I came for the invoices.

Ever notice? No one lives in that town.

Half-vegetarian, self-colliding fog drinks only from its disconnected, treasured demographic for energy.

We cannot mean erasure, remember.

Our nerve infused by regulatory propriety until we get up to dance founding paradox.

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

We’ve heard enough.

This is strictly the governor’s business.

Jay stayed and worked with the new ones coming in,

who were all “Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”



(If you or I put off how ambivalent Jay is I’d miss the point, proverbially.


Otherwise, I get kind of overstimulated by stupid generalizations as

I wouldn't know how to come down on these vital issues.)



Do you like spiral staircases?



— we wiretap the secret you weigh (you get no credit for this —



no ripped-off melancholy, no spectral, tiny swaggering to cash

in) but there’s a substitution agreement including you and both you and me —



it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth.



O to be bubble-footed in dark briefs!



or preferring total lunacy to kissing, moaning about diffusion at any cost,

any cost to render your mouth a mess of slop,



this is for you now.

It made sense, 1 idea to play that 1 note of math from the
cubicle in your head, be4 the pup tent it gets shiny against.

And, there is a civilizing future to being purposefully
dull, entered into more by spotting that and doing it first. It’s

a clear refinement where character offers liberation
Pepsi. You can go right in.

They have an open table.

Composing around you, I’m a zealot about knowing when justice
with passion is vital, not recreational. For bell, orchestra,

softly speaking, these next things in the wicked training
without you, no news, you & I become addicted to the momentum,

nothing else drives us into the surf ---v--,

did you bring the good acrostic? “Gobble, gobble, gobble, I’m talking Chimp now!”

Lament is like college camp. Modalities.
Chafed lips, burning talent, with you or not, the emphasis is how

official? ten to the tenth more hombres
like a polygamist crew barnstorming thru
an ad host hemisphere. Today’s arm band 100 months after

the small of your back sent me packing. It’s August, Arvo Pärt chafing:
& oblique as you, insipid defiance groaned out, hardly credulous ultra-
unpolished release for subsiding in attrition composing around you.

A life is charged on the menu.

Occasionally you sleep, given immunity. It’s horrid erotics but in one conceit I could count Dakota Wizards on my fingers... Your hand got in its say, of course, eliminated all that fuss locked inside. You took my hand the most. Took it to heart.

Not every detail is ready for your Cottage Roadkill section, home base, but you know fingering you’re clueless about vertically integrated brinkmanship deliberately made up to look made up, to look as if it thinks you don’t need a hand trying not to skip dinner, coming through splinters of clouds and low pressure peeled back from late summer, despite my never getting the hang of it;

tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brings you and me home.

To recap, I don’t think the life of the mind can be made up. I’m not worried it gets easier.

This is ur-summer. & with these Q-tips it’s free to cut nothing off.

Not even a con anarchist.

Under pre-season conditions, thoughts wash over time —
Starters: Do you test, lease, defame to get the best?

& the answer in a day wherever that is if ..
is it time or times?

*

Coldest August in months. Al
-so there’s good news at the pump. Some-

one’s who’s over us in the wet & questions the vulcanized backlash? No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless, no luck, except the sonnet structure implies conditions. (I’m a novice enthusiast.) Didn’t know early snow is a surprise

taken to the streets. Falling in total sheer, replacement

snow walks like snow foam over Sherry Hamlet.

It’s snowing, nothing personal.

Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders

descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)

hustling all the time, awesome!

Who could be simpler watching you bathe w/ in / or anyone bathe n

ow in tawny daybreak synthetic,

some tint on seraphic white.

Two more loiter, intent. Both smile, neither laugh. They’re wearing harnesses w/ panoptic
properties extending their blood-pull orbit toward Pan?

That’s verse one.

Verse 2. The future would give more / no more just when pragma-morphism is introduced, makeshifted forward to answer the bravo question.

I thought of you.

Then we see a dart has feathers and it flies as it works the crowd.

And something came up. Initial elements were bled into overcherished ideals I thought you stored overseas — they were sent back in a screw-up, gleaming like oxide from my grandparents’ era. The real guys (grandparents, ideals) were thrown out before we got to know them.

I keep saying so moral bases are gnarly, of the helicopter. Any vantage you enjoy leads to ‘representative fantasy’ or one opposite, blocking the view, requiring accommodation to a time squeeze that looks perpetual, tho cyclical, rendering obstructions fluid occasions of conflict, occasions “not to love” (according to Wilhem and Baynes). But conflict is not merely evil if it lends focus on self-regard and moving on, collegiality. This is the potential utility of slanderers, a baseline annulled.

