggle gets more and more slippery. 

Or peach-dreamy, subverting history, waking up today waxing satirical in a trance, as the poster said, ‘democracy’ encircled. 

Those pressed under convey a stronger gesture for triumph.
Fire, ready, aim.
My product is a li’l soggy.

2/11/19

Check list. 
Check the bill. Check it out. Don’t expect much.  
Chew a bund loaf.  
Map out how to rough house.
Colder rain or snow has had a profile that can only be screwed up during dry spells.
Either form is widely construed as partially audible, plundering suspicion within either’s asymmetry.

Rain or snow, the great work cuts straight through restructure, mistreating more remakes and models to abandon.

Either or they all do. Precipitation becomes a shadow soundtrack beyond logic. Tattooing condensation midair — epic sums up the thruway and instrumentation when you have glimpses of it.
My best friend is my most erotic partner. It’s a corporation
...nothing to do w/ simplicity.
His music brokerage remains in aerospace
W/in no sound
Where there is none
Other than this last one.
No other devices for half a year.

The more I say this the closer it gets.
108: Admit you miss smoking, drinking boy.


You miss that first drag. Have you heard,

Taking other lovers you become multilingual.

The smoke tows you in its stride, in its spirit
Among the underemployed in hyper décor —

Your glass half full. Your hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with fresh manpower.

Counting no old thing old,
Stay informal in no time,
Stay new so to speak..
I’m yours, I merit you’re mine —

What now to register?
Stop waving that grape drink.
I feel socialist. Validating market snapshots, optimizing
The practical center
More than any single system,

A huge agnostic discipline
About attitudes behind morals.

You know this open and shut —
Take it down / or thumb thru

The balance left over. Inhabit the brim

To the point you realize
We know now – now less than nothing, which exists practically.
Since you brought a pizza —
What about these machinations to effect scandal involving us and sociopaths to raise your own slave-owner stature, fabulously?

That aside —
Compassion.
I can talk to your teachers. I can debate them.
I can’t reason with you. I can’t even talk to you. Why?
Should we have 
a message?  
 
We’re talking to what must  
be figurative breakpoints listed under fate and fate’s consignments. Example.   
 
Just kidding. Since the launch of modernist housing  
empty messages remember nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
 
Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame and no literal disapproval.  
Granted, we have  
a message strategy.  
 
A politic paranoia recommended for laying back, cool and stable in an emotional tri-level.
Nor one’d presume elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained exposition to de-mark the unknown. Much as technology funds science, randomness attaches to most regularities.

2/10/19

No variation. 
No truth, research suggests shorthand abstractions,  
buckeye elements around indirect objects, street names 
more indirect than research shows.  
 
Minor formalism holds the moment free for a moment 
winning or won, upset, out of control yet  
surrounding aggression while keeping in touch.  
 
100% no truth.
It once read, architecturally, you’re my business. 
 
“I heard talent & beauty & money come with their own flickering light; by your putting them to rest they take ‘full effect’ with no attachment to bad diets or addictive capital.” Leaving you gasp.  
Is this documentary or did I make it up? — “when you remember wit and austerity read each other from the start, after wit — seems mathematical tho programmers have a fiercely vandal like impression of appraisal under uncertainty.” They ‘elevate’ diet potholes. 
 
So this is an edit (to hide highway hunger). “That’s as close as no personality has to keen, endless pulse.”   
 
..bicycling no-hands feels like what the sign reads in the dark underpass. To put it together, anonymity makes what’s excess pain disappear along with too much poverty and sugar.
My area is interpretive search with a no-go theorem to tackle the Alabama paradox.

It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote. 
I’ll assume you suspect I know you know it’s in the literature.  Written or not, nothing is forgotten.
The effect is real. Real enough 
to be defined consistently. 
 
Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary. Form follows structure. 
In a way nothing’s for keeps. 
2 spiral arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions) several hours forward.  
 
Nothing’s inference, compressed form:
a ‘crown’ of contradictions veer dimensional rhetoric —  
 
Can waving time like a moony branch  
supersede nature,  
 
a piece of research asks. It’s asking a lot. Why open  
atoms under quivers at the edge to sleep?
90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model strains of passivity and its onset by the rear shore. Only don’t drop in.

