Talk while you paint.

Look, a flying now. A case of voice 

Over matte finish.
As you advance thru security 

This line is busy. What’s the problem?
What’s going on? Hose us off

— they know — because motion

In heat 

Protects them — they won.

Likewise, I nabbed one

More, I could sit on them

While they wobble all day. 

Do I have the name right?
Prose gets along in a poem. It has a work permit. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors.

A poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Bourgeois think war unjust when there’s no one to lose it. Hoy

Until now there were no bourgeois poet essayists.
Yet, we could rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, stick to the sentence.
To go along continue needing riches.
Thanks for writing.
I’ve been put on a 20-year panel of sun. Once again.
Family ghosts, male and female, roam outside with the panicked surrounding our dark thoughts. (All of them.)
It’s like a dance to respect what you guys were doing — our surprised look while you were working on it.

There’s hustle to market, along with rips in the drawers of space/time whose pulls burgeon on ennobling, blobby warmth, piping up like Boulez,
accompanied by addictions to risk among filmy shapes in vertical bands, except you...
With continued use
A lot of faces head off the wave.
I'm ending both.


Never disagree
with inferiors. Superiors. Never.
Never point to silent contentment,
its branches lifting suspended glare
defining an invisible rotating column.
Sitting down delivers good news, stateliness already had its faint say. Now you can text and drive overtime, behold zeta functions befalling hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.
Trix or Trixie is the name. In a compulsive battle over dejected smiley faces, it’s not just who guffaws fast, but who takes off with alarming ideas about lexicon.
How can Trix (better) hear the extreme difficulty in separating external compulsion from the experience of desire..

..through the door on top of sematics?

Trixie, again, leaves for finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse. Like you who said

The archives are at risk.
“With the past falling..” That’s good, because I sneaked across those gimme-erotic catalysts. (I don’t remember whose or how.) 

I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews “encircling travel” — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisos, integers-to-be and no buzz to kill. 
A buzz beats my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.
Captain your thoughts
then opt for a safety
school. Push shyness aside,
spiff up & sign all smog-
sniffing affirmations.
Regulate an embrace multi-nationally.
Es geshah am helichten Tag —

Never feel sorry for the diva
who has brains and eats
— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.


The terms are, go settle down through the evening and finish your agenda
At gunpoint. Please, even heartthrobs will be covered by shrouds that fray
And unspool to tease advantage from the plan. Imprisoning refinement.
If you’re not there, anything Apollonian looks flab prone.
O yup, a broad context refuses to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done
.. On my behalf Apollo can break laws to shoulder perfection or save a life, once or
either way is fractional in the bigger context / e.r.
Freedom is impersonal. With more solid throwdowns of perfection up the hall,
binary fission about meaning what is not said
or saying what is not meant.
Radon d’Etre

Cold drafts are escapement and spray
forming part brightness with a pulse,
part average improvisatory dare.
Diluent? Sleepy days of assented-to hours loosen us
from these biodata — discharged to interiors,
into sussed, sonic focus.
is my safe house until I can’t stop
fixing the straps I tore
for you.
2. Bad news, I was
struck by the French property owner. You know,
plagiarism in quotes.
It’s cold indirection
but my metabolism really took off, along with emotions from a huge manuscript
I’m freezing

for the ‘end quote.’
Watching text spin like sentience
refined by distance, since
it’s both or none of the above, this could be for you now.
1. I use bigger words than you,
The spring flowers, the moon in autumn —
Classification by evolutionary collisions.
I think I prefer staying all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.


Bandits 1st.

You translators are a close 2nd.

That leaves ‘just the 2 of us.’ We appear ordinary. This is about something else.

Then I repeat if I were you I’m all I should have —
Provincetown: Trained staff encourage sampling as Lt Benji takes fingerprints, once a full-time hobby for Meister beach boy put in charge after age 30.

No incriminating evidence yet (or ever). The night is young.
What can be done to language? Never again?

Boredom is poor experiment, our supervisor said. And that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And 3rd cousin to dream. Knower and known are clean osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind the suitably flared frontier.

