As a boy I was an excellent golfer. I had a wide, modern swing.

Back in the day dad offered it would be the kind of backdrop I like.
Then I began bandying names, Jason, Pierre.

Jason I admit had a welcoming touch but Georgio made me smell like a corsage.

I’m glad I took what I got.
Adorno says plain speech is fair game starting over (in the middle) but the predicate won’t count. (It’s always been ur-technical.)

Surely there’s no foundering beneath the social parasail of violence.
Rules commit us. Not even the afterlife can make it stop.

This emphasis is not in the verbatim over

supply. That is, which lexicon will be appointed most enabling. Ellipses
Point the way out & will continue —
how we express and re-express ideas,
simple or not. Multiple ideas break down or / and up...

constituent, subordinated data
emerge, important as big data, simple and not.

Simpler the better. Bad poetry yes,
scansion none the less.
A winning session for crude —
I left you off unleashed, extricated in time.
You’re still in danger within all the same sex venues,
Like my brothers agog before a generic object.
You look transparent.
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 grownups.


Chopin today —

Tant pis, pierced reliquary. What poetry needs now is a good berating.
We go for the mo ody and unexpected.
You overnighted ethanol and vodka, good to great, but the bionic glove is a godsend. When I light the sterno and carefully place it under a ‘piston,’ the subtracted j-walkers return with blues renditions of surreal counterculture.

Of course, we can make them not care.
Follow directions.
Maligned from normalcy as a buddy hoax is perpetrated,
covert specialists use meta-emotional differences to price
advantage for incriminating thoughts, words.

In Japan they have I novels, with sticky hooks and variations
on Euro-American models, cantilevering their inside voices v. a flood
of outsiders. A flood of decals promotes matrices.
It’s such nice work, a plain jug
schema proliferating jar fables
between acts of kindness & tragic themes
of incitements. Or was it empty?

I’m not finished, you pay.
We call soliloquy a-theoretical
since no one else is speaking.
The jug’s extending a hand, not audible —

Clouds part & it’s only a backstory
sulking in references to jarhead history
with a view toward tonal notes
that cannot be held for long
until sophomore welterweights
fill in plain terms for structure.
Rationed compliments ensue secretly,
Honest accounting disappears like functions of context (text frame procedures) —
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes
— Travel well.
Reed replied fiber. I thought about it.
When I came in I shied away from giving out the room temperature. What the hell, I pledged you abstracts, a wholly hidden idiom of stagings and renderings, the creamy highlighting of passages and choate systems out-of-focus, a lovely coffee table-sized read.

The cracks should be bridged with glass fiber.

“Absolutely,” Continuity Design Professor Reed repeated.
You’re exempted from outdoors, Mme Crocodile —
Mme is exempted from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..
That’s before I reverse your fragrance,

playing inside, giving away what we’re good at
— the struggle, not the tears.


Doomsday Door A or B? Let’s start with an idea that makes us think differently about its components. If you or I have an idea to process a text or, broader, an artifact of value — a central concern, subject to critical and conceptual analysis is, how does the processed result change ways of thinking about the process? In other words, does the artifact generate inquiry into both (a) the who, how, when, why it came about and (b) the utility of its replication or adaptation into the future?
Passion has its instigators, followers, onlookers. Which is which? How about going bonkers as an emergent lyrical property rather than following algorithms? What if, when a strange poem and appreciation of it turn up together, blanket antagonism and doubt about a future of poetry nosedive? Underscore a future, not the only one. As with any doubling of force everything seems to follow a silent samurai-like strategy: poem and commentary cohere wickedly, coolly, and it all seems thoroughly justified according to a new order.
Her bourgeois red hair, his gainsaying oomph, we're cruising at altitudes of theorem. Quack probabilities dim until we restructure our credit history, wrap it in clear plastic. Where does the political economy have us put it? His and her terrain is also yours and mine, since we’re all for one as subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy..
Let her go, let him do want he was elected to do..

Sorry, not tonight...
Who dealt this mess?
Lunar cycles are no analysis. The War Council is countertherapy.

Get me text edit. It’s what you thought, I did not mind leaving
You at Liberty of London for the republic
Among archliberals. Every symbolic conceptualist steps in multiplicities. Swimming
Synchronized. As in telekinesis, tele-spoken

As a narrator here, I’ve no place to hide, a swimming
Plateau = not finding hotter places to avoid. You there?
Love your inhuman neighbors. Ghost writing their ideology is pure brinksmanship, a reduced antithesis to fake sounds and false distance. We're all redistributionists, psychologically living librettos. Politics is anger, useless bruising rhetoric. And money is gross, always. We cross the road tonight.. Join the revolution of the ex-rich slicing symbols up for our very first media shower with an opening dedication to the Ramones covering Cole Porter. Or whatever revolutionists call you on short notice next door.
The camouflage in plain view is the focus in stiff wind,
a caption dedicated to echoes...

“Continue.” / Thus began the treatment.


“And so you know — pleasure aside, from then on we’ve been holding our tongues.”

He was home free — using his arms to create wealth, a dance work of adagios. It comes down to our unfinished music and happy mediums (alternative tax credits) until they leave us because we’re cheats.
The invention of worship is over.
A wall of calm is put up, under which pillow talk can begin.
“A week of such weather” an authentic first language, dance, charades get raised here and natural quests forcibly asserted.

