Envy of the plant supervisor is sick. Diagnosis is a mystery.

I believe we fall to nature so ketchuppy-and-pink a preeminence in beauty, wit and fashion is established.

Also I blame I’m flipping out, whoa. A white screen shot. Complete white-out, soft jazz, then lower right, your lips moving up and down, talking to hit the mean loving a musician..

..unfolding high notes from little doodles eking, fleshing them out..

The crowd that half-fills the turnpike is booing, boozy, lunging.. some blowing kisses in your direction. And why not?

Piscary is a proof we can diffuse.
We’re in a dry patch leading to a fishing hole.
No one can help the acclaimed angler that could lend support, failing to.

Some of our passage falls away, collapses, not to declaim but there’s been drought. A punt. Get used to it or go home to switch tackle.

Lao Tzu (Zi): The follower’s flower name is hooded, part doodle & part I’m not sure there’s no use.
To set up a phrase after the follower is to hit the complement of blunt geometric form. And it’s clear which side is clocked for spectacle.

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

If he can or if he wants,
what you said is partner of it.

Johnson’s Pledge —
1. To be objective and lack will 
is an ambition..
detailing method as a catamaran of process.

2. Let’s feed an appetite that picks up from nature “to express things ... as they are when one sees them without remembering having looked at them.” Then we can chew scenery, committed to formal blocking in stagecraft, maintaining our indomitable temperaments.

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.
We’ll provide all the paragons on screen. When you come to a 3-syllable you don’t recognize, you can just look down and see its CUNY disentanglement.

As we advance, there are 44 hundred thousand voice-to-gifs along with multiple systems references from within.

These will be memory triggers for pasting in a response while materials become more germane, less error prone, building on what’s been said.

There are a 100 butterflies out of sorts in what’s wrong watching even one or two spin like mediums,
happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.
The collapse of spinning it better is.. no, the aim changed, functions bounce.

We can build something better.
One can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun,
seething too, proportionate to the open space.
The smoke is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified with ozone.
The whole firebox glow yellow
wallpaper engages on.

Yes or no, certainly. & all right
All attempts to throw your voice were patently dumb & of a special force,
Interventions & addictions too disproportionate
To the unknown risks. As one infringer you fail to mushroom,
Ignored. But our positions are hellbent when three or more
Discover wisdom on unaligned terms. So we need oversight.

A sunny, boyish grin.
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.

“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things.”
Back I said, a piece of advice.

Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains
deferentially. Creature masks are a precondition in reprieve.

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.

Charitable informatics is garbled when this derivative (Esau).

(I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in, forward, back passing thru the 1st position of the sprout.)
It’s written that was enough. O May!

What does there’s still a move to go do?
It’s just a feeling, the only unmoving part.

... to the people at Boeing: since the poor make us sick
— stuck, instead, learning plane facts by heart in capsule surveys
: tempo noncommittal (not nothing) if you don’t inhabit what you’re saying,
shhhh ...

In bar lighting, one’s eyes drift as if
undressing underwater. You see why snails
build a house. They stand around, slowly tank,
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.

I’m going to take my inside voice
...over here I have hidden leftover news to
twist in hot leafy acreage.
‘Come here, get out of here..
I’m out of here..’ other poll data
are largely implemented
in life naming sex. Out of here out of
mind I guess —

That’s how we want it.
Vice concerns pyrotechnics, not news content.

"Full moon dead low tide," almost a sonnet in breadth and depth (and if the next two lines
were repeated often, it’s a sonnet). Here we [repeat line 1]
get a glimpse or more a direct flicker [2]
of eusocial insect thought processes. We learn very little and that’s all we get. Unlike bugs, we make it to another side of our future / past yet either way, a lot like bugs, we’ll wipe ourselves out through ‘circumstances.’

Your reading ‘circumstances’ as embedded satire results from programmed abundance and swarming expectation. Up to the moment sonnets don’t go far to be funny, relax or specify invisible force.

This is looking more prima facie axiomatic. 
The text is post-premodern, centuries better to stay in charge. A common outcome, doubtless — a text’s consequences is foregrounded in a poet’s identity and her intents, conflated with audience, exploited media, reputation, so forth. It’s all to the good, superficially, temporally — a certain category of problem when one’s success precedes the poem. 



So a critical first question for the poem is, can we start over.

*

Abandon hope, erratic celebrated rocker. You are no one.

Sexuality, a verge of itself pumped to stroll
the bank’s known surfaces —
Sex rejoined signals with chains of seltzer
on suspension in a state of wretchedness ..

I’m caliph of nine river whiners
trapped subtexting modulated banality.
I’m wearing hand and fingerprints from
nervous systems that distort reality to
emphasize changes in radial evil of the super ego.

Freakonomics in a Trump-era world, driving toward departure from what is present in the original meaning to experience.

Study the past if you divine Zorro’s frailty.
I watch myself in performance in a new piece on you —

and thru you I’m cutting you off.
Can’t you feel substitutions coming on?

We can blame fiery birds’ beaks

stemming out, ruining our nails.

A headboard with no utility other than hooks.

Can we cut to the Rene part?
And the chorus is plural en scene where our fiction holds. We have no perverse incentive acting mindless taking chances, since we have already gone over it in hammock talk, too often raising a toast to the madness of it’s desperately over between straight men (and how angry they get) and how it makes us screwball over the late poetry of Rene Ricard.

Never dine — a term of
solitude.
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

I never use tone shifting while throwing a cookout together.
For what party in sleep?

So if darkness “must take a wider horizon of use,” why not just be kind to actors?
En route to password assistance, astronomical and infinitesimal amounts are unsolved problems and compelling work that front-load knowledge construction to explain and reform quite a number of spaces in and times off.

A poem fires up photoshop.

A poem is a picture — I read madras pea
Coats — albino kittens hitting crescendos annoying cringing robots.
Drown me out, speed bags. Drown and kiss the cleft, sanguinary as dissolvents —
Makes lock up toxic.

What a night.
No problem

I’ve been coming up with syntax fabricked in aromas of surfboard.
Fully in its own bed.

Midnight horror porn is as cheesy as parody paying homage to its subject.