Time I guess to air-lift eagerness and cover it. I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to any concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,”
Btw, “never death.” A living cousin to death, as to ‘never,’ I never never. I consider myself a neurolinguistic product manager. Once removed.
Celebrity stalkers.

We invented Hubble.
What we thought we knew
we enjoyed making dumb-
great from the top
terminating in masked handlers.

Following orders we reflect their mistaken identity,
immune to sudden desire with intimacy.
What have we got to lose?
Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.
I’m fifteen. We can do the roundtable math rather well, yet not entirely. Free-range sunlight in the clerestory of our lair... where elements of bloodthirsty aplomb are excessively off-key. Safety in timing carefully disguised as bright to furious, knowing the advantages waiting a beat.


Ode to the dead (maybe not yet).
A beautiful sentence:
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.
Food also knows where it belongs.

The stage brightens.
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?

Knowing the ropes to scale now
clearing the theatre of lame comforts,

Stern, all the food pecked over, even down
to our place, last place, last row.
Frequently there’s a bitch
for whom you kiss that person.

She’s the bird notes
with a contract to bore within

— loyal as her lookout torn from a doorway
in a sparse analysis of unified travel.
don’t pick on anyone else..
Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love.
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless.
It feels like impossible.

Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming
hands that boss

maneuvers. Explanation intact.
Your movements go by a few names, still coordinated but hidden in.. hardly underwear.

Not dreadful but low, classic, easy, unforgettable elements surrounding a presence (for now) then taking off your panties —

For nudity, it’s always a swing dance in practice, a new side of narrowing expense and becoming hollow thru the center, handing over your bills and coins.

A lot of Dutch people go Dutch.
Marxist-self irony:
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers. 
Eating and breathing them too.



My old neighbor created L’il Abner out of vitriol and bolus of sardonic revenge after WWII, exorcised as Ozark distantiation. Jester tricked to death.

Now, it’s the end of aging; cartooning is flat out hot. Order within chaos. Be one with it.
I have an eye on jesters while I’m holding to their path, rescuing no one.
It’s July, August..
And this is what it means to have a muse.
A poet will work in a freezing apartment that is far more than a place for thoughts to gather thru summer. She struggles in cold rooms for little compensation and goes beyond the joy of subverting the arbiters of something. Something something.
Have we no will, no interest to shed our platform ambiguity?
Rainy Sundays or any day we break for the Olympics observed or imagined on the ceiling: Rationed atheism has long been the main event. Sectarian payments find a balance of situation (organ music), steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing like totals in multiplicities (music for copulation). Late afternoon to others.
Ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe a grain.
What are faux resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and all bloodlines.
Um.. there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘orders’ you understand in reckless hands —
Don’t forget silent partners ripening in the future, un-despairing, effect usage summaries...

Brilliant. Breathing life, we have hundreds of these, o Swami, nothing to discredit and
...no hell to pay!
Live longer.
The archives are at risk.


Insert the bonus and exchange — what do you know! —
Your tongue is radiant, clean up to my neck,

a phenomenal fact and factoid that can end in a draw sustained by
getting up, stretching for an hour.
Factor in a plug-in for artisan strength calisthenics.

Corporal resonance turns into a prism on top of which you can finger-point to the horizon, magnified and askew. So note what happens.
Better to get a friend or two to write for you, pretending they are you, falling mute, covering your lips with my gloved thumb.
Angst roughens up indulgence.
You knew the side effects —
We’re 1/2-way there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.
Their loneliness and excruciating pain
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..
I’ll tell you what awaits the weary in The Bible. Locusts.
Varsity crew:

In zendo lighting eyes drift as if

undressing underwater. I see why snails

build a house. They stand around and tank,
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.
A disheartening skull pile supposes its completion. Angels speak up, tho, in dialog enhancer mode.
We get to a point where we have to stop, adjusting to marsh purviews returned as shrine –y meadow.

I give up missing your skin.


