C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns in fair use praxis, and there’s the old age hand hath put connection to an eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up, borrowing a face beauty slandered. Inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after lunch.
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their others halfway, borrowing a face, slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had after a few hours, letting it die down.
152: I am sworn to love you... now and then.
Yet love-hate cannot be enlightening, since exploring prediction matters for the next entry: A bright skepticism shows us up. It’s undead identity breached by blindness. But broken in no time!

...cross-pollinate philosophy of science w/ psychoanalysis, nothing strange, a vital lift 

— remember how we expect clarity on motives for constancy. In vowing, get to resolute joy, (skip punching bags, time tricks, but...) do compress. And therefore check the torn seams 

Glowing with judo, shimmering — lodging honest complaints to startle the system, our new faith and desire. 
There are episode interiors silhouetted in un-analytical projection that screens an official episode [how to leave you] : However I believe we’re well past midway nearing the accordion fold of 1 — love time; far from accident the outlines say there’s a double interior where scribbling adjusts to long division, complex facticity that scribbling-2 — hate time — tears open and begins to pick at — to pay 1 off in near disappointment — both scribbling and scribbling-2 climb uphill, still texting odd incidents, and slide back down just before turning 17, fortune’s bastards biting down, gritting their teeth, a lot older now. 
My area is interpretive search.

It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote. 
I’ll assume you suspect I know you know. It’s in the literature.
Written or not, nothing is forgotten.


Adjunct stutterer, I am, I gave away the faculty you gave up
and I don’t recall forgetting it. Within my
brain we’ve never misapplied figures, images, anecdotes
about the medium requesting looted prestige;
            till each to razed oblivion yield..
but because I never forget my leftist French brain I’m full of blasting memory!
Always stoked —
full of light, yess.. there rose’s lime
tart from poor retention tallies by nature, the pressure
on the tongue, the tip.
Politics & the dignity of appearances don’t mix. (The financial & party pacs industry was just kidding.) Nothing personal, Trump is the sustained concussion version of civic charity... I also give a lily for what’s not available, a cabin in the launch for recondite sentiments, for the boink in whinnying for pleasure. Or I cry when it becomes fashionable.

Government is the economy. I credit everything from the engine without a message.
I’m late for my gown fitting, weeping on the inside. Outside, I’m late,

Impetuous, from costive stock, unflappably happy, brusque.

I floated here; my toys are asleep. I voted for the change.

Injecting their blood was just crazy but I won’t go off schedule.

Time now to stir this matter with a respondent gavel. And back to the bench.
Judgment is a big puzzlement of natural selection. Only the jury rises.
148: Cunning esthetic capitalism! it can whip you up, call you back to judgment ..

No correspondence how love is falsehood? love’s eye be true? —
I mistake fault in fair similes for love put in my head,
keeping blind to censures heaving below

— O me!
Sonnet one two zip:
In my illusion of minimalism, hammering steel,
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of time. The entity, o no,
I should say the accretion settled down, humble salve
soon spread over us both, lost, scattered trying to remember and

Simply put, to understand now where wounds from speech are
produced, which sort hits or fits, kind friend .... mimesis within nature,
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?
Semantics in space. 

The Stanford-Benet mentions a handbook (or its conception) for encapsulating syntax to denote space-time, uniting archetypes found in even more complex disproportions that achieve higher cognitive value than meaning itself.  
What have they done


I’m for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is indirect.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like an avalanche that fucks over the machine age. 
It was nice to have known you. 
A word travels, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale outreach and dialectic — spoken because we both wrote it down to shun sickness, sick of welfare, 
license before comeuppance, soul dad —  
make that shortstop outreach where all the jazz wears off.  
We’ll sink together deliberately mismatched, true needing yet ignited around the tips by deep compatibility, a healthful state, when we purge  
the sea and air cutting up the outside, driving it back to a crawl, to a spot to talk
It takes a while. Day by day. The way 23 hours ago the idea of writing today took a while. Times itself: A mindset occupied, love to call .. this just in — jokes turn into dreams. It’s dreams that forgive us for everything (except melancholia). That’s because ideas, ‘sleeping while awake,’ get downgraded to icy normality, farthest from your sight, trapping you and me inside a force field owing to our expertise.

So there’s no lack of constancy in experimental states of forgery.
69: Kind eyes are deeds.
Those parts of you in tongues could be simpler watching you bathe w/ in / n
ow crowned in tawny daybreak synthetic

other accents tint on seraphic white.

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

That’s outward praise.
We reach some element (full sail) within the (verse) set where touch management is unleashed, by spirits taught. But the scenery is suddenly beyond diagram while the crew is calmed down by night. There’s a dual nature of ghost anonymity that makes what’s inside disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of escape.
What’s semiology? My silence enhearsed unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out?

Our novel then will be about reading, a traveled world, not sick of fear of exercise, birthing a slave, volunteering undressed — except for slacks —
You may have noticed I write on your face, a kind of praise,
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of rose choosing you out
of many then forwarding you as backdrop for a dear heart’s new old face 
I’m prone to rewriting, scrunching it up for breakfast. That’s you.