Nudes mean more when their heads are chopped.

Pass the white gloves.


It’s amazing
Unhappiness results from abundance. It seems cuckoo

A little before four in the afternoon.

I’m a member of the takeaway school.
Mean something, take it away...

how my twin psyche writes more conscientiously
touching on raw parts in this endearing translation.
In your memory, throwing kisses
and how it makes us crazy for the late poetry of Rene.

We said nothing about your father sitting meditation,

Boosting cognition as if in a playlet w/ bellwethers & bloodhounds —
We did it once in complete metonymy. Everything bristled.

Symbolism weighs in
As a shortcut: Some future of the past thinking & writing as if.

Meanwhile.
Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of the knowledge industry that can consider anonymous approximations in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard.

Moving forward I have all of an hour to believe in sweetness made into infamous exposure (in costume).

I cannot stress enough
your card was de-activated.
It’s a perilous ‘was’ — let me give you a wand.
Since there are multiple aims, capital will be re-bought, redefined,
irresistibly absorbed in sleights of hand.

If I voice a question mark at the end of feeling genreless, it becomes a pick-up line for the calmative afterlife.

Detonation in the function of time — well,
There’s a tattoo for that pulpiness, sure. Promote your event.

I taught an event planner who became a spoofer.
St Olaf dressed the part.

Aw, the guest room is a home office.
Why do junior varsity wear outfits that tame their tribute?

A film maker, one poet (out of two), is turning to performance crafts, sits and lets you alternate looking at him and thinking, has the floor moved? To sing of thingness = wild mist, without much shine and whose staying put is more to the point — dull mist, not deep enough.

Thanks for your almost dry touches and for your weak calligraphy — placing yourself before nature and dreaming. Literally.

You’re standing up, looking ok despite your sleeping sickness as a work-around to perfection. I’m by your side. On your side.
Mist trickles down rewriting chain letters you refuse to answer. Good for you. Good for you!

Blatantly careless, docile or not, seems the new daring..
I have no idea it was handed to me
The deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning —
We should see an immaculate, engaged shake of the hand
To thank the audience, the body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.

There were missing utterances filling balloons
with the enormity of what got hooded — a dirge-y lexicon
that cannot be considered tenurable
given cost averages —
your intellect seeks damages
even while in concert, active but still missing.

We do not impinge on feeling fine /

10 gallons of the Hirsch, please,
W/ the canonical crescent tartelle, ah..
A pipeline of debits operates across casual monotones.
Everyone’s direction shifts as our nervous system distorts

To emphasize changes in whose system this is over time..

‘I never make judgments about people I shoot.’

Poetry is politics hardening joy orbs.
A proposition (like this) is anxious. I guess

...what? This early
When you got up your speech was

Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling
Flattened onto note pads in 2 dimensional motes.

You and what you say disappear, gossip!
Motes are for controlling anger, how minds are read.

Beyond us, them, 4% atoms, tiny
wriggling strings; hidden, 22% of the tug —

dark and unknown predicates
fixated on procedure, a luscious, noiseless bond.

Not running, walking rapidly, I cross
the hall where the heat transfers ....

We can call it that
adding up the lead and lead time, eyes

open, moving, waiting, meaning
it but hardly tempted.

A rational effect? You and I can’t attempt it,
touching on our dual roles as we reradiate consensus.

Poison, anecdotes are a way of life. He had meant antidotes, composer in this case, not the narrator. One withdrew. They just seem wound up terribly in the same horology. One in the study, the other in the art.

He has to deposit deleted utterances in surface structure to get back to poison.

Then we can drive.

I promised you a ham for painting bombast, cremating all melody fonder.

That would be indoors at our place.

Until then
I’ll have you over when life and death crack lobes of automation...

Waiting for you know who,
I hope you’re feeling great. I’m not.

Sunshine recycles.

As we say only moments from now,
A proposition (like this) is politically cheap.

These guys (pols) are easy with a wry edge, they’re interested
In hyperkinesis, T notes
And cook dating!

Outdoors a muted roll call gathers under bright archways,
A hazard to paper aircraft taking off.

Um sure I guess.. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation now or a few seconds from now after the transaction but before thinking about it, looking it over, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands reprieving vice versa.

Feminism has few forms of address —

A poem is..
Does it matter?
The more you put your finger on contradictions in spatial tensions
You wander out above your welcome in a retro retrospective..

Texting is not going anywhere deeply son.
Neo-cubism stinks, ruched with fart.
Wha’up? A fresh little hellcat video,
Hi impact tinctures, deep shadows and inaudible signs from a long history

I have felt your voice,
heard your drift —

One touch,
one orated note.

Sleep has more ideas for here and now
where everything is a right answer;
we made contact then for a time
inspired by my taking your sleep course.

No plan, we thought about speaking,
better than sleeping —

Watching you spin like sentience
“refined by distance” since that was the last of

casual contact \ spectacle,
putting my life together but keeping your drift ..

New contract. Deep linkage. Bigger venues. No stress. Percentages stay constant.
Here we are — stuck in two dimensions
out of four! eating sweat! Two washes.

We went over this. We saw five drafts. The 20-60 split seems generous given evils of the present. Funny, I may call you from your mobile device or redeem coupons of yours I crunched into origami. The music and I dream with you is another 20.

Barnstable is a manifest force of habit. A marriage ago it was my fault, it seems, you figure.
Talk, the walk, swingers bass fishing in the realty environs, first worlds we heat up, stay young at the edge of yet I still have cheques.

When we struck an alliance back home right after the start I thought, friend or not? It’s no way to begin altho ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became footloose and incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.

“..looking far ahead was fantastic, a civilizing process added to eternal space
Filling our eyes with unmeasured disassociation.”

There’s a cloying aspect when able bodies gather to
phenotype, we have to polish our devices.

Each of us a stairwell math set
to snap out of going off reckless & naked yet
shooting for triumph.

Nah. It’s probably just a major fuck up.

*

Today’s arm band chafes. 100 months ago
it’s Arvo Pärt chafing:
& oblique like you, insipid defiance groaned out, hardly credulous,
ultra.