Cultural obligations shape who we are, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance for future attributes

                                        like pond stones showing us our breasts.
It seems like anywhere unless you knew where you were

Andro-gyrating, trying it from fear buried in misty
Piano strings! precise and going no-


Floating up nervous laughter
It seems outside ...
An octopus taken no more than once a day.
Minutes after your work can be filed ..
Make that ‘work’ to ‘file.’
File to file. Or will we be going anyplace for sympathy we gave up?
The topic is civility now. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to Leitkultur, the treeway on a berm of civil-democratic permissions reformed as disruptive presumptions built along hedges and headwinds from within and, as it were, without civil unions that can scar us inhabitants. No way.

Do you read me?
Fast, lasting, working against deadline we accelerate our personalities, ordering a gloss over opera, albeit comic opera, smothered in delays, weeks of libel suits!

Watching lawyers fall to their knees, throw their arms up in the air.


Poetry is like poetry. Four beats a measure.
Clinging to one tradition, poetry is like nothing
In party management; it reveres collectivity,
Tiered access and spontaneity.

“Do we get hats,” asked a rich lightweight.
In another direction an ex- ex- (poet)
Says a close reading of The American Heritage Dictionary
Seems useful again.

Looking up spatial heroics.
The label was a headscarf more than obvious,
Wild-eyed, on the curt side, one makes a preparation response
Like all the others’, the ballroom looks glowing
& tiled back & forth mistily
Across immense miasma,

Half of it waxing along with the bride
Adorned along varietal circumstance.
She once kissed a cat at her aunt’s place.
She made an inappropriate shoe choice.
It’s probably 8:54 out west still
Identity theft occurred when the sky was an idea
Of seeming permanent
As a child utterly absorbed by stars.
I’m not religious.

Having seen again what I know about me,
I take note of what I like about them.
Apaches? More than their gods, I’ll miss the vehicles.
I have to store everything in.
Dining with compassionate Anne:
Cicadas are in there. For the first time she
is a friend. It’s great taking part with you.

I like what you did last time. Thanks for the straw.
You brought us spring joy.
Conquest contributes to a wonderful unanimous

— just unnerving enough.. atmosphere.
Any chance you’ll humor me
and stitch me up for dinner?
At midnight I remember those breasts,
geometry that respects the brain.

I was taking no calls, I’m intent on success.
Somebody feel like a piggyback?


Splintered as your index in your left ear  
digs absent-mindedly,  
signaling restored  

to the figure of a hipster,  
you might address   
your head   
coming out of a contour of spurs  
bearing messages to your eyebrows  
ravaged from the start,

eyes peering until they see their backs  
the old, plain way —
Don’t you know it’s always the same kid?
Experiment 12: Declutter, depersonalize,
let’s snorkel down. Terrific view.
I saw you on ghost tv from across a dance flotilla

moving your future hands

like tracks on time, no touching...

you be a woman I'll be a man.

The simple complex of entire atonement —

touch television — now proceeding normally

the mercury-brimmed scree

insubstantial in its unexpectedness,

daybreak like absentia we left before asking why there’s a handful of the lily, too weak for real pain, a handful evaporating into the leg

— no touching of hair or face pumping like a fountain

                                        a dangerous, frisky slither

on the now-clear train to a continuum;

tv retaliates against / falling or falling out

in daytime, programming on a sheer precipice.
Sonnet to the UK:

There are no new recipes for disaster.
For subatomic life this is well understood, mostly
unspoken, but how was I supposed to know? I put my
finger there — this was the first time — “Great.
We’ll just hold your thumbs.

It was maybe weeks later I remembered, “I
feel like burning myself.”

Yes, another form of dance, elf.
No aplomb in nature, please. No

Living among ilks of valid scouring colloids — simple?
No mimic measure, no ceremony swats from

“plinthing a drumbeat”
Self-barter, a potential volt in a then-this-is-now domain...
Just praying.

Too many ideas inside — I’d,

You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe after I’m

Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own

You know — more than 1 I,

— Things, myself, lots to hide
Yes or no, and I’m me too

So I should give a shit

Because when I speak you’re

Stirring up other ideas

What I feel
Think I feel, oh, Man!

Ma’am! You’re telling me
Nothing new here —

A stupid thing, knowing this.

Re-examining all my meanness,

Italicizing failures. I’m ham-

Fisted attempting satire.

Snooty, freaky I gay love it.

plodding from the Portuguese
Yves Saint Laurent and Bo Diddley died on the same day. Bofirst.
Speaking as just a single expert, you’re my business now.


Your immaculate body becomes detached numbers and frequencies.
“Pronounce” it —

That’s good.
Now draw the strings. OK.
— what do you know!

Mayhem goes off softly
So hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, rose, pale red —

A roving shadow feeling like
A thermometer — legends says,

Crossing senses blood standing’s a fossil orange.
More feeler than hand,

It shakes the nombril ray,

A maneuver on high just dimming the drowned thumb,
A sculpture with a cup on it.

Unlike Bowie & Thoreau in Japan, I seemed angry. I bought my first balance ledger. (Moleskin.) But I learned a lesson.
There’s no equilibrium.
Before that Japanese syntax got molded apart. Molded like sister & brother drummers & saxophonists playing to a micro environment, backing it up with inexact backbeats multiplying from before any interim tempo took hold.

There was no party.
De rigueur for now is farfetched. / Let’s consider what might outrank Zen. / Your dialogs sound libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio, some science fiction

— all right, let’s start the open air in complete command of nothing.
Wearing a wigless wig is one method and model.
Measure = unbending contradiction, full, official division in one’s mind and 1 other, you!
I’m refilming ways that seem hard to manage.

Let me hold us in the dark... It’s a future perfect thought

as your body keeps moving, clouds part. The lonely aerodrome rushes to litmus introspection, snug, sotted with the urge to fit nothing in.