What is curious style?
Taken whole:
“Give in, dig it.”
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
Taken your lead. Word processing in sheer Palatino
All the time, staggering prose!
Tomorrow I’ll
Tap out more deletions I forgot to lose —
Nobody like me is cast to be annoying; I just fell into it. The problem, as an affect and prerequisite, engineered simplicity holds the coordinates for pouring tonic over other people’s glass tables. Internal ‘gears’ regulate due caution, rushing in nauseous effects, which are natural, to your personal advantage, and which you have to waive anyway, as though privileged opposition were some huge treasure, my sweet.
Mercury is wow! pensive, coming back, back... no..

You’re saying no to billing days first, no to virulent, callow graphemes, stance covers for a copyist. Cut the trad crocus, low opinions and bloodied mesh. No aplomb in nature, please. No chiastic haunts. And no golf property for now.

There is no personality, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by another’s labor, overlooking our exciting first game together...

Funny place
for a dance, Mr Baker.
Landscape: Over the summer construction advances.
Uncivil also true, summer advances over the construction.
Everybody goes!
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.
Who or what is as reserved and specific as the moist film on a blade of grass to assess the new autumn?
Yah but a friendly warning for the mind,

Film ‘work-arounds’ bully sarcasm to un-wit a way and means to spiraling logically.
Please, not now, Santa...


A private-public distinction
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force.

Besides giving empathy
I write on my agenda,

A vapidly growing thing
once I launch it —

I got married without knowing the side effects
— wait, I forgot why I called.
Can’t say what happened that day but I know we slept because there was a whole mattress to lie on.

The mime sequence where I speak out was spoofy. More, there was a moderator from a board of modulation. I carry cash and deal with the cops but I’m no killer. Lack instinct. Sri.

Many of what we call instincts interact with musty dynamics eventually. More than musty, foul as in apres-euphoria.
A tone-deaf dancing lawman gets more attention now so

I keep hammering a poem is a cat meow ten times more.
Opposition — that other guy with Verlaine,
2 birdbrains, explicit about nothing or nothing much; yes/ja / no/nein?

Ok, they were willful but we stayed in control — a thousand bees were stinging our feet —
Wanting as well as having nothing — shhhhhh.. I cant
.. I shouldnt ask, losing you, did I live like that fly on the wall?
— since you demolished the text, I handed it in; dont expect extra credit after all.
I’m going to avoid your rut and stick with my own.
Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. Staring into the candle you can think,
meaning on. This temple is the place for no definitions.
No meanings for speech but new meanings, good as gossip to evade a “mixed speaking strategy” to
partner with whom, exactly? O realization in a flash..

I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I have it
everywhere within

a burning zone.

Only years later rather I took a word bath, which isn’t often.
The air is sawed off, doing better. We were dangerous, once. 
Smooth rhetoric is purely transparent. It’s too late to make it sparse.  Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake.


We could see from a distance, your rakish note to yourself, my mixed medium ..

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, a sand rampart like a moral freedom can and will drill five feet down and under the ground, a strafed, natural spectacle falling into coherence, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.
Here comes Mr Jones
In life, he and they would understand.

True and lost — complex, gangly, mostly mute yet histrionic, anticruel
-ish. They apologize for the inconvenience of curricular adjustments.
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll ..
Correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventually
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by posturing.
I’d like to thank the Academy.

Goliath, Duchamps, Sinatra!

IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. I’m not religious. Not by a long shot, snow in September? I took note of what you like from the beginning and became pope. Your pope. I had a few ideas in mind. I put on my pants and left.

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 inference undercutting American literacy?
Matins in 4 scary minutes:

Capitalism never hesitates beating then shooting the innocent into space but each victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me a Guy Laroche. O outer knee —

This is done all over doing it over —
Never doubt..ew..there’s enterprise in victimhood, each higher up will argue. There’s one problem. Only cash in small bills in exchange for a free ride, we mean it, tho, let’s discourse, subject to chance ..
A Deux Magots adaptation:
Robots embrace the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone,

a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for the moment.
The masters picked that up from them.. ..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..