Learning like your sweetest air cannot be but suspect.
I-Ching for dummies (like me):
Go on.
Search terms in a slurry, plump, downy evanescing in stuff. The slurry rises above affixes and dead gardenias. It’s in her notation. Helium released — thrown in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the spontaneous physique. With his gift of sullen agency everything compounded and upcoming is a take-from in percussive isolation. A bell! Again everything from desolating satire to marsh puissance.
Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s really colossal; masking one’s vanity becomes the challenge clinging to verse.
72: You devised worthy lies, I pick that up, smug and virtuous,
a braid of welts around your neck for love.

Taking out details is tele
-genic. My final idiocy living w/ you — so here — my polite welt-
in-the-universe —

Storylines, task scars, thrills, lobster, not crayfish, etc.
(dogs, lying tenebrae, & aimless sky conditions that surround our absorbing Tums
(that may seem false)
to adapt under-the-tongue compliments for insurgents who willingly impart no more to death. True. False.

I’ve just noticed you haven’t said anything, Gabby.
Let’s recite “Biotherm.”
Make it count. In this I am shamed by sarcasm.
Toward an ecology tho only six hours have gone by.
Of course the I-novel is sticky. The I here spent decades as a stealth pathologist dealing ‘live data.’

Poetry society for avant academics is like high school. I’d say a vocational high where four or five kids can call the shots, socially. Poetry society has its parallels. I call our society an avant vocational environment that has four or so top ‘kids’ but, unlike a bona fide school, these folks never graduate. The same kids have been in control for 30 — 40 years.
Farewell, my king wanting sleep. A foot of sleet, your estimate
From the window, eyebrow roughened.

My views are compatible with yours, that’s the idea, only
I’m leaving you sleet all over
Outdoors for your extrication from delirium.
Tho like royalty you’re still by the front door, vulnerable in all good faith,
& all the bobwhites in Appalachia hush...
I reach back to no self and no others.


Dear United Nations and Plaza, dear young days and darkness in the air.

For all plain speech gets us, dual multiverses judge us / them —
each of us with our own shoes, lucent gray
with a pebble inside, each unrestrained, given away by an ambush
on the one day of all days
for everyone in either multiverse, which looks impressive now.
P.S. The seasons like before are morally exigent, shivering in a synthetic valence, coming back, never.
Their thoughts wrote all tongues praise your purpose —
Thus scribes were 1st to jot down who shall hanker after whom.

False labels work outdoors among Diamondbacks. If you don’t believe me ask them.

In the change-up everything is repurposed losing you to conceptual deflation
Before the golden tresses of the dead.

Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth-
Stratagems. Add the rank

I confer on the next available beauty, living and perhaps dying with one
Until one goes broke — summarily I’m screwed of what beauty was.
I then center on perception (for another purpose), sustaining losses out of irony.
Sonnet 60:
These 3-D models hasten waves in the sea, mindless taking chances engaging in transparent secrecy, charged by mental concision.

Rationed compliments ensue and float math changing space, set on youth before.
The self, yourself, is fascinating, I think, to squelch tautologies of time, wealth and actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power — nothing stands we might have had. Meanwhile self takes itself nostalgically forward to contend.

— One idea could be to argue in the main w/ just one parallel in the pluperfect.. where disrespect ‘crawls to maturity’ and feels like eavesdropping.
8: Music to hear sadly? Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand abstractions, unions married
like this mutual ordering to our touching and holding the moment,
surrounding it with speechless songs of taking off for the unknown, spinning, spun,

upset, out of control yet

that’s how we fasten music to hear to move around objects.

100% our touch.
Physicalism (neural brand continuity) adapts to schemes (thought control).
Government, absent your liberty, is not that impregnable. As background, your charter is one colorful PROCESS shot. A lethal-to-pallid vassal group locksteps to your scent, you yourself clothed less formally, tame, save motives for eagerness.

And this is what I did not want to say.
There is product on the loose.
What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena — what older worlds once could say —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord after another.)


Our crash test is named Defens(c)e of Double Identity.  
Of course. You.. your desire and I’re / are habits of empire living off the clock, off proceeds, motion futures from one of each you / each of you.   
Earth’s world-without-end buzz is those who knew slavery rued nonphysical property. 
It’s feasible if you keep watching the clock on board.
The tide seems to notarize life and death.

Solitude, confidences, you’ll earn times in the day,
the hard to pull off plays and jungles, many in a series —
During your mother’s labor you chose your parents,
keeping their lives 2 lose yours.
Sonnet 10: We lodge now (in the presence of physics-oblivion) 
a headless figure hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing the figurehead top speed. The murder option centered more.  
Panning back fast to grant your audience more to bear,  
tampering w/ thought experiments.. you love no one. 
It’s even regulatory = hating yourself to desire less, possessing a concept  
sticking to the un-enclosed in nominal trivia to ground fresh paradox —  
You change your thoughts enslaving poetry so you can be taught 
(a conspiracy loved by many..) ..
I’m down on both knees ..
I’m going back down to bring back a 2nd cousin — I spell him M A N ..
There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invest now, daylight garners you
several that breathe, toting examples of published cook
-ing ontologies, whatever they got alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to enumerate their open peace
next to some sleeping people staring through ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason
before the ice scissored out the grade markers.
Uma Thurman’s son.. me..
Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer
All the time, staggering!


Scion, descendants, love, you’re looking up big-eyed instincts?
to get out of the valise. We pirated the code.

I can’t say we pushed code out willingly (nurture, nature, frantic relaxation in storm gusts).
The fit has to be good.
I noticed you work away from me making your poise smoke.
There are faith that’s gone on and consequences. There comes an enrollment
point you caught your waxwork hologram in a partner’s eyes. 
Ventriloquating is something. 
No one’s favorite word yet — nice aftershave, Rene 
..I got wind of it and put you in — 
Can you be “quoted” in any meaningful sense? 
We have two arrays for time/money & harmony: 
The ass comment — I know you meant juniper 
within a philosophy (in movement thru spatial dimensions) 
(& the aura of a scent) forward!

Draft 12
Repeat this until approved,
“I don’t know about you O astronomy”
But in a tone that’s affirmative
Like the jeweler’s words for whale
-bone / measured blues − while

This stretch, like all happy comebacks, tells a story of the stars dropping hints of a larger, full-mouthed don’t-know − was it something to do with the focus on one side, truth and beauty blocking another? Do we lead a life another sings with you?
Whom will we discover? How?
Do you both laugh? Per rules,
regs of sounding it out
it’s overdue.
You’re back in vertigo yay

yielding authority with no proxy.

Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon
: any of your remedy gets exaggerated for good :
                  What’s this the (x) about?
You say yay. (For x.)
I can’t make it. We’re staying in.
We can’t always gather but this way but we do.
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. The lucky live on, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).
Gastronomy is to breaking the ice as ‘fucking / sponginess’ is to bacchanals.


$ transfer: I’m sleep.
An only hill / a huge stage
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights, debates that decay:
A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best.

When I perceive dogs and woods in salt air
Together, like them and like us.
Can you dig stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.
Beside Panker observation tower, from which one can see in good weather the far over Baltic to Danemark, the Forestry House Hessen Stone lies.
In former times foresters got their Ausbesserungen with its sailors for a Senkrecht. From that foresters with sailors on Hessen Stone glow.

Today one can eat excellently and jazz friends here come also.
You & I wonder about one summer’s eternal
possessions, the buds, shade & a day
staying chaste .. it’s on the house. 
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold. 

In those same terms there’s too hot
a reliance on making out 
Optimizing the center where death dies.
It will take more than a single changing course
to snatch life from time, breathing if we could see. 
Each year corrupts the ultra-field. The elders have rules. Stay funny and
comfortable is one.
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert / handkerchief.
Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy never to see you in the eyes of men?

What can we do without sleeping around in our active subculture?

Last, best, fair in gay love. I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure and going out. / According to slung
Allegory, it’s called Stepping Up, Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.
Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. It isn’t safe yet. I won’t forget. 
And that does it for this rehearsal. Proud exclamations to postpone further videotaping, advancing a counternarrative for marchers stepping slowly waving gold torches in flames, pressing the crowd into feeling nervous in observed time, expanding behind the capitol. Many observers. 
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension
of disbelief, a flipping out scene like martial arts, sparkling pen-

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming on top
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes,
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.


I’m a little I guess confused 

I thought you might understand I mean  
I’m surprised, do you know  

what I’m saying? I guess so  

not exactly. 
In descending order of indefensibility...

(a) Poetics is democracy.
Evasion in poetics, as in prose, foregrounds style, motive, subjects for close attention.

(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (signing). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory that’s kicking a signing agency when the signer is down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend (that’s down). What’s it? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, so much later.
108: Admit you miss smoking gold.

You miss the first drag.

Have you read, teens get ten percent of their daily

Calories from soda & smoking. That’s how

They become bilingual.
Now. What’s new to speak..
The smoke takes you & him in stride
Among the underemployed in hyper décor —

Your glass is half full. You hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with manpower.

Counting no old thing old,
Stay informal in no time. Yuy...

What now to register?
Stop waving that grape drink.
I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two  

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan 

with no memory how it got there?
Didn’t they tell you

thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof

— our brains are being stolen; after

we wander back home muttering “TV,

TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.
Talk? You hoped we might &?


To chide your beauty has to be done but it’s one-sided. 
It seemed artificially important  
The screech was spherical.  
A seagull.  
No one’s there.  
I missed it.
It’s a slide knot. Or kind of knot. We have functional emotions and this much-traveled vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let fine fettle overcome despair, swamp entropy. For