That’s how being with you works asleep.
Religious type, agnostic, both listened to reason while a temple friend sliced off a nipple. It was the middle way, enlightenment simplified.


Well, our faith promised us immortal lives, backup roles that made us teen idols,

Central characters in a morality play we lost track of.

I gradually began to buy things in no order, branched out a little finding a passion for monster movies.
The focal point is the entity with many focuses getting to foci.
Isn’t that a calling?

Meanwhile, your eyes fill with unmeasured disassociation.
Your hair’s on the brink.
The Lord wait lists the design system.

Can’t be sure there’s larger yield.

Notebook open, wallet shut,

Occam never multiplied.

Irony-sincerity voted
Thomas Eliot, a flashy

Society writer, a modernist. That chintz is lost ...

Can you take a seriously argued philosophical position and call it poetry decor? Yes.

Like our sworn oath in a rustic wedding symphony:

Just before going thru with it, however, we started looking at the shower gifts ..
Poetry, jettisoned and as you wish, let there / not-there go, sky and river
will go, let people behave all the sharp, sudden ways Ute
speak, looking around and starting to rethink we’re
using our 1st language! Short iterations carry
such signs. Dreaming in bed deploys influences for output...
You can exit this field or not, burning at the mute
end then add features to nodules like in finer arts of epistemology.
Song: In ‘open’ debate and with most any staged lingo you learn to think for yourself fast, when you’re young, willful, if it’s in your nature to have people behaving as you ought; you start along these lines thinking in bed as BF Skinner must have

Nodded off. Doctor...


To throw out sleep, trust, and now nimbus-wet telepathy — I’ll never feel his arms around me again. Never feel the air on my skin, or wake up in his warm bed, I’m done, I don’t get a chance to try again for anything, not even for something I’m not. I can’t do any better than what I’ve done.
There’s an Ivy component to our absorption of Munch as colorist.

Nothing concentrates like rulings about a Nordic weekend and its promise of a more palatable wardrobe. That’s if hit by what you feel in the a.m. I believe in you. Evening you’re different.
You give me a musical temperature, a fine spray of marvels.
What are we fixing up? a few rounds of the blues, giving them up; for others there are many a soft whorl of moonlight over the lakefront.
There are blasts of creating fast, out of nowhere.. based nowhere near

I’ve discovered squeezing brings up more meta-activity.

Still. Very well, these charming Blimpie squirts fizzle midact

just like food that frays. Or

just read children get 10% of daily calories on outings

drinking soda (pronounced soder around here).

That’s how they become bilingual while selectivity
pushes school rankings as superstitions. Based on fact

bulldogs are hurling on a seesaw feeling fine, really
most footage balances if you acquiesce — my point may be lax
tho fake news is visually relaxing.
This long out I stick with iambs, no questions asked.
Do I have a taste for disharmony and disproportionality? No, I elect to be ignorant.
I believe in undertones and the mimicking hidden force of gravity. You guys go ahead.

I’m going to walk away w/ Gil, that’s the best stunt.

You see, Gilbert Ryle asked (and asks), “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”
Something accrues.
It makes me happy. Was that supposed to happen?
The signature concern is a reader’s experience.


A religion of dance sharpening endurance, risking focus..
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, ones who advocate for peace. Their reputations recede but the fact of early apprehension holds way before guns were worn.
Nice save. There’s a title now for most anything.
The sentence: the Bruins lost squawking about losing
diagrams the opportunity.

Diagram: ‘But should we use quotation marks?’
That’s a whammy..
let me think.

By then our thought freezes

just why we reserve dopey incongruence

nested within notes to adjunct scenery,

the right tonal performance, a normative outcome.

Nice save. One of them.
Ah ‘summary’ jitters keep an eye out, a Bruins fool fence
-sitting to guard tall shapes and volumes of light

stuck on could it really be “quoted.”
Eurozone class struggle is slippery. Or peach-dreamy. I’m not sure discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income distribution, honing you /
one into two dimensions on the surface.

I’m socialist by nature, maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy),
spooked while cashing in analytics
(lifting data, ripping them off) to mine parallelisms (partisan gold).

Atheism is otherwise the main event at The Hague. Secrets of satire want to go
free to find an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) ...

The glue is “Token Austerity.”
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one more subjective state, a quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height.
This is a dance question. Fibber Perseus v radium Dana (his mom). Which are ya?
In one draft Perseus can see big futures, taller mouthpieces enter the salon [B flat major] rolled ‘into’ burbles, ‘into’ spools of Dana’s pedestrians sweating lead colors.
The Chinese language must B sung.
(What went wrong?) Morning Tang! 


Though nebulae are curved and hollow,
The atmosphere squeaks common sense. We can’t feel it though its pace is emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, I’m a musician.
The bellboy in me wrote you a note:
An idea dawns as you and I back ‘into’ the salon. It’s a salon poem, exquisite, uninviting, keeps its distance, so what?

You contain only so much of me.

I live where you belong.
They are holding his brain illegally.
à la mer...
Cri d’une patate de sofa!
Dans le cas de cette pomme de terre, même si on trouve des tranches de vos amis au cours de vos opus,
tout sans blague, je pense, c’est

(a) impressionnant! Le patineur est soi-disant sur une échelle pour « blather » ou des étoiles, peu importe ..
(b) mais lâchement moi-même, je ne suis presque gêné, je ne me soucie guère la façon dont le poète est formulée, est parlé de comme un outil pour juxtaposition, parataxe, tintement ..
(z) .. encore pourrions-nous sauter quelques couches, ainsi en quelques secondes ou pas, prêt ou pas, allions-nous faire de patin?