It began as parallel futures on a projective plane,
Why move into the crash test?
Why go there without force: When we rehearsed this,
it made no language difference what we
believe, what the soul is.

But I’m done in by grief and American English.
I’m maundering without a commodity or form;
structurally I’m inside hypotheses
to mottle or disengage hierarchal bravado, and I can’t go on
without a preamble — an episode in "possibly local slippery conditions."

Before Schuyler, tall stars were accreting, my yeh —
Viewing rain twisting, “tensile lines,” I wave back, s’up?
We’re at the prelims of average theory
and heights now and whose momentum?

I forget what really and concretely mean to nature.
My post values are so skewed I forget William Blake.
I forget historicism.
I forget the Kennedys and the Dead Kennedys.
It’s the same when I’m wearing fangs

I work in the market.
I ran from information, bracing for a selloff.
Consequences, real overhead

And limits next. Back in a moment.
I can’t stop it’s my job.

Our partners shiny then fallen, with grey streaks.
Huh? Fired up in smoke flames ideal sparks glow,
A red moon indispensable for smearing the made light
In a tiered border-like scrawl.

Youth trends...
Fast development, now nothing.
What’s my business? Aperture systems (slow students in acquisition) led me to holding
These volatility models from tv, vocalism in a sense.
Hidden risks lift weights (merge accounts request).
CVS photo counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, he back.
Instructions (making up circumstances) are errands; I’m my own boss.

English language trends...
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time.
We
also =
a glistening database advanced by textuality. The underground =
stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity.
ID traces out how to refine / displace any remnant of contempt.
Classification adjoined by adaptation passed thru descendants.
This break and entry taking place under a balloon holding our beef jerky.

A note: to John W,
Illusory a
-utomatism maintains a low balance outdoors evolving anonymous pretexts amounting to near
zero, a
large zero, derived from sweet metaphors for punishing discourse. A
nonetheless graceful concealment provides fractions that go free within our known physics,
demeaning no value and a
variable either way.

Watched watching.

One models language as living matter re-involving impulsive energy that courses through particles of appropriated intellect, especially given appearances and given language itself. I might call this synthetic transmutation of intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t folk history of subjugate procedure.

I’m new to housewarming.
That’s why we have two arrays for time & harmony.
Can waving time like the prize ‘crown’ of contradictions
supersede nature,
a piece of research asks: Why open
atoms under nth dimensional rhetoric only?
Not quite a theory, it’s string conjecture.
Intimation, insinuation, innuendo.
Then it was something I ate.

Cocktail wieners.
Kids love them!
Peel’em back and throw your knives.
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue.

For the seraphim it’s highly readable to a point.
The 13th century dealt supremacists,
All morning, day, it never ends;
Our participation per chance — an 18th century
Add-on, an
Earthbound generality swallowed / over cooked

.. The sun is solid — once that was the word — a good deal of democracy beyond
words turning into toasty spoors — deconstruction at last! hardly
These data waving in rocks of sunlight, gaunt & obese
Blowing cold.

I don’t know what they are
Or what they’re doing, but even they seem appalled.

Let’s now prescribe an observance of justice
for each game, any obvious bravery.

Let’s is an imperative like make a muscle when referring to me.
A source of bravado was not sad. Separation from the source is.

A magnificent evening can be given to no thought.
This or any separation we call the blues, shyness,
meaning frame and ligaments hold feeling, no source.
Feeling is not sad. One votes sadly.

We fail to clarify after political glamor there’s poli rant along with new protocol (old manners) watched over, even policed nightly — many topics in mind so a few words take on character, a wince, a tilt of hat.

Current government gives a glimpse into events shaping war or “The Owl and the Nightingale.”

The passive voice was made for you to prove your anger; propositional semantics =

key [snap] decisions, arguments, further jibes, shaming within a sub-class of invective, a face-off to persuade waverers; Julius Caesar, Juliet, “Much Ado About Nothing,” “Battle of Maldon,” where Saxon to Welsh sat on decline benches, threw slurs across the Blackwater banks, add flytings of Skalds of Old Norse in Simone’s Droplaugarsona Saga, as well as the Scot Dunbar et al, “Montgomerie et Polmart,” plus vomitous insult at one another from Middle Normans freezing progress for the Republic of the Nightingale.

It’s closeness ahead shaped by time gone just like that.

The 10 impulses exist.
W. Stevens would and did think they’re cut down to stubs on his land. Hardly by design we open our front door and see what politics didn’t do. The shortest walk ignited by havoc, honest, exhausted people — from it’s-not-the-same-now to the refined science of chaos celebrity — the betrayal of stubs is addictive.

That insight gives one the strength to make oneself at home, stay there, ameliorating.

I’m learning squat
until you get home.

I will never betray metaphysics oxidizing beauty goals.

The main thing is to tell a story. It is almost very important.

— Frank O’Hara — et al.

Composing like this focuses on writers, how they are surrounded. Focus is prewriting.

China’s thinkers are not unique in this tradition. Their transmissions help in resizing one’s ego in the scheme. We see they are seeing. Tell me how you will avoid what they say?

I’m taking comfort to be close to you
eating the Pope’s fiddle leaf figs and the Queen’s grapes.

Ode: I’m sleep.
An only hill
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights:

A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best.

Dogs in woods by the ocean
Together, like them and like us,
Can you fill in the stillness?
Keep an eye out, the ocean over?

Repeat this so it’s approved,
“I don’t know about you”
But in a tone more affirmative
Like the jeweler’s words for whale
-bone / in measured blues − all the while

This stretch, like all comebacks, tells a story dropping hints of a larger, open-minded we-don’t-know − was it something to do with the singer to one side, blocking another?

Do we lead a life another sings with you?

The mailbox happens. A man’s voice, game, calm, also nervous. Protecting a sleep-laden vessel of dreams threatens it. Everyone knows we are never better aligned at night.
Scraps and parts of rope out of here..

Nesting austerity is neatly poetic, dignity eating.

I bet in the future we have no mail from here
and now. We’ll be on site.

When you tear down walls in ink you find your living partner. He. She’s (2) a (social) creature,

capable of more compulsive communication, traveling in large mobs or schools.

