You gave me your finger. Technically we’re not there.

It’s more your fanatical room named Defence of Ryme.

There’s that downsized color of litigants riding up lilacs, streaminglike vines..

You.. and I’m a habit of empire living under the motion furniture of one of each.


There’s a way we recover from this weather, musks in the field and so forth.

Thanks so much.

Also, there is a taxonomy of the overheated.

The last out-shipment was in vain and embarrassing. The bus door was gone. You could look right in. Suffering, complaining, two out of two observers were cut off. Their surnames are, oh forget it, huh? randomly conjoined.

You see our new brands have legendary roots, cleansed of terror. I was thinking there’s a list of field after field training listeners for Schubert, lecturers, saboteurs of the heart.

Fall back and breathe while your rescuers get authenticated. That’s when brush fires walk in, celebrity temps as in love. (We are the leatherheads you come to bury.)

Breathe, kick, push kick, five ..

It’s about letting go and you’re taking me out of context

corner opening for a split personality, monotony falling away,
overbalanced, rolling into a conference =
having few doubts about crash test results,
the sharp melting into the swimming ..

You actually drain me

                                     (Maybe it was perfect to begin
with also, you see and amnesia.)

innocent on a wet highway, casually substituted

                                     (Even an outrage is on egg
timers, since lights are out in other corners.).

This would do over a lifeguard’s concentration for one of our vulnerable technical observers, a comrade of detection racing as horses race.

And how the fuck does he get to be five years younger?

Once there was a C-class ..

His wallpaper says supersonic cheese flight,

formalist as ping-pong in a less public space (or thaw).

Maybe, it’s light-adapted reconnaissance or maybe,

“A guitar hero supported us during custody.”

For the tap maker thinking of you still, the right

accommodations are key, adapting to a new

empirical, a clueless passage to the frigid Aegean

Plate starting to move southwest. There’s so much history

& sensory awareness, the chosen medium,

yet his language is set on a new war cry, plain

holy shit!

w/ a headless figure hammering out Bo Diddley protection.

Flowers in the twenty-first century are poisoned by design, going on adrenaline, dads
and daughters in search and rescue to catch the exception without a low.

Sap is flowing top speed. The logs are
de-centered.

I have never seen Zac Efron’s ass so I couldn’t tell you.

Panning back to lend bulk.

There’s a duet of smooth talk to tamper with, up to the minute
reporting.

Reluctance grew or was it growing only two-dimensionally
educated ?

That’s her wallpaper.

We should care, proverbially. But no. No use.

There are Gatsbys out there, not all are comedians but many are.


Once in our republic of overnights

leaning, used to be a democrat. We left our

gloves, egressing, achieving very little with our price intact,

noting the pride in our measure to

— section our moves and our engagements

— to go over, mix more with census guys,

have cashiers as pets, it’s called freedom of worship.


We are feeling today fallen in line.


And this is how the fern becomes a wealthy intrusion,

the butt dialed aura for groan events and fuzzed balances;

claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop the bleeding

is not a sentence, lacking meaning, useless settling in

in a way, a raincoat mood, one’s thank you for pastimes

as warm as visual partnerships queued up for the motorcade.

So you get it now, assigning you to us to go cathartic

is a no as is starting to unlace the sections about dualism

in a finger painting where we get dressed for the weekend.

Sonnet

Are you an organized subscriber to elaborated code?
no surprise, you’re house is built on an ancient burial ground.
Milk? Ho are you husband.

Bystanders are covered with a silly season wily and glamorously superficial,
just what we reject or recoil from, summoning logical defenses to explain why
every gravey / ard moos like a doggy.

There were more debris balls so we ordered temporal zones of grace,
a dozen now in your hands, with our desert agenda afire above
stretching its vitals which are later yours. We have other ideas.

The limitless, with its winners and losers, is a humanist game, after
all, subject to emotional habits when we’re together apart. To look is also

(we note now at the end for physics-oblivion)
to be seen. It’s awesome the aggressive are still on top of the old revolution
that was a hail mary.

Finish That Tho

The underground = career trajectories. Preparing is special. Many will come. What sounds lunatic? It’s impossible to separate the churned out understatement from the performance;

both are adolescent in the good sense, pitch.

So that’s how the cave felt.

Next, a cool one advanced by textuality. Minimalist and.

To burn out your swing try knowing you live on

meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful),
sensing value is contingent, partly it’s insight,
partly not.

Hey, someone cut the grass, that green, wettish smell is everywhere. Hay. Optimism.

Let’s dump her in the rearview, a blur of a town, a double bang of footholds in dizzy luxury, punching thru colorless straws and spheres. She’s savoring the punishment. Optimism doesn’t care, looking to everything that’s snowed over by trivia thru our addiction to wanting. It’s like getting tattooed with visceral consequence.

That she had perfected this freebase of abstraction warranted us to make caring up, like stick figures and collision cases in a dominant culture. (This is her first attempt at working in three dimensions.)

Tribal identity or trance? What will matter is how to find and / or place each dimension. One will be classified by her evolutionary adaptation passed on to descendants. The field for evolution has been one’s work multiplied by preferences, vapor. The work includes more than these contributing bits, but one’s words make everything she does her composition, her part of the work;

Taylor Mead, R.I.P.

I Came for the Invoices

Ever notice? We’re not alive in our century. Our nerve is infused with regulatory propriety until it becomes a dance to guilt to found paradox.