Cry of a coach potato!

In the case of this potato, to find slices of your friends over your opus,
(a) bittersweet, n’est-ce pas on a blather scale for
(b) I’m hardly embarrassed, hardly concerned how the poet gets framed a tool of parataxis.. juxtaposition.. tinnitus ..
(z) still.. let’s skip a few layers, ready?
Some standards.
Shined asides.

We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,
Really a vase,

Set it, let sunlight pitch in its foam, infer
Poetry goes thru many drafts.
— I see your potential; don’t wait to be huge. Time is temporary; eternity
Later... it’s not much. Get your share, knocking the love-moment down with small talk, unscripted, unpredictable.


You’re exempted from outdoors, Psyche, Mme Crocodile —
Mme is exempted from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..
That’s before I inverse your fragrance,
Schubert playing outside, giving away the struggle we’re good at
— gosh a population for tears forms in cozy motels.
A class struggle in hourly rooms thinking it’s for real.

The struggle, not the tears.
Time for wine out of a box —
                                                        Urban attitudes from La-Z-Boy.
A life is charged by the menu.

Occasionally you sleep, given immunity.

Not every detail is for a generalist’s eye; still I’m clueless about vertically integrated brinkmanship, skipping dinner, combing through motions and low pressure peeled back from almost getting

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

I don’t think life in the mind can be made up. I’m not worried it gets easier.
Our children hatched us, as the blur goes.
We’re trained in (bank) logos and several theologies.

Sung language has a light nonsexuality.

We chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties

Hanging out in unusual white corridors

Suggesting you’re still trembling, owing to

The chew off, just a short chopper ride

From the bank and trade. A vegan chew.
With a so called mother gloss, 1st-
Order phenomena pitted together as cognates

Still coming to seed and adornment
(trade), inaudible ricochets feeding us

To remain disciplined on our new celestial motion weekend...
This calls for comfort and drill, “...habits of empire.”
1) many immediacies, many readings / IT

2) consider sources, be friendly with some
3) available materials, define availability on the run
4) improvise (and comment)
5) I wondered about
6) who are you / pertinent to whom

7) how does that sound
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, holy body of ... could be Christ —
Sir, m’lord,
Parlance should sound ok, staying measured outside,
What Esau called discourse in action ...


New in town? There’s a script or several apps to let them know.

I’ve always been mad about something else.

Everyone’s trauma. (“Ego exists.”) One takes away from the center

O caught up in rule-governed mechanics!

Who is there to tell none cares when none does

You’re a mess, honey.
                                        — Touch of Evil

Something came up.

Little, no, nothing. There’s so small

an exchange to transact, no tangibles, only

exhibitionist’s subtopics, within the power den,

proving repeated effort is self plagiarism.
To tyranny,

I was thinking of god, the shoplifter energy ..
Hold on, I was handed this bag of sentences.
My views are not incompatible with yours, only there has to be a bagman lost orating toward torch bearing shadows —

And this is what I did not want to say.

Government is not that impregnable. The background is a colorful PROCESS shot. An athletic-to-pallid fraternity, mostly, locksteps for the hot scent, clothed in little that’s formal but a motive for eagerness. And they’re always wrong to prolong their appeal.
Study Freud or any evolutionary researcher of the antic.
Stick with insoluble nonfiction, you’ll fall into a niche in 5 days
Blindfolded. (Our guarantee.)
Such brilliant dislocations are \ were expected; it goes
Beyond, there are dark, unknown predicates fixated on louder procedures

But in their giddy case procedures to see into a surfeit of space..
A sumptuous, soilless bond,

Maybe it’s only words, assembly, to quote you.
They are real actors, not people.
Anything Apollonian looks flab prone.
Capacious anxiety, yup, yup.
You can break the law to shoulder perfection or save a life, once or
Either way will be a fractional infinite in the context / e.r.

In the larger apothecary we call all infinite sets
Something is definitely going on.

Some lefties feel cornered (also conned) but
It’s still breathtaking to administer the right thing to do to you.
1st it was about books but now they’re fire sticks.


We have to know about the nose and its utility in poetry. One question, Among human organs, does the nose intuit (hold) more lyric than the eye, know more than the throat, or even our ears? The nose makes the core of mid-alphabet English pronounceable — M and/or N. And if the nose makes it pronounceable, it’s hummable, too, and that could just be the sloping tip of the nose’s lyric purpose. Hard to hum what the heart may be ‘saying’ — we can’t tell without sizing up other body functions, humming from the nose.
Capitalist tactics are nothing, only sustained innovation in nowhere equivalent to —

all right, let’s choreograph the open air in touch w/ no-thing. From the outside
the sky is in a square shape, bolted
w/ blips on a simplex-repetitive top layer, tethered for interpretation.
We’ll ingest all at once. Absolutely
blind tessellation, exhaling while we data dive

inflating the thing / no-thing problem activating our recent trials over the last half century
w/ glass-and-steel additions for

investors, scientists working together.
There’ll be one execution just in case.
Show me a locket grant once.

Once & be done. A few more should

Do the climate fast with aughts of shining

A whole new side to nuts & tightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center, along with holding on 100%
— inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, quiet in the nick of it.

Song: I weigh your Tanakh, your great granddads words about

Bang youre dead

Average, guilt along with bland lucky tones, a problem. No gist, too popular.

So relax thine form here.