Well, 2 out of 3 did.

It read it hardly knows beams and walls.
And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.

Woman, my dream
is to be a professional writer.

You. Are. Shit. Ahem.
(A con.) Another w/ dog dyes her hair gem red.
We leveraged arbitration groups, remiss ..
How long .. well?

I agree. To be reviewed is to be published.
Teaching can’t be taught. I’ll ..

Let me pull an invisible
to the eye hair off your blouse to increase the breed (1).

Copy: Drink to one’s health & bicameral madness
As sugar consumption skyrockets. O Canada

Father writes, “Linked phrases run through the a’s, b’s, c’s and so on, but a-phrases, again, often point to the composition (the kind I am).

B-wise, my creativity
is not wasted in remorse.
What I owe: I know
almost and almost lost,
unfinished, in everything. For the c’s
I moved along a scratchy plain
of dandelions, peony, clover:
checked for snags of fern, fir,
and the only woman nodded: Oh yes
It’s only your newness:

and I see the form
as I fill in the questionnaire
putting my back into it.”

If you know rhetoric
it changes your feelings;
it changes others’ behavior,
especially in poetry.

Your poetry changes
your writing now,
the one you’re reading at another
time coming now.
Benji, you’re strange again. We’ve decided to beat it out of you.
Say something. We’ve lost your spirit and pulse.

Cal Tech outsmarts Harvard. Colgate is a better ‘deal’ than either.
Tod’s loafers beat Weejuns. Sure.
MoMA in the original shifted genealogy, different periods of shifts changing contexts for us; we were both wearing black Lacostes.

To paraphrase ... you can’t predict
Say when nothing is wrong
What is the considered argument

For missing stairs...

His haiku was stiff: full, bel canto, with a slight

Vocal member of the Southern Illinois Cultural

Studies group carrying a sawed off

Shotgun.

Something’s wrong with skylines.
I was just saying
Any plateau shows why.
But here’s proof to diffuse in a few and twist everything
I say, A muddled cool, ah I’ve
...I think you said that, and made it new perspectives

Of immense sadness achieved exclusively thru flattery;
Muddled cool then calculates grandiosity, no shine.

Of course there’s a plainer cool to try,
An infancy — paraphrasing Stein, the same age inside — no name... an
Authentic vantage w/in voice matter
Running everywhere

As tho helium released great vowels sponged w/ saliva and
You wake up cartoon-lean — Inconceivable the sky’s angled, swerve-y
— Ah, turns out not badly!

Anyway hipster
is a contradiction in terms.
In terms a shortcut to prediction.
Unilaterally a hipster

throws out softballs,

variously literal — the power

system (it’s decentralized) semi

managed as yoga

mounting a bait

and switch to chalk up

the utility of lingerie,

discreet shipping, and in
this case it won’t be serene.

The enlightened instant comes
to how this can be put together
surely, entirely.

Parable’s silver brown hair is replacing blond streaks, according to a flier.
I picked up in the same place my soul is a hypothesis. A blowfish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy her wiggly self. Since we live in new enterprises and ecologies, we begged her to learn to swim further and stick with a nearly sublime topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding Beethoven in C flat helpless.

Just all right, try
soundboards, acoustic bass, acoustic chemistry turning out scribbled freshness for contraltos breaking glass over car hoods to drown out the dog track —

It’s no single fool’s doing, making it easier to borrow. Clenching-tight

I’m sorry so sorry — Can you sing that?

I hope you enjoy your kind together.

Song: This isn’t a black or white issue.
Someday I will have a pomegranate thermostat.
It won’t be torture unless it causes organ failure.
I still think in poem titles.

I can’t postpone it.
A tongue in his ear driving noise into a lost history of pioneers and ‘kissin’ cousins in lines of duty. It’s quantified; what does that mean?

The two-man cabin five flights down.

Sleeping with you, I’m blackmailed looking for a mnemonic to store in a palindrome.

In order to pass thru there’ll be at least a few minutes of interesting, then more of inter-interesting.

The oasis filled w/ triangles, throats & you Poe!
volatility weighed, vibrato banshee-d.

As ‘you make a profit, remind yourself...’
the president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting
esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a punning bone, also merciless. Really
his movies remind me of tin futures & allegiance to the ice
ants swarming as mind controllers sidle away —
The earth is not the earth but has strength and balance and Duma
unanimity. Each winter corrupts the exterior.... hackers like poplars attaining their
ultra field and stream, doing a job shunned by most, showered with tips.

Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one anto
-nyms assimilate. I haven’t said anything

since.

A ballerina crosses Walnut St. Can you believe her silhouette pressed against anyone who doesn’t dance. Visceral surprise! A purged rhetorician acquires correspondence, verbal equivalence to her process repertoire.

The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense, coming out to play, sampling
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of national honor

and backing it up with inexact and multiple scents of feeling, sounds
from what we were doing before [give me one second..] took hold,
instantly recognized as identity.

Identity and hardened m.o.’s from silences, retakes,
and feral scents of feeling cornered in a feral feeling piano lesson.

(I forgot to send this.)

I welcome myself to your studio of secrets, shaman.
One tattered ego observing very little sweetness.

Sulfur:

Goin to the chapel and we’re goin to get may-reed.


Let’s start with the a b c of it. Come on, we make mistakes: No one talks about it so humans don’t fully realize.



The ineptitude of continuing the ceremony motivates the plan, a spiritual prank, an outright lie, vowel shifts ‘living’ in sin, associates and fellow nationals glimpse each fetus as important as it flies. 



A fetus in these circumstances means drug dependence, except yours of course.



I note its pale eyestripe of looking and reading. Down curved and black edged, its camouflage of being read. Frankly, it’s not that much into whom? When the father was asked, he hesitated and then spoke, “Not me.”

There are procedures for mourning. There are a slew of them.
I can’t say these things. These same things. Page one, no one, page 101.