That said, it’s not likely anything not-said expands fields, roots underground.

Seasons

Guards stood tall in part over parcels. Now they tell me to take off my belt. Your belt.

An impression is each motion serves a purpose. A higher purpose according to those hoisted in the sky headed toward real politk under their own glare, collapsing into supernumerary states of hemi-fusion, small readjustments in scales opposite a line-up of our unnumbered bodies. (2 or more.) Every dancer stops mid-enchufla for a mote, a moment, feels-better internationally.

Then we speculate natives yield to the rush of new people stage center, all about the fuzz of pronouns taking on subject matter w/ an emanation or 2 brought up a peg to clear things of few or no differences worth repeating.

Each raising a leg, they like to comport with others. And we have developed responses
.. untruthful automated Now Pro voices “that acquiesce on a positive note..”

one doesn’t have to be interesting. “No clouds, hi contrast,
of little depth.” That doesn’t sound bad. Anyway / or

I’m captioning the fixed width to Now Pro “Token Austerity,
Sleep-laden, Eating Dog Food.” Evolving in massive overuse

you wear counterfeits and feel fake. I bet.
A tropical shift took control. It is that one is there.

A few words on process: Counterfeiting
is luckier than needing everything before it’s rooted in or out,

maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy) while cashing in data
(letting a little X off) to mine parallelisms (partisan tactics).

No sweat. Irregular on-attainment is next, in this new version of Recently Used
English to delete any plagiarism still missing.

Quick followup. Today everything I sculpt is hereon Paul — sculpture /
dummied layout / copy — or it was when we were in Tacoma picking up fun Japanese.
The miner described it as leaving gaps.

Light exchanges positions. Thank you.

*

One’s mellowness operates a transferrable kind.

That line raises nixed larks, also structural rules that write themselves out of Tahoma, from .. Me? I’m

immersed watching the light.
I know you then in new parlance. So I forget
Paul Broadnax and sidemen.

One who will die isn’t perverse, it’s that one adheres to a dress code. Read this. I did.

I’m leaving disjunction behind. To work with you (the plan) is one way to avoid subjectivity tho
content is a nominal fallacy like that bondage alloy. I know I don’t know, etc.

Holism doesn’t come naturally (Nickolas Christakis). Yet the parts know how to grow (Benjamin Aranda).

A Cretaceous bunny stuffed in an envelope is ludicrous. It’s untidy and young until you do onslaughts in
her riveting presence, O

... the downed rookie is back on the outside, his only credits were adamance.
That’s the self, yourself, one’s mind-over-lapse
to squelch a tautology of wealth and actionable conditions, missing
how far you are beaten into their projections.

We are self-thieves, of navy birth, feeling bad about the brief gleam that seethed with rank fidelity,
a gazing furl trying to adhere figuring our life together

Our history, ok sunsets standing in the waves like Moxley’s “arc of grace, a mystical exit from the trap /
of birth chance and bloodlines, call it talent / or perhaps obedience: mostly we are poor.”

I am a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after the climate changes.

My heart is breaking almost any sec. I’m in Westchester.

A sentence, this one, is a bad idea. An idea with particularity. A feeling for the bread before it rises stuffed with drood-red flags and socks.

Mick Jagger is blue in the face.

Paul Violi, R.I.P.

Bowie’s on Netflix. How can a vampiric selfie be crisper, less sadistic than ad copy for Dyson?

You’re both bat shit over historical fantasy. Well, I enjoyed it.
87 percent awesome. 4 rubber tongues, a moon roof, lounging in queue for the motorcade — you
can’t predict what you are going to do; there aren’t enough shortcuts to go around to
encapsulate your suspicions.

What does he look like now? And it’s ok to impart?

Snaps of skepticism, obsequious, sharpened anomalies.

An etude like celebrity.

Us

as future “ancestors” understood by
these scarves patched in resistance, creating busy, making-chaos
“work” enacting a more cautionary life, absent trifles and your intuitive psychiatry, disbelief is
long in training..

The odd delay repeated.

A new music took off about here, 1st felt wonderful at the starts,
embarrassed breakpoints thinning out in the high style of ending (Otto Dix).

Evasion foregrounded style, motives — the harsh gets exaggerated.
And some things you need to count on
to recover what takes priority mid-grin.

Yamaguchi circulates all the flowers — they have many words for it

but it’s my doing, making money hard to borrow. Clenching-tight,
I’m in another century where hoax passes for coming too near, red-shifted by the viability of conquering death with abundance.

Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale, immaculate.
The sky has its style, the bookworms’ primary motives, subject for close attention. It’s said.

Paying attention is the field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends. But it does not impinge on the field.