Everything dark-accented inflates 3 dimensions into immense mist of

Poor wee sparrows beating yet breathing

True to form A.

The unequal in luck float more already. I hope youre happy.
My Volvo? It’s an Edsel.
We’re both bat shit over historical fantasy. Well, I enjoyed it.

Boston flash.


I was just thinking about you.

Putting it mildly in American English
There’s nothing like sex in real cities
friends, enemies, especially enemies, and strangers, too, why not?
Let’s drop it down further.
Activate the spray clip-on:
Are we rocking like dropping your rags, breaking water gushing down over my heels?
Linguistic emblems (pronouncing half),
                                          back-forming lyrics —
graphing out lines combining poetry, you’re breaching nothing
in process, nothing to uphold.
It x y =
It = Payment to carry out, when you agree,
incubate & have offspring,
while we concede to operate as if

x = Don’t believe that lastly, impetuously.

= = Neighbors exit at night,
laughing across the street, turning into sheet music
torn up to the sky then fluttering down, an emoji poem we process
here in words, 1st and last. It took a missing question (y) at the start,
on your lap at breakpoints, thinning out
obsequious, sharpened anomalies flattening into lines.
Miles, why do you play long, man?
To get you all in.
Time runs out, taxonomies
still unexplained as weather permits. Black
ops at certain altitudes, the hot facts; I’ve
or we feared anti-humanists w/ covert specialties
at the tip — just the tip;

I also squandered ellipses that add up
and forgot I just stood there with nothing to give
I’ve been dating Mittens while I go thru assembly.
I give in to take you out, shake you tamed,

Dart —


From a long angle range,
some other time a lunatic pantomime rushes or could rush over, a dentist, keyed up to remove our tongues.
It seems a whiff displeasing since so well trained a marathoner understood us at fist depth.
All your life as if a mercurial quantum.. floating in erotic lurches and nibbling torque measured across dotted lines..

On and off I discern your underwear, a denomination marked by intimacy. They pill.

Yeah, that’s funny.

Take all of mine.
I start thinking, I hate paying taxes. This thought is throbbing as I take pen to forms, signing off the year. A simple equation comes up; don’t know why; this has nothing to do with taxes. Friends don’t hurt friends. Or if that seems absolute, friends don’t keep hurting. This formulation is an element of crap detection decades in the making, still being refined. Taxing.
I am a visual person. Always have as I see you admired you. Liked you.
A month ago I took no umbrage, bloated out of proportion,
umbrage hurled as a term in frustration.
Leaving you like a health threat...

Dazzling lethargy undoing 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 off with. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows.

This is spring history.)
Pedagogic non being, lonely, un-filmed pretexts & Goethe’s juvenilia.
No good instincts, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds
Or inflexible spite. I see what no means.


Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife.
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both adolescent in a good sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly, unspeakably, as libido constitutes a knowledge module, glistening aimlessly.

John Wieners, I use your toothbrush to wipe my beard.
Sonnet to three:

Hoping nothing won’t happen, I cover my throat. Duly of course sounded. A few facts crowd around figures that are un-garbled when least derivative; ephemeral objective content triumphs. It’s kind of a snob racket. (C Bukowski)

We weren’t exiled or orphaned, we decided to pursue other interests. Plus, it started again, as theory, pleasure is to ethics as the roundup waiting in any landscape, waiting for mistakes (1) and (2) jounce.

Spontaneity backs up position vectors.

Woe is paralytic. I don’t detect a drop of broad mindedness toward any arched dynamic or versions of it — better when and how you love or even when you nibblingly slobber over a numbed one’s body of rare happiness, feeling better. Hope of this implicit in the simplest rejoinder to the proudest Dionysian.
Dionysian = could pull off brocade, puffy energy, cute, can’t think straight.
Shortbread has some regions, ancestry
In brogues. So it’s passing, nothing

And we have developed responses
.. untruthful automated Now Pro voices “that acquiesce on a positive note..”
This can’t be real, one doesn’t have to seem interesting. “No clouds, hi contrast,
Of little depth.” But that doesn’t sound bad. A narrow way

Or I’m captioning the fixed width to Now Pro today
Evolving in massive overuse. Hmm?

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

No sweat on attainment comes next, avail. in this new version of Recently Used
English to wish you any and all the full pleasure I withheld. Damn!
Hanging on contains the universe. Imagine the hurt.
Paying attention is the field call haunting the future, skull,
More bounce for the retina to unscrew internal hysteria pouring up but

Losing both death and life —
You look how I feel.

No perfection, get a plan.
A life is charged by the menu.
Occasionally you eat asleep, given immunity. You can’t postpone it.


Lao Tzu (Zi): The follower’s flower name is hooded, part doodle & part I’m
                                        not sure there’s no use.

And how is confusion proof we can diffuse?

Now I get the timing right away, it’s about a few seconds ago —

If he can or wants,
what you said is partner of it.
I’d like to reapply rules for a stretch w/in a finger painting
where we get dressed for the weekend.

Transparency on stilts w/ quarks and rare minerals that take on blackened
colors & Byronic properties of a nonprofit love nest
heated on sea plankton.
The jet gate opens to the drawing room,
once a factory made of the outdoors where snow & sunlight
close their distance. The old new & new strung out on sectionals,
an untapped kennel of oblique, puckish Swiss..

Just like other Europeans playing the stunt of delays between workplace & dogma,
anything everyone can live by w/out being
sequestered or brutally charged by objects :
so by these shortcomings we’ll softball in harmony
around some parts of sky & parts of parts.
Under your influence I stay fallible, forgetting other players and divas lining up on the broken mosaic — brave their hearts of nightie kerosene.
Silly rubbernecks.