The pond holds scraps and parts of nesting authority, an after-loss. Rainy tomorrow. I join you to re-reference an arrow and bow made out of many purposed m.p.h. gusts — and this is your and my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.
The air is sawed off, wishy and doing better. We were dangerous, once.
Smooth rhetoric is purely blur. It’s too late to make it sparse. Now we’re appalled. Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake.
We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no shit. None of mine.

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, rotary forces of moral freedom will drill 5 feet down underground, a strafed, ethical spectacle falling into proverbial and natural coherence like mumps, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.
Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody;  
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within practice  
 
To engage another’s psyche.  
You’re always wrong to prolong your appeal. 
Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our shared agenda. Shared or snared, just like them, say. Leaving office to wolves has a double meaning to off-center the filing (and filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept back under my appendix for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, fortune (Fortune) itself burningly turning back to watch the wax dim.
We’re all buckeye strong. Very disturbing.

2/9/19

Jumping ahead. A decade from now no one’s famous. 
We’re forgetting nothing moves the needle.
I usually renegotiate after a bonfire of love, & like glowing sparks, not a note of cynicism vis à vis whom I adopt. 
It’s better after I begin to wake I’ve landed. A roundhouse in green leaves is great. I merge at the top, half asleep.. 
Moreover, we’ve landed. A roundhouse in the sun.. the left knee just there then took a variant position in a sequence of arm scratches — 

an honest hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity until it goes away, released at last into newly impartial states, witless after a while, undead.
There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore.

And there’s a hypertonic struggle to housesit too much information. You know it exists. Bad antecedents. Human body fat jumps, worth $100,000 a gallon.
This is the good gold.

A life is charged for care. I’m otherwise a coffee head! But no more, let’s pare it down.

Have we ever done anything but tamper with the weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, Ladytron. You seem so fake-excited in the sprayed periphery, staying in balance inside a soft radical vapor of bigness that’s quashed.
When shopping from your texts I find solid proof 
Showing stunning results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Outright theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive purloining motion went much further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass   
 
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..   
 
Sleep has no idea of here and now when ordering everything is the right answer
.. all on your check!
56: Lament:

Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit, a blunter edge. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors. A sad interim:

The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Hey, there are no middle class essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, renew your force, stick to the sentence.
Come daily to the return of love tomorrow today.

To go along continue needing riches, sharper appetites as it were.
Rare thanks for the view.
You may have noticed I write over your first-born face, a kind of praise, 
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of rose nosing you out but choosing you 
of many then forwarding you as backdrop for a dear heart who’s new.
This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.
Testimony, transit to.

To float in Buddhist undercurrents from work by a mature avantist is not much of a surprise. We know Leslie Scalapino and others as bona fide avantists, demeanors of a calming, enlightened refusal that likely rubbed off during their intake of an illusory simultaneity in the social imagination. Or don’t know. (Also refusal.)
Sooner or later Chickee got uncomfortable knowing the gender question has a peculiar tripwire: in one tumble of silt and salt waves a queasiness signs on as gender is the one query no one ignores, also a quest ill-equipped to be entirely fulfilled. 
Thus, Chickee is a guy.

2/8/19

Your mellowness operates transferrable accounts.

As it were. Yet it’s shameful to work for the state. How did Paulo Freire alone stand, pause and brush back his hair? others like him looking up like flight risks?
To keep going we find little or no compromise.
The music seems headstrong but we’ll give you a call.

“Great ... but I’ll just hold...”
14: In my judgment
what I know is in your eyes.
Good luck can never bite. Except not at night. Newer urgencies
where prognosticators feel rained on, pointing to each other
so exposed they feign ignorance, aimlessly...

And yet bad luck too when a lightning rod derives its flash while ever so lightly
its chemical wind thrives for a second and returns to stars —
doomed as cognitive coloration, brief astronomy, all matter.
We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with a given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to civil democratic union with ideal permissions built on headwinds — dormant crescents, lowered apostrophes 
 
with as it were or without lyric buzzers. Good buzz can scar others, you see, yet you see nothing but these facts were slaughtered by pushing somebody else remotely.
 