I may go on to continue. To be pressed on cardboard.
It almost makes me say all aboard. Then it “goes.”
for Ted Greenwald

We sign off on others’ labor — A newspaper edition, documentary remnants, penetrable databases — We occupy this clever, conceptual nook, curl up and At times siding with the powerful is deliberate as well as passive-aggressive. I’m kidding. I’m staying sarcastic — It bears repeating un-ironically there’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed. The oppressed are whom we avoid where or when we can be free — On the outside, in place of a natural voice, outsourced bouquets smolder w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

The happiness of one bright red chair with a table in one corner washes up on islands serving as hideouts. You’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop. We’ll invade your space only then leave.

Nasal voices wake me up.
pulsing in a deep mirror,
light rain performing butoh.

(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.)

— I don’t want fun or get to dress you, hell
I’m ultra-excited to seem enthused ..
.. I’m on their side in the I-Be area
mincing a response one thinks on the way to ..

tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette,
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / language.

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.
I knew I am unhappy and, like most everyone, I am not — 


the boat’s cortex holding out ..

Poodle décor: I lost my nonfaith in the underground —
Now, like Joe Orton I play Fenders unter dem Deckmantel
Shih Tzu in barrel ate red pork rinds, sick
Pomeranian necklaced w/ black cord —

Have to check.
It’s inside me too.
*
Sky pressure is diffusing..
But things will never stay
The great way they bubble over & out
When everybody has a pointer.

It’s real privilege to be singled out
.. Suffering, complaining, two out of 3 observers got off, depleting the shipment. Surnames are ..oh forget it, uh? They’re randomly conjoined.

They mentioned their legendary roots, cleansed of even the thought of terror. (I heard there’s a user’s list of trainers and trainées.)

Fall back, breathe while our new rescuers get authenticated.

Breathe, again, push, five..

It’s about not breaking ranks

To achieve a balanced personality we come to bury.

The music brokerage remains in aerospace.
A month ago a morning flew by.
My best friend is my
most erotic partner. It’s a cooperation.
But nature’s purpose has nothing to do w/ that.

Once it’s snowed,
attack dogs toughing it out, snow
melting before white statuary. Of cats.

The Flying Nun does not exist.
Scant dissonance, no disruption. There are
Mere appearances, such as a vantage baseline,
Retail boundaries.

Monkish materiality lives on — it’s left the office to half-
Center on taking off.
My 3-D models are you & everything else I can be w/ w/out you
— to hold chaos again.

It dawns on me
Before blasting forward chaos is offhand
— having seen it, been married to it earlier I’m where

I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing


The national nun costume,
                                         stretch poplin, in a trance.

What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation? Atheist or decision theorist?

Libido and new ways to be policed are on a vain man’s brain (one of any pulse); the 1st few words take on destabilizing character. I’m trying to clean this up [snip] have to leave enough ‘intent’ to keep me happy after he’s finished I’m finished. This is an exemplary yet limited procedure, so I’m framing it fun work, cuts straight through its own restructure creating more chopping patterns to abandon ...

Emily’s neighbors, according to the census,

None here now. Their presence was filled with compression, ideals opening a science of situation (Thoreau) and unobstructed white sky (Whitman), unstructured joy, bouncing up years later with satiric multiples (Wieners, Ricard). Only yesterday! Literary worth automatically fills the page like scrub pine — from which tribe? — becoming more fearless (less indiscernible) when units of innocence, acrobacy and self-neutering come together, vaunting in plain English, a content addressed by new neighbors.

I believe in fact
There’s a way we recover from riches and most happiness / as litigants in the field henceforth —

With context as field once there was a C-class

We stay on board ..

Breathe, kick, push, kick, four / five ..

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

A fan on Jazz Spectrum brought up vast nothingness just now. Nothing is vast and tiny. Or vice versa.
Or maybe nothing is merely pragmatic, more like mannerist enigma-cutting, modifying collective memories w/in incessant self-interrogation where one can share one’s convictions along w/ Sonny Rollins, ‘Come, Gone.’

O Buddhists of progress **
You’re back in vertigo

Yielding authority practicing karate high noon
: Yeh, sure, take me on your own.

A genuine bagatelle
Takes substance and breadth, not at this end; my going price reacts to audacious desire
(a rare cigarette case, may I?) looked after in dangerous tranquility and
No thanks. Just the big meal. Inductions to your other habits.
Just because you and I are snarly, externalizing ideas —
The gleaming haze drags down sculptures of felted helium
Like Opium the parfum done over by spinning in warm wind..
..of your utter loss in scents, your scent.

Who will win you, be you when we take up past lives

or linger over fruit, a blackjack of planes

and volumes of ourselves in the polish of systems gaming
from which we now resign, in grace (3 cherries).



A wild bet is the oldest touch in the darkest town

[a friend’s lyrics] — buckets on red, someone’s lucky color

in a city of red lights and streets, carnival streets

with wine in bottles, women and men in

off the streets, profiteers in cafes of Reno, I imagine!

I toast anyone else holding a perfect suit

in focus, carnival glass, red goblets letting the workday

work away. Afterward, we leave home and go to college

and get involved being there facing the sky.
Tell me, poem.

There are no pleasure substitutes, after all.
The defrayed honeymoon can last, and it’s normative, blushing with its song of guts and neurons spinning bottles —

There’s no hurry.

After a honeymoon deflections accrue. My heart is breaking to go on.

Bliss. We were looking it up.
A battle between two distinctions
among words bringing up few others,
times two more of those brain-states from Asia.
A marsh is now interesting
(vitae) for the sea. For the eye, nothing but applesauce then shellac
the sea brought in without consent, leader of the pack
of subject matter. Not varnish, bliss.

With good optics petroleum can get serious.

Bosons exhale thru rainy nightfall. I reason their surrogate likenesses (x) are more serious and more recently struck down. Razed; rain’s over, prancing on the lawn, rain in light draining oil.

That’s all right.
Another time.

I’m listening to !! (powpowpow) Choosing a next word, like deciding music, is a significant event entailing parallel yet soon defunct phenomena unmeasured but hypothesized in a quantum construct. Choosing ten words or choosing ten spins by a dj — choosing merges quanta, happenstance survivors plucked out of a number of now-dead parallel event objects or topics. “When a word is selected as a ‘vivid detail,’” Wm. Empson insists, “a reader may suspect alternative reasons why it[’s] selected.” You’d think a given detail had been spinning either as two or many more meanings finally resolved (finished up) as confusion collapses, and one number or flavor of topic pops out, anecdotally at random. The rest are put to rest by now.