I forget farewells.

A flood of calls offers relationships. It’s simple enough. This isn’t the time for that.
..breaking your neck dismissed as bye, bro..
Nice, brushed off the immense highway.
A moth / its rule for flight is uniform.

It’s mostly a bolt out of cloth.
Never defined by dress code (practice).

Wind angles down, shaken nice.
It was nice
That changed a lot.

The questions are the same,
Em, I’ve misplaced em.
Learning about how to learn can be neat (also fatuous) even if your power won’t                                               count
                                                                                when we go away.
We have to trust you on these matters. One apiece.


One followup.
Today everything I sculpt or shade is yours (mock ups / ruptured items / copy) or it was when we were in Tacoma picking up fun Japanese. An engineer described it as leaving gaps.

Light exchanged positions. Bitte.
As Isaac passes from consonance to desolated marsh,
walk along with me. / Where to?

To the battlefront. Nightly sex skyrockets (blasé for improvising
at first, then it coils & feels there are authentic possibilities) ..

I admire your parents (ghost punks), friends, enemies’ enemies, strangers, also ..

Charitable informatics is garbled when this derivative (Esau). Avoid rejecting
criticism, keep your smart bomb under wraps ..

(I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in,
forward, back passing thru the 1st position
of the sprout.)
It’s written (odd, eh?) that was enough. O May!
I do my best and worst work north of you and still get picked on — now in a major way.
Business proceeded — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured specs.

Specs in everyday Aleut reminds me fisherman physiques are like ice
swamps, barricades for foreigners. (Specifics are never fulfilled.)

I got stuck on yoga so I put that in. Yet how fine is it when you don’t have anything
left? What if with 300 native speakers nothing in writing can be reacted to,
transacted on? Word forms in disappearing ink?

(Involuntary burn, noiseless migration, light re fusing natural flames)

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of pleasure.
It was incredible video but she’s fine.
Involuntary ideas of thin dots and stripes, that’s a guess.
For Christ’s sake I saw you in a documentary.
I saw your name written on walls

— The deep state (at play), foam under rush-formatted steam
disappearing like figure / ground battalions,
your pretexts (w/ no sound) — more
appreciable fear a cappella —

There’s product on the loose
faintly reeling into moaning
Solitary headline :
Fruitful, aggressive commend fruitlessly submissive.


No contusion of the spheres,

dyscalculia, no, no hindsight bias,
Fra Angelico, sun up,
girl, you’re a mess.
I’m going to grab you.
To a lark,
Like torsion in third-level calc,
your obliqueness shows up around access to felt
authority. It’s far off if you can’t say why.

Your prefixed, scavenged opacity
fills with sangfroid riches of dark matter,
cloaking them with lark pedigrees.
Before apologizing, yoga was fantastic, advanced yoga for always beginners, a civilizing process to eternal categories, entered into by you.
It offers libations from within & supports you from under.
Speaking of the pure land, you have none. You swim in it.
A sentence, this one, surfaces as a bad idea. An idea with particularity.


There are subtitles, various languages. You dream
while staying awake and translate the exposed back of someone else dreaming.
Nothing accrues but a lifetime of waking thoughts. A whole life.
Sleeping has nothing to do with it.

Missing him, there’s an unbuttoned, squeegeeing pain to wrest
A dishonest hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity, where
It goes away, released at last into newly impartial states —
The tide appears to notarize that; that and
We came here to our senses to put up a hoax..

Apology to my mate.
Info-tainments advance by themselves, lovely distractions, shooting the steepest mountains w/ slime, segued to recalling breathless riveting motions in our self interrogation — commuting to work where we share high fives &, speaking broadly, broker a plan!

The cross-hatching allowing ancestors to exchange a few traits for others, has just about run out of steam. We’re left wondering, once more what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.
A horror film I hate turns a wall of calm over to science for good, then greed, forgiveness & clumps of renaissance & their round robin prototypes that sell the smear to the visual cortex.

The plot is motivated by small sums of justice. We’ve still not captured how justice is crammed with underdeveloped moral emotions & pillow talk, luxuries that bind, ushering in more non urgencies of a grueling yet quickened mind (composition) over entropy?
Exactly. But the hand-on-thigh thing... You know, to the outside eye, to the person... who doesn’t know what a forgiving, wonderful person you can be... this could look like you’re — per the Veda — confused. How do your readers feel about you living in this cesspool?

Good evening. I have an appointment with a Detroit policewoman and the little ones.

They’re dead.

Oh, it’s okay. Come in! It’s a poem!

Are you a doctor of literature?

Only when I operate. (Walt Matthau)

Great. If I could just get you right here. A few words for your fans at home.

Now? No, not now. Tomorrow, actually. I was just in the neighborhood.


Squandering the opportunity —
I didn’t have to what the hell?
Living requires
alternative means for the puzzled trot,
the smell of being in a movie from every progressive angle.

I'm winding into a reliance on hardworking pleasures, broccoli, dance
and rumbles, open plans, open lots,
and this most generalized, I guess,
burning, turning back.
Dear Politico,

I promised you a ham for quilting bombast.
Now, the ham’s faction’s hatched..
Have yourself a good time. We’ll have you over when the rest of poli sci gets to better thinking, Aldous Huxley, say, augmented with a good bouquet, plus a full deck of historical raiment dealt to the underemployed in hyper décor (like object placement) decoding automation... (so they’re subject-objects as well as objects).