Neither dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request,

“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.” It’s an infinite standard for feeding you vocabulary until climax, numbered like fruit.
We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to the ideal civil democratic union with permissions built on headwinds —

with as it were or without manners. Good manners can scar others but they also let us peons act like participants in marking time as tho subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy.
Either way, I know so little about the state and the state knows much less — these facts are slaughtered by memory.
Affordable Noh. That’s both of us w/ big hanging wolf eyes. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to spook when we meet, somersaulting in /

What went around then came gasping, the more irregular the verb...

At fight camp all you bring are wet marks over your shirt — there you go — cadet-ed!

Inductions to your other habits —
The gleaming haze drags down sculptures of felted helium
A little like nerves done over by spinning in warm wind.

Noh stuff.
Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our agenda. Leaving office has a double meaning to off-center the filing (filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept newly-kind for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, burningly turning back, watching the wax dim.
Sway your head. That means dance.

Don’t hold it in. Talk to your doctor.
Read this. I did.
It’s half in libretto.

Try something cartoonish. I’m whirling around, pens and markers in hand in roughly 4 minute stints. Learning something about what I mean, high jinks soar belying despair over entropy, a quiet smoke, losing gravity!
One presumes elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained exposition to demark the unknown, much as technology funds science.


Celebrity stalkers are in the grips of mistaken identity, immune to sudden desire with intimacy. What have they got to lose?
Bags and bags of money for one paid to reflection in infinite battle with consciousness.
China’s philosophers are not unique carrying on the tradition Massasoit transmits.
Are you sitting in the sentence
listening ? wearing nothing but
eagerness for a motive to
hear what we were afraid to be?
A light is produced by heated argument.
Heat the cosmos can hear. The hot trajectory is downtown-to-Washington-on-to-nowhere, a very mean arc to bridge, all right — erratically stencilled with tweezers-length trapezoids at its austere outer rings.

Taxonomy, to get back to the cosmos, stands tiptoe atop shoulders of ascending ideas, forgetting the raw laborers below lined up on broken mosaics, necks pounding from overtime

like French ex-royals.
Light and casual in a threatening male supposition,
I still haven’t figured out why — I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist.
In addition, it’s hurling we are now separated.

It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer of grabbing knives and spoons v. the intuition that expresses it.

Missing you doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds here that look like versions of cunning and mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle — set against fetishes and hiked vibes. It also helps to roll on the bed side to side.
We unholster & dance across the room / the lumberjack in me & you.
The color wheel is graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley
faces. We speak our mother tongue, fine interiors, to no product hewn.


Our alienation has been recorded and jocularly accepted. For cloying effect sprigs are picking up and driftwood is epigrammatic, the upside unrelated, pale, immaculate. I’ll cut you off one side of the division. Marry me.

I’m not about to let you starve.

(Shifting back to friends mode...)
Simple enough picking up a pen
. . . land and lives on it have data functions, similarly

synthetic appropriation by composition, a vigil
and force applied putting some form of youth

into a piece, since land and landscape do not come in themselves, regardless of beauty —
the river bank played by

metaphors and substitutions of the time — more informal,
taking dictation, substituting after the math.
I drive a Steinbeck but dream in a Camus.
I heard my cat meow ten times and then more, ‘license and registration ..’
I’m being taken down. Something about my discrimination in music, which is chopped inside a lazy susan.. I’ll invite you to try...

Oppressed, rejected, sure, I’m in there, but personality disorder is a binding element of hip party kerfuffles and drooling, perverted dalliance. So put me down for p.d., revalidating my fears.
How the cosmos is unexplained, parts one and two. In the first, taxonomies are set in weathered deco, dimly lit by the affiliated overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university with nothing to give back.

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound diversions to gain advantage for incriminating thoughts. They march with different cause-ists and solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, humanists, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority and they take the bullets; why? 
You don’t understand until I do.