My counselor affidavit registers a deficiency of thought and evolving pretexts. All the same, this is the second point.

So the others’ doesn’t count. (I’ve always been competing with myself.)
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social paradox of treason. Rules commit us. Voters went for Trump. Yet this is the latest case.
Everything I note here is integrated. These databases center on surplus insertions while something sober on the ground keeps looking up. We like our democratic ideals to get by on appearances.

Credo (fixed): You’re good typing.
Fees balanced

After.. there are vector
Utilities (direct flares) for expressing enzymes with lips.

Hessian perfume like axioms —

You’ve already eaten some..
I had a bite. Of some.

Turn coincidence into wailer muscle parrying
Us to hint who’s who...

Holy shit!
Sorry. Your language is procedural lengthening its insipid menace.
Accommodations are key. That’s why we signed the contract

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness.
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught.
(Our addendum is in the mouth.)

You know it thru an evolutionary pin drop —
Look me in the eye, I’m ruined.

Diagram conditions of abstraction as vicarious at first before conforming to a belief system

like mind and body worship. It’s pointedly me-centered.
Gilbert Ryle asks, “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”

Finally! I’ve been harlequinized.
It’s never the same wearing fangs.

My view of SSTs is fuzzy, made fuzzier

Because of blazing fog. Industry rumor settles for non-empirical fears and precedent touting prejudices, converting them to virtues. Virtue has it spy aircraft are halfway-habitualized, wanting or declaiming against clarity through observation.

To Caspar,

I think you asked for the dinner.
Ghost buds in the twenty-first century are glazed in sentiment.

So you get it now, assigning you to our planet to feel cathartic
is dimensionally impossible. You’re dull. Rather uneducated.
Shine and velocity for all us living!
Sap is flowing top speed.

I’m having a pitch dark
obvious brainstorm
so why stop

Only, let’s call it
O baby
all the way unnhh..

O yesses encompass in advance
shimmer
— crash. Al-

So let me see..
dreams get advanced
returning the favor.

The ideal Cupid fell out of place in a man’s body


but staying in the picture. Voice changes and all.

I’d like to thank the Academy.

To ignore X is to reinforce ignorance.

IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. Can I have an amen? I’m not religious. Nor are you. I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind divorcing you.

Oh, tech services, tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams — How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime the common numerator undercutting American literacy?

Crayoning hearts and drunken smiley faces,
pledging boundless love, packing up my belongings,
You be the C.E.O.

Part 2.

The multiple being of Ezra Pound is dead, mannerisms, biases and all, and we living descendants, equipped with new rules, re-arrange the family tree, cutting him off, almost entirely. Some put him far out on an un-sacred limb off another limb, hanging precariously. If you can call it that. Some of us have other ideas. Poetics by decade, with its winners and losers, is a humanist blood sport, after all, subject to emotional habits. What matters in evolution is how to find and/or place an opus in roughly phylogenic order. Each classified by adaptation passed on to descendants. In scare quotes. The field for poetics and compositional evolution is, as it has been, the work and all other utterance around it and, of course, ‘after’ it. The work in our time includes more than one poet’s composition, but one’s words make everything responsible.

Loud poetics antecedents and indebtedness toward them could be handled better if questions of egotism, fashion, clique formation, and friends-enemies were eliminated. That’s asking for several parcels of human experience to be disappeared. For each poet and her cohort, tho, matters of contemporary personalities, preferences, biases, etc. do blow apart in time.

We descend from loudness. The Dylans, G. Stein, E. Pound, B. Mayer. Take Pound (please). Today most ‘responsible’ poets speak less canonically, less willfully than he, one of our accomplished loudmouths.

Part 1.

To reverse devolution we’ll rush back
to hear more about causality
a principle that cannot be considered in words
like suspension of liberties and financial slaughter.

Unable to help you play a single practical joke, I hadn’t spoken to you for months, having found direction and refinement in the background of a construction zone perforated by mirrors, swindles, procedural lunges toward more pranks. I said I had had it.

And I had. I mamma-ed my speech into new lines.
“Stutterers stutter trying not to stutter,”
looking to ruses with adaptability in circumstance.

Sir Fric and Frac. Remember them?

Fric just called, said “We were swimming naked, a word I often use to characterize my government and binding. I wasn’t looking when I came out of my laps and grabbed you by the throat, moved in. I felt something strange but familiar.
To bring this up this late in the morning is totemic.”
I fell silent and wrote it all down.

Americans are living longer. You see yourself among them until you can’t or won’t. It’s not too long parking spaces have a word with you. Children are the future. Keep them distracted.

Thank you for your approved transaction. Every atmosphere would like to encompass our five parts. Calculate the new payment. Wait for the forthcoming I don’t deserve you.

— for James Brown

Why are you here?
This is my apartment. I live here.
Why are you here?
I’ll tell you why I’m here. Oh, I’ll tell you why!

I’m here because...
Go on, say it.
l... Go on!
I want you, Jeb.

I’m consumed with jealousy because I want you for myself.
Oh, please!
Admit you have feelings for me.
I have feelings about you, not for you. There’s a difference.

Did you watch the report?
We agree with you when you live long enough.

Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of industrial knowledge that considers prototype approximations in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard. At first.

Moving forward we have all of an hour now to take in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume).
Lights up
— we take ourselves inside the libretto where we reserve dissonance.

Sweetness is vacillating as usual.
Though fragrant — it turns opaque
And poof — still,
It could rain.

Will you call upstairs and talk?

The bosses don’t talk, they’re hot for a killing — They said that?

What?

— Here it comes...

I’m so sorry.
I murder some homeless girl? Are you nuts?
She was just there. Sweetie, it was an accident. She falls on the knife.

Then what?

— There’s a media trial.

Another trial?

There hasn’t been a trial since — they wanted a death upstairs.