After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous, for now, good talk! we’re fine, we’re down with “no real choice.”
Spring! billions of highly intelligent beings with graduate degrees of morphic freedom bank with us!

We’re playing with a couple of new features and a few we move in any direction.
Their funds are soon to be declared ‘NONCLAIMABLE’ and subsequently turned over to you!
You’re assured this transaction
is risk-free, as we have taken all modalities to be less acrid and top secret.

Lugubrious or not,
When you read this, it appears prior to who prompts it.

But this interests me only so far. More curious, is why we approach poetry trying to understand it.

As though propositions and semantics were key to poetry’s necessities.
Not you.

Extraordinary poetry from Clark Coolidge and Tom Clark — flowpress.org

they’re off —

and since they are impacted by harrowed tomograms
50% off.

What happened, you look so radiant?

Ways women around Marie Antoinette were modern: Oh, many. They were early risers. They dressed for not merely success, for keeping their livelihoods and lives. They avoided work that was intellectually focused. They peered back and soaked up the landscape. They were gossips. Bless them.
There’s good news at the pump.
To yours and mine there’s nowhere further —
until I listen to you and move away,
making you vacant.


In tonight’s action, no losing $ — a partial lunar eclipse

Distracted by tweets, I heard later 

“Continue — Enter the contest area

— Continue.”

You thus began the treatment.

I so did not mind leaving you 

At Liberty of London for alms-giving

Among archliberals.

Any As-If waging on billiards
Can be thought 

Therapy by

Always sneering 

And stuck-up nihilists like these

Shirtless writers from the last episode.
You need a fix for everything. Come in. Please step inside where the fix is. 

A dog actually just ran in here shaking his tail, what a mess. In that sentence before — it wasn’t definite what sort of dog this is, but now I know — bad dog. 

I'll make him disappear. 

I believe I have control over my own pointers, generally. Nevertheless, as I transition to my next dog, a good-looking male with some feminine qualities enrolls at Buddha’s institute. I can see it, from my perspective — it’s no longer indefinite, the male comes onto the Buddha, and becomes the vice dean or something. Since this has little or nothing to do with me, and since there is no middle article in English to change definite back to more indefinite, I am powerless now to make the dean or the Buddha disappear. A new, probably younger, English speaker or a group of English speakers makes the dean and the Buddha fade away by ignoring them.
Prayer: I can steel myself to make something up and call it mine...
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent:

I might also mean textually modern as respectable Eurocentrics undress for survival, avoiding careers, soaking up the city among savages of their own design.

I’m my own boss.
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! May it help us solve you and me for x!
when we let them.

Own a tuxedo.

I shouldn’t but I will. I’d like to sign up for a language freed from its instincts and nodules.
For I’m agnostic about anything important, Transzendenz und Wörtlich or shaded for that,
and my voice is flat coming to terms with memory, musical structure, being filmed in your
presence. Back to you.
In my life I saw Ethan Hawke become my age. The character Frag-ment winks and holds the term “life” creates clutter underlying his sniveling with munificence.


Nothing is unimportant. Send for Fr Merrill.
“No self and no others” is a direct quote. At that point there’s nothing left.


I am transitory.
This is what then? “A moment of empty solidity.”
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, holy body of Christ —
Fr, m’lord...
Concision or hue in healing of method, means
can be objective and lack bluegrass. A few mornings
music comes unveiled as aspiration.
It’s in the eye

..a catamaran of process.. this is while I’m doing only one thing
at a time on a crazed errand-stream to a bachelor of arts..

It’s looking like this is the rag century, after all; with a few beats,
we made mandalas to settle lawsuits over the last one. Then
I found you contesting the following.

“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling, sane
behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.” I still can’t turn that
down. But can you mean only what his language means?

I looked you over and asked again.
It felt unwise.
The sun is glossy beige. Divided, confused, I
signed up for a summer of love. The desserts are
sweet, their force takes me out of bounds
for more interludes on the double.
I’m Matthew McConaughey, not perfect, I’m on an every
day regimen with that living unlocked smell.
I set the controls — active ingredients are
soon not now, don’t. First thing prithee
Noonish. I have a profane vocabulary,
a little nervous forced into the secondary
but I’m ecstatic I’m 29. I’ve been blocking
myself but now it’s over. I’m directional.
My head weighs 10 pounds, each side.
Hold my earrings.
Some standards.
Shined asides.

We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,
Really a vase,

Set it, let sunset pitch in its foam, declare
Poetry goes thru many drafts.
Anyone can take this personally,
including me.

A tree in the wind.
How is it lit?
Tall with liquid arms;
another is hit and run.

They’re plants from one deity.
That’s what led to our church shifting

toward showdowns at the riverbed, O
for fuck’s sake. Impulsive.

Back to work.
Show’s over. Go ahead. Go
A word from the past,
We’re thinking you heard its once-failing poet
Who cradled the face sorrow brings to bed,
Someone who could listen to bluegrass and lose it.


Like crustaceans we cave to forgetfulness.
Blinds drawn, our under-scavenged opacity overflows as we are grinches from the deep state screening off our comic pedigree.

Before that, looking far ahead was fantastic, a civilizing process added to eternal space
filling our eyes with unmeasured disassociation.
One never wears a watch.
Random time checks predict behavior.
(Innocence concerns pyrotechnics, not intent.)

Clinical algorithms infuse ideology, organize perception.
Play along or sue the little ones. I’m going hence to take my inside voice ... go

... over here I pledge you a wholly hidden solution in renderings, leftovers to
twist in hot leafy acreage ...