Name a landscape and you give birth, rename it and you bestow to it an ecology of resonance and history.

And here the body politic questions boundaries and syntax, hooked on wistful exposition.

We’ve heard enough. The black president dancing with a lesbian is deemed provocative. Teens shave whenever. It’s a lighter time. Yet the governor selected Oceans 14 analysts in terms of “minimal dark gender-driven counterinterventions” or “exciting post-disproportion” or “the dark valley of statistical tempests and tarnished ancestry”; any one of these features bunched w/ abasing trends, cloud atlases; everyone holding magnetized, spinning, blasting nearby with cranberry force!

We cannot mean erasure remember.

Half-vegetarian, the self-colliding fog drank only the discounted, treasured demographics for smoke-free energy.

This is strictly the governor’s business.

Boiling angry sad practice together.

Whatever symphonic latitude is hand lettered; this is guaranteed
so time is disguised as an inner harbor monument to cut the glare from
coastal space.

She doesn’t know we’re looking.

She’s slowed us down a rose to furnace the pace

a full position in another trace or matter;

springs mutate so much the dark must be the opposite of done.

Sonnet

We’re not all to blame for oral guitar on the installment plan

followed by fact-checkers. The aim,
variety and perspective have

changes — this will only take hours
since it’s pleached with evergreens’ ruined parity, ‘
bacon of light & ballet out of the hat..
’

..unending strokes , brightness and bite
a raindrop across the street from the perfect beach
— one would kill to be part of this to work, ready to go

get’em —.

          That night they enter, have been with us
it’s amazing how “they simply pass”
as within / if a mockumentary for this is
their overreach.

A kind of future in every direction
for the walking strong can accelerate,
ruthless in no sense, the umteenth layer set in legal
proceedings over a bust of twist ties (tough
just got better) —

That’s nice dear.

...a thought this week is
switching gears from undertaking,
putting a trampoline in half the sky
so Sununu is a teddy bear lined with biosensors

— it was just the snap of a smartphone all right,
though it was not translated right;

I hear there’s more solid drama down the hall
a binary fission when you’re expecting
rudeness, so we’re attentive bound for well armed
crazy good disturbance
ish withou

May 6 and 3 combine in that order, 6 and 3.
That’s a reply more or less

(There is no space return to — Savoj Žižek,

to the smartness downstream, the quirks, hummers.
The invite is out there, according to Greenwald,

“The clear light looks on...”)

You decide about the boyfriend’s audible glee, clapping, etc. in the background.
Let’s adore a good deal more while putting out the details.

Sometimes a partner can be deliberately and aggravatingly passive-aggressive.
I’m kidding. I’m being sarcastic

there’s geomancy to being perennially other and oppressed,
the oppressed by what I change when or where I am free

on the outside, in a place of earned vision and natural voice while a bouquet smolders
w/ the emancipatory normality of alien dominance to attain evolutionary altruism.

Oppression of that

if I make a judgment about it, then it will lead to his anger and resentment:

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

Anyone holding the mortgage will die.
I’ve been with BP for twenty-four years.

This is not how an escalator aches —
you apply stimulus until it doesn’t look ugly.

What goes with Land o’ Black Rock?

A naked person is bigger than that. He was 11 when he got
a job at the pizzeria-acting sweatshop,
a distinctively Californian combo, on Setting Boulevard.

Mortal Keanu Reeves is not reckless, iniquitous, or anatomically complex,
though monotone to the gills like a slower yet more self-subtracted Rod Serling
in knock-off Prada, distorting the status-quo on our otherworldly streets.

“Where are we going?” This or that way. I guess so. Not particularly.
Earth therein leaves an imprint: Devoid of message, nonviolent like us tho
smacked down by a tendentious, retroactively inarticulate coordinate — Keanu

66 Days

We’ve heard of mezzo motivation. You’re supposed to put your fingers on things.
Doing the honors is separate so not particularly grandiose
in a climate of lonely opinions / expectations that we satisfy motherfuckin sopped.

My other car is a broom.

Everything has three parts. Pieces whose lengths alternate between eight lines, like here,
snaking around Best Buy, ‘our entire cultural orientation
is on its heels’?

A saxophone, ice cream and you may figure prominently.

To cheat the fates dawn marries your projectile. Welcome back.

A civil union totally crosses the line yet
the first kitchen is chemistry, the Oxfam of self-doubt.
This calm never gets resolved. Every traceable minute

I’m a muppet and a marine, loving you for charity we overlooked,
reigning over Proustian triggers, cost curves, etc. Makes us feel at home.

“Punched in the face. Mugged. Knives. Guns,” he said

(shiny in the rain)

— he took a last look around before hopping back into the Lexus
(with self-drying brakes) to get back to the jet,

‘In a way’,” he said, “‘nothing kind of saved me from the worldless’.”

He made note of the burnt-out McDonald’s the one his father, Raffaele,
used to forbid him to set foot in before he finished his doughnut pillows.

Or “how can I pursue this friggin argot of ours along
with do all of this in a way that doesn’t reach just boys or maybe they’re girls
but thousands addicted by watching him stumble, lose it, and fall apart on tv?”

That our bacchanalia is nonfiction was slotted in. I think I love the all-purpose
one. It’s a nuance all right. “Or it’s nowhere?”

Any answer and the question carry a distinct echo of advertising and therapy.
“Well,” he said, “there’s been lots of therapy.”

Just “the things I feel for you day in and day out” drive me crazy.