Here it is. Rod returns as a world-famous impersonator
and hypnotist, but there’s this twist, you’ve been studying
in Europe at the Josh Hartnett Institute.
I like it. Life and death issues. I’ve been abroad.

Comatose in Vienna. Just for a while. Foolproof.

It’s a continental, world weary sleep binge. You’re a
trance inducer. That’s it.

I like it.

Aren’t we supposed to feed even the bad dogs? Yes but summer, winter?
Minutes after the work was filed, dozens stood in line for a treat,
free rein over the next sentence.

Opening windows, pissing.
Perfect! Beautiful...
When the soup lady arrives, something inside of you snaps. A crack-up.
Exactly, exactly. It’s all gotten to you... poverty, deprivation,
peeing in the streets. So you reach into your bag... and you grab a
knife! You take the knife, and you lunge at the soup but immediately
fall into a numb coma. You are dumb, so you cannot speak, you grunt a little.
Okay? Try it. Good.

You’re confused? I have my poem now.

Poetic license: so often called. Here’s my side, since you never asked.
The moon at this phase could be the crudest debacle to date −
merely an anagram of abstract treasonous appraisals coalescing, a typecast

notarized in the spry travelogue almost as if we wrote
the subject headers. And the leaked soundtrack was not only plain ugly

but to everyone’s taste!
As a guest or resident adjudicator I admit

“France is imaginary if...” Those very words oppose denial of healthcare, unless there’s no risk.

I’m full of appropriations, important messages, prior clearance and everything factual. Everything if.

I had this idea. No ethnicity.
Not like gogo boots or a crucifix or ...
only longer eyelashes to bring your eyes out.

We have a cigarette for the beach scene.
What do you think of smoking?

No, I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this before.
That’s why I slept so poorly last night.

For if I tell you, you’ll say
I’m making a big deal out of nothing.

You know I’m bipolar. What? Nothing. All right...

We can make the poem mute. If it doesn’t
speak, we don’t have to pay it as much.

A wordless deaf-mute. What could
be more what you are?

Rain fading under a bough, or heavenly bodies
Like stars on snow on top of sleet
Adjusting to bright, vermilion bushes of mist.
They have names ...

Tow trucks!

Does it pencil out?
Sharp point. I may have torn up the text again (though torn from my mind — you still gloat and fool around in my semen.)

Wait. This Uncle Richard Hugo thing and the will. I find it confusing.
The man was your uncle. He died. He didn’t leave you shit. You’re upset.
Period.

What about your history writing poetry together? Was there always animosity?

Yes! Ever since I ran over Hugo’s schnauzer, in a villanelle, of course.

The one state is jaw dropping. Suddenly government turns away from independent public scrutiny.
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy.
Today’s game harnesses breathless slurs to insert alterations within argument’s force and structure, redoubling in silence.

Argument is a figure of speech, already shrunk to pellets of distraction against heavier armor just before the death of death.

Don’t throw the right brain out with the

a) baby
b) broth
c) plywood boards

Auto minimalism (3 steps):
I don’t know any means to practice externalizing ideas to see myself as snowfall in faint sunlight; I don’t know how to counter contextuals and theory dated over a hundred years ago or earlier!

I think I might keep to one or two tenets of esthetics, but it’s narrowly vernacular across global surfaces.

Vernacular means I’m not doing it unless ego steps ‘aside’ and I get paid strategically.

This is all I know, this poem.
It’s so pathetic.

Where can rope and harness brush keep climbing
as urgency in ideas repairs the affects of sun at nightfall ..
Quiet waits
in short, mid-sublime

memorized treetops
plumbing peace of mind

— quiet we can’t recognize
as ribbed granite after dark ..
A molar
mass

scathing in clarity, a large opus
stating its case for war

And where are you and I
against the order we keep in our heads?

Dance:
I was with two others outside on the steps, buzzed, dressed in a navy polo, jeans, beard. You came and asked for a drag, which I gave up right away. You had me light it for you. You stood with us.

No, I didn’t cut anything.

You were staggering around outside the club, mister. Drunk. Alone.

By the time of the fourth or fifth revision the poem is lost. That’s what I want, not what the poem wants.

Geometry respects the brain..
somebody likes a piggyback...

Preliminary talk we said,
knowing I’m going to grow

— I just drove all the way
from Michigan. That proves I
can smooth your hair then do
your cheeks, your temperature would

like it was
lighting up my senses

just before you shave. I’m
noting how your chin juts into form —

It’s deeper, more formal than that really
a perfect animal halo front to back.

Command R:

It’s a north v south service pattern.
So it’s sad
with statues toeing the marble edge.
Hey angel,
his right ear bitten off by a dog
flattening memories of serenity with artifice
near a decal of shade trees —

I will have you
as a human genre
presses down on his knees
                          — the hereafter

he walks through
on bronze hooves..

Not at rest, circumspect. (I’m just beginning...)
Well, most every worry is literal, based on trying to rewrite.

O Harry, Prince
a severe honey glow

crowning shoulders — groomed

disgust in his walk, his theater connection

perhaps addressing us, the radiant

pull at your mom’s sleeve

emptied of a given moment

— no prevention,

a childhood in the middle of a square

expression — you might address that — at least once.

A blinding texture pours over adverbs, rocks...
Is that all I’m having for dinner?
Eating as I advance through security,
I promise nothing. I die today!
When the new millionaires got off we rocked,
Turning the environment into identity and rumors.

Writers like me consume their own slapstick
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max up, along
with requisite ethical structure to examine taste levels.

Now you know what to expect.

You can’t put limits on free-lancers’ exuberant leisure
within a post-x theoretical commune of vengeance
and ice-hopping atmospherics while
working staff sits this out, blood-soaked, shaking.

I prefer a clean hotel.
Calling time-out a makeshift breaking
point, outside boundaries of regular hours.
We need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss growing
contours beeping

Up, shiny, imperfect, not held in place —
Your nose looks finished beneath the stopper.

Breakfast at Starbucks and we were off wandering
headed for the B terminal,
a legacy installation in profane solitude.

I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist.
It’s sad we are now separated.