The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
A saga you (as any of us) can pump off & on — so on

-Coming then coming clean is another part of closeness.
Lateer, new police!
[speak of paranoia]
There are subtitles, various languages. You dream while staying awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.
You can exit the room at any point, burning, or add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.
A beautiful writer is stunning, front and center. When
distracted, s/he hears “Continue − to enter the contest area − Continue.”

Some say, not going to lie to you, both of us botch a radius, destabilizing ‘oppositional’ temperament. On our side, we’re doing well, considering.

                            To consider the wooded radius is greater work, cuts straight through any restructure, throwing out hyper-nonliteral depth w/ gutsy, landscapist abandon.
The budget cuts (last line) are background to double-rhymed ambient scores. Like entire sectors that feel it’s the end of capital, epic sums expended in slender career arcs.

                            The floodgates and instrumentation get redone for full combat. We bring up Solo cups, wondering about other churning bits of our lifeline. It might be some freedoms are on probation ...

according to decision theory now. / Only for continuing
the problem has been how.
A new problem set:
Work through naïve discourse —

Keep methods observable as mayhem —
Call this ‘transactional’ taking action
Unlocking — on sight — your pervasive hesitation.

Make it personal and dorky. Straighten your head more.
Simple and poor, that’s a traffic violation. Enjoined,

the unclassified face 10-to-life...

leaving it to other investors who might stay offended, or

not — the next step in the training.


I flash to a new place. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by a silent chamber piece somberly floating in fun here and there, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power. Unless there is nowhere else.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply.
Our lot’s in a hurry.

No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
A dress. Dresses. 
Now she’s spilling bourbon over my a-line, all thumbs to keep our game up & running. Likewise I’ll write about it. As poet-jewel thief wearing a dress, you might think it profitable to string her sentences together like paste rubies & artificial pearls deliberately mismatched, like John Waters’ suburbs, adroitly inexpensive and passé. Each sentence shines in gloom as ends won’t match up with beginnings, not quite, each sparkle dulled into an afterthought containing falsehoods but cinched by faintly plausible, recognizable style — sparkle doubled down, my other dress draped over bowls of Chesapeake crabs & crab traps, a near accident or an accident-in-the-making. She might desire to push a personal datum, like me or your notion of having sex as linear as the death of a family member..  
It went pants & belts from there.
Stop waving that grape juice ...
That was sentries ago and since
The atmosphere upsurged when language is tired. His eyes fill with manpower.
His hair’s on the brink.

The climate showing my cards — a friend led me to him,
A sure bet ad infinitum.
He smiles with no doubts about my bluffing knowhow & innocence
... the rain keeps raising the mind’s oceanfront, bringing it all back.
A colonel-general. What a night. No problem
Expunging a storied narrative
That was normal, believable
Waking up, sticky, stuffed-up nonphysical parts
Standing far off across an invitation to meet,
Not even having hay fever as a backdrop — nothing
Hidden, nothing,
No chance forever.
Keep secrets of teleportation to float free.
Free momentarily. Here or there are volatility models according to script, vocalism in a sense. We’re beaming them and their feelings up with known and hidden risks — a fat chance shifting their weight brings in a slimmer recovery.

All or nothing, you’re on your own.


Past is no guarantee of future thrum and harder rumble, hey and whoa, how awful, how much are you exercising to circumvent compulsory selfies, nonprecious cargo between the cracks, obsessions with a smear of wet mulched chickpeas? I can’t get into specifics, because it’s too verbal a compromise. I know I am next, I’m flapping my arms in front of me.

And I’m afraid of being abducted.

At the very top motion is pink and mapped. So be ready.
We All Have Our Own Gangs Because I relish lyricism mounting a central stairway. T suggests a quick detour. A couple of hours pass. There’s been vintage aversion, around a corner sirens and sailors. Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face. Milling around is jammed.
I’d be lying if I said you and I had no adolescent fantasies.

Tossing water balloons across the typing pool ..
                      there is none now.

For you, learning about how to learn is important — playskills you need when you buckle under sportswriting. Yes, fan, you sick typist-inside.
You and I are followers, waking in hazy brightness and .. apologies for blunt geometric scrims..
Wait — I get wind in the space of a game day .. followers like us can be transformed! views down hallways into stairs cut apart and fronted with music of our choosing and making.