Free in summary.
The jungle is quiet... too quiet. (Theseus)

2/7/19

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..
Despairing of dead ended self regard, “the self-valuable word” embedded in instrumental discourse, Bob Perlman maps, among other things, Quintilian’s rhetoric, noting key components, meaning, clarity and tasteful adornment or decoration (“Words Detached from the Old Song and Dance”).

Meaning and clarity are fair game for Rob Fitterman: “weeds we may not always / have emptied this meaning for / a top-growth peel-back of another.”


When it comes to weeding and adornment in poetry, which involve making sense of / sense in any alteration of literal expression (via figures, other prosodic devices), Fitterman is an advanced horticulturalist. With 1-800-Flowers, Fitterman smartly “updates” sources for Louis Zukofsky’s last completed poem, 80 Flowers, a construct that “takes to new extremes of density Zukofsky’s methods of composition by quotation, transliteration, and compression” (Mark Scroggins, Louis Zukofsky and the Poetry of Knowledge).

Fitterman replenishes the grounds with inventory of similarly conflated devices, writing in two sections “About” and “Through” Zukofsky’s work. Fitterman frames Zukofsky’s as “constrictive verse” that indeed gets “driven” by inventory, while Fitterman’s own lyric comprises mixed inventories within a discourse hybrid, an essay in verse, substantiation of his exemplary reading, that is, his generatively engaging Zukofsky (refer: ronsillman.blogspot.com [7/11/05]). More splendid, Fitterman fulfills the half audible invitation within Zukofsky’s poetry and poetics, joining Zukofsky & Son Inc whose décor ethos is “precise information... thinking with the things as they exist” inside a recontextualized (if not continuous) present in which Fitterman fixes “new meanings of word against word” (Prepositions).

—2014
Monkish antinomy dawns on me once 
Before blasted onward; discourse & chaos go hand in hand, utterly psychic as we are  
— having seen it, married it earlier.  
& I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing  
 
My love as a fever costume, stretched black poplin, black as hell in a trance.
Heavy-lidded, an escort’s sensibility (as if I know any —
53: A substance note:
Suspend suspension of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some part shadow
as long as a 
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero autumn after your beauty, a 
constant show and a 
variable now. You always have some part.

You appear in every august shape we know.
Any rule violates sovereignty. This speech pattern has been expanding without genetic engineering.
The polls are now tightening.

Your proof is the topic sunpoisoning you can take indoors to vote for anyone with no experience. Try.
Give it a chance until late afternoon. Even interrupted our conversation never ends — for
You. You’ll be taken up on your offer.
In this moon diagram a resistant fragrance was my last fill of fish sticks. Oh you know, unhappy

we supplemented photographs for subject matter, I recall.  
Garland fungus, students in foreground (by an arch to the abandoned parks).   
 
It’s up to pond structure to model our passivity learning the moon’s mother tongue, long vowels   
 
impelled by shore conditions, birds in flight. Protecting the hang of dignity threatens it. Everyone   
 
knows that. Everyone alive. A little sick, even unwell, yet one man’s voice is handsome, calm, also scrappy.   
 
Further down the pillar, a kimono has been entered, explaining prehension tongue in cheek.
Exquisitely handcrafted 
meditation retributions..

2/6/19

Neither so-called dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary bracing for normal heart spasms until climax, numbed in shade.
76: In flight, our work is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost. I meant 
I know the framework craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new, common birth.  
 
Lines fuse a way  
They     
Continue. My argument.
What’s this eyebrow to?  Eyebrows pile up like the snow of socks after a sit-down inside the capitol.
Roadkill would be the most empirical debacle turning abstract to date — a bumblebee
clocked into epic death by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain his lack of manners or historicity
was a flaw like smearing a heartthrob, a Lebowski.

Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the weather surface in lithe shorthand coupled with a last
puffiness and black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
Gastronomy is to breaking the ice as ‘fucking / sponginess’ is to bacchanals.