Pears and Fuji oak, null passages in fog. (Any wisecracks should be bridged with high purpose.) Come here / get out of here to prolong your appeal.
Tell us about your recent postal experience.

Up to date disorder gets off free for the asking for those visual enough to undergo mock up
(youth) again and, sure enough, it’ll be in vetted dormitories defined within distinguished
sectors bringing study of light years within three or four movements, a full circle for non litigation regions.

Think of our courts and cunning missing bail. Everything you expect waiting now in wistful landscapes, hum-vacuumed.

What’s the worst that can happen?
For the peninsular’s misrule, striking down Section 4 of the Voting Rights Act.

Um, ok, yes, I bet.
Open the curtains.

And de-peopled points trip up not speaking for months
(critical moments you thought),

finding my direction as I thought of you —
So it never happened.
Your search had no results.
The time is split into categories of use for work and for the sinister about-face of a system download added to our labor.
A life sentence for causing a ruckus.
Call me when you’re ready.
I’m craziest on Cape Cod. I cannot be saved. Pre-existence does not pertain. Inexistence is left over. Doors are left open as raw theism plods on as a main event. Secrets of satire went free of situation and structured sky, complicities (sex for ears).

The you-effects (more structures) become less fearless (less indiscernible) when innocence, dance then acrobatics cross lines and context. Codes of boundaries. Certain crossed lines score from beneath; a hobby becomes a color of late addiction to you.


A rooming house.. Inside, every chamber named canonically after a poetics. Defence of Ryme, Habits of Empire, Preface to Sordello, Being and Event, Chicken in the Field, Prepositions, Camera Lucida, so forth. Collecting rent every week parallels reading critique of each. Kitchen Untitled.
Joop holds I hated this luau yet I killed for you.
Why’d you bother?
The Bronx looked used up. Mr E had a life that seemed poetic,

Joop sports a motorcycle jacket w/ a feathered shrug.
I don’t read much into The Times
— no anti-theoretical vantage
— politics, let’s say that’s a ground game
and stays daily holding what we need to know thru seriality —
To let yourself whisper through what you don’t know takes a never-achieved aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. We enjoy living among a slue of lucky design ideas orphaned to alien ethnicities, busted out of place, in the wrong skin, wrong age.

(Welcome home.)
Citing a theory of clouds I want to make you aware
Your neo-Dali card was de-activated.
It’s a perilous ‘was’ — I’ll give you a hand.
Only 1. There’s high cognition in light opera
Observing very little community. For oomph
Rules are bent on a riddle gauge, puns with data solutions on the
Ground looking up.
If the obviated nearly die for gravy, they’ll comfort more,
text imitating proverbial “fur.”
We are one species
meaning many different things at one time all over time :
We slow up together.


50 years to the date Rainer Fassbinder had an eye, a golden beak.
Predictive dialectic is not strong enough. I repeat,
His miming the berserk,

Mining homilies and off-color copy
Comprise exploration in Audubon-ship.

Does any bird genus know more than he doesn’t know?

Pardon me. Emergency! Excuse me. “...my
Kiss is not avian. It’s just atheist exuberance.”
Dissonance is born of necessity, one dialog reflecting gritty, highly-trafficked back alleys of seduction and violence.

Are you healthy enough for perfection?

A little off but speaking the usual way subverts expectations.
A stencil of this dialog frames many others
As a thought pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.
I’ll be doing it today or tomorrow —
I’m male no. 1. “An idiot,” handlers whisper.

I’ll read my email soon
because my pets deserve it.
There aren’t enough shortcuts to go around.
Your soul is on break, in a style of incompletion (Otto Dix),
Obsequious, sharpened anomalies w/ bait
: A new music took off about here.

Hands in the air.

These 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.
A head-on view looks toward emptiness by the book, embraces it —

In a gridded compartment one understands this may be an error.


Here’s a thought. Stiles of cash stuffed inside wholes carved out of the earth, stacking up against one another with such speed they reflect the world as it is, advancing toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about.
Oh my god — I just remembered I can fly.
Well, most of these “pieces” are literal, based on trying to sit down and sing [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still wearing your headset.”

An air of inevitability around the advanced codes has been shattered. It seems inauthentic in that I am more than sex. Your holding me, the middle of the throat..

I kiss the air. This. A

..nd it’s not clear you and I will bring up questions that require specific, distinctive thought like that I believe I’m a welding head, until my spinal column heats up, thinking of you.
When I read you in high school I had thought Vegas. Sun passeth zenith. Your house is of horizontal wood boards off in Former Creeps Meadow, a strip routine.

The journey feels made up so all of us can live by ourselves without being alone.

I read you and people move away, making high school vacant.

for Robert Lowell
Depends — an authentic adult language, including dance, charades,
Mores are raised —
Bullets and lists shape one phase,
A look back over who we are after we agree — not that I care.
Many of us walk to Central Square w/ thoughts
Of Marxist base alignments and bike gear.
Our peers make films and fast food.

Thinking like this I can’t tell anyone from anyone else except you.
(Thinking of democracy is in season.)
I was like you sold my book!
Which isn't the whole story..

Yeah, but it was mine..


Your first lover could not heal your mind through his skin.
Then we happened to acknowledge your text, seeing south wind fixed to the floor
and in circles midair. We see your subtle flight.

If I put my hands un.. Understand?
A great sunrise centers on net worth while scorekeepers on the ground are holding data that prospect on appearances, looking up. This defines a square block, a pinch of stairs. Nice stairs. Nice worth.
Everything I note here is integrated, also resonating up to a net where you can charge fees along the horizon that’s magnified until it’s askew. 5:02.