One apiece.
In evolution we have an identity crisis
when who knows how I’m doing this

for our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drained of weight.

Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’
Changed my mind.. Nobody can help us shorten the learning curve.
You’re always not talking. I get your point (noncommittal without the tedium of argument).
So I turn blue when I cool. I blast up by myself when you leave. And when you come back I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the temperature, lighting and so on.

I can’t snicker, I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.
The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik Bukowski’s fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.


You embody most everything I've lost to live longer.
You can light a fire and duped
combatants (verse classics) suck up to the surface for a face off.
You looked right at me.
I cancelled mah dental work coz it was Carnival
centa of tha street I was a piece of tha parade ...
On mortality,

I’m a big baby. That’s b for clarified as black-and gold pelage, married and vulnerable, exploring reiterations of my own duality.

I’m alive feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a triplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up meat, fish, emotionally shot ..

devoted to seamless disproportionality.
Hushed buzzwords in the newsletter bring up null tinctures from rain or sunshine sprints, much as a will to influence is the answer sheet for getting fleeced. Not hearing from you (lost your keys...) fosters coercion of what evolutionary good was before it ran through some expulsive options.

Your box or mine?
I reincarnate from my house in a test pattern. I picked the place up from an ex-class-marshal who never had to do much, holding out for a nest egg. A nestling.

The property hasn’t changed, you may have noticed — mine is a household of fugues. I’m spry and underhanded getting back to private reasons for how the reeds work, the scents.
How can we be considered modern w/ Trumps around?


Conditions look rigged — like wanting you (I do),

not out of calculation, it began how far vast

connivance liberates one to oppose square facts. 

Or plans change. Like pandering taking a guess, this time I might

replace similes and dash off with my loose footing

on the oily tarp, perplexed, taking it outside

Rubeks of a denatured octagonal gloom.
Pickerel babes eat one another speaking

Pickerelish. Parents want to defend their young

but can’t. (Picture them, peach cones & rods of violet.

As with fish
there’s salience to nodding agreement thought-

fully.) I get all my ideas from media

studies, yet geometric brainstorming

like this is easier-to-sleep-w/-&-pulsate

-to. Instincts tho are buried under cement,
sunk talking to each other, eh?
Hard to get out of the wrinkled valise —
(I removed the tongue)
Kindly explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework.
Sure, I’ll leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are! but how long have we been planting thoughts with no precursors, no conventional frame for generation or gender balance? Maybe it’s a mistake, collaborating on curious travel so close to a fault line... I grant you that;

Like all of the above and people going in and out of service buildings, climbing stairs, you’re one hundred percent normal running up debt to keep devotees heartbroken.

Adoring you is a full service enterprise and a moral politics! where leverage follows its bliss.
Platterpuss, the cough, the kiss —
Justice w/ passion, seltzer

foaming mercury selenide... I told you these were blocking ideas.

I keep going, barefoot & outdoors

the tuba bits are detouring into surf & compact surfaces

— praise & the opposite grow acrostic, slightly rife

after doublecrosses. I grab my pen & clamber over to

your jet gate where you’re holding sound-

tracks w/ pulleys over notes of civet & benzoin.

My fly is open. I feel overextended & you forget big words —

under whose thumb might this be? This quiet nook

is a stretch of dark matter — the glove-as-puppet is a trap

while phys ed shifts one martial art at a time

into the present. Right, a physical affair is supported by a look,

heated, promoting sea plankton. Bookmarks aren’t supported.
Through atomic microscopes
it’s August but it is dark and may snow.

This century’s waste already stands tall, but this A.M. sun rays came like snow unsnapping the white clasps to white headbands.

White on white.
In bridal light one sees seraphic whites.
So few appear

Sloganeering is back. Join today.

Music and rhinestones like white potassiums line up everyone on oscillation lists going over the assembly, handcuffing only a few.
2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive, eager to do what we were afraid to be?