Ladies, we’ve made some decisions.

Ladies tailored upstairs conserved for the surface
torn off mountainous pates (veined with woods),
in a rage and afterlife like phosphorous’s.
Leo was dismissive of Gertrude’s writing. Stein took
a working vacation, arranging piss flowers. Bianca!
Without that sweet sous-perfect of brotherly disdain
she may not have gone hunting in the lather of swing.

A truffle and goat cheese pizza, for all its ambition, feels contrived
next to Talking Chimp.
The Talking Mallard Dogs sounded as good as they looked, they could speak for themselves, and they came off so authentic you and your pet thought they were Talking Chimps. But they produced only vowel sounds from a larynx implant device.
Talking Chimp is laughing now unable to stop touching himself.
Spa services await you, Talking Chimp!

Show me a locket grant once.

Once & be done. A few more should

Do the climate fast with aughts shining

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

Conformity is a serious consequence and urban hazard
And it’s well to recall that feeling inside you and me, too,
How prominently your attention became an asking price.

(End of asking)

To deodorize a poem confirms what?

I’d like to thank the Academy.

IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. I’m not religious. You are. I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind to divorce you.

Oh, tech services, tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances and mantra logjams — How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime the common denominator undercutting American literacy?

Ghosts? Zombies? No. The market is unregulated & inefficient.
I put in a skylight instead, for

Casanova’s apartment, the top floor of the building, a small
Bedroom, kitchenette, barely a sitting room with parts of a sectional.
One wall papered cloud patterns, washed grassland, blue woods, lemurs.

I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing
The national costume, swaggering in poptlin, in a trance.
I must guard against an Hyannis Port overenthusiasm.

This cloaking device avoids detection. Slanting, lost, an hour later we’re beginning to ride over borders, borders are still porous, just look at these adventure! I need some topper wipe.

You’re turning me on.

There’s an interlude between devices where I wish you’d taken up singing of thingness.

Mists of time even the score (mists). My blood sugar is aroused.
It was here a minute ago.


Don’t waste energy on haters. The illusion of minimalism in networking —
as in prostitution, there is no time for fascination.

Visceral poetics. I’m sure there is such a thing, although my own in-body experiences fall under a broader rubric, somatic itches. First reading H.D. (in eighth grade) set my fingers tingling. Reading Donne and breaking down how conceits interlocked parts of the argument fired up in my brain-body, but I don’t remember where inside, precisely. (This was while at Latin School.) I delved more deeply into Keats before college, but his ideas were dreamy concretion, to me, and I don’t think I “felt” the verse so much as “saw” it. At this point, embarrassing I admit, I wanted an amalgam of Keats and Donne. (Girl, was I anxious.) I felt poetry under my skin first listening to Kenward Elmslie read in Cambridge. Boom boom up and down the limbic cynosure. I still feel it, reading him, Ceravolo, O’Hara, Li Ho, Sei Shonagen, Stein, Coolidge, others.

I have nothing — O Q-tip

What if I am a drifter returning with this season of enthusiasms, could you still ‘like’ me, could you choose ‘I liked it overall except for you?’

Trump investments.

Absence of thought rules for a higher authority. Top markets are filled to their edges with intricate crosshatches over pastel word clumps, busy yet redacted, almost ambient absence of coherent thought. The soft vellum pellets change our impression a bit. A busy, contingent thoughtlessness that’s slimed, maybe.

Part 2.

You could mourn in / out of this sketch for better seating. Oration
Workshop. Much essentialism, rage, method, recurrence.
Hanks you’re sure is Stanislavski’s man, a rooster and a
Bastard on the beat. We discovered Amstel on a binge.

Brodey forehead, cheekbones high as Tom Hanks’ in a “Big” scene
Drawing attention to his eyes. I’m in a dairy restaurant
With an acting coach. We’re trying to define qualities of demeanor,
Coming off 2nd or 3rd cousins, sleep-working to background swing.

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,
flowers.
(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.)

Celebrities are a cemetery’s anchor tenants They bolster by their continuing fame hope of an eternal life.

I’m listening to !! (powpowpow) Choosing a next word — like deciding what to listen to — entails parallel yet soon defunct phenomena, unmeasured but hypothesized within a quantum construct. Choosing ten words or choosing ten spins by a dj, say, creates an entire merger among quanta, happenstance survivors plucked out of a number of now-dead parallel event objects. Defunct? Dead to whom?

What does it mean to work? I don’t know that either. What I know is how to belong, stake out territory and bust heads, maintaining an atmosphere of trust.

All day long I’ve been pissing people off, and it feels shard-like as elegies for the poor in this country of ours, nonvoters who stay up late, husking corn, spinning wool, boiling sap.

It has never mattered much what Emil or Chet’s work is about, has it?

After the gangsters left, John picked up their business cards and flicked them into the recyclables. Leaves outside waved in vulgar arabesques. “How do I get out of here?”

As the day darkened, a crowd of new gangsters waving signs got clobbered by a single somnolent thug wielding ordinance, and I watched the crowd fall, empty as Baudelaire’s conscience. I feel guilty now, because we have 3 minutes left and I should drive around the block.

You’re welcome, April. Plugged, tall, slim,
Aggrieving.

We’re in public space, an elevator or the hallway. We think
Mining data still has a bigger future than trigonometry, many floors
To appropriate then publish recipes we began tinkering on.
Life wheels. We borrow the ephemeral Triumphs as April questions
Conventions, boundaries, and syntax. April exits. Yay.

You’re 2 preppy 2 do anything more remarkable. You can’t take on Schubert who had blond thinning hair and wore rimless glasses. He looked
Siberian, no concupiscence nor comeuppance. Optometrists emanate this consensus,
mistaking eye fluid 4 calm. Yup, a few drink it up.

Your kissing me into the future, leaving
Circle-K muzak for your battered carapace..

Really, we get down to heaven
In that bucket? I can’t see the bridge

Nor the smoking outline that subdues us
While we can.

’Recursive perception‘ —
For your birthday (and mine, too) I came straight from the agency, this text’s agility welded to the dirty space in which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception and Action,” ambiguously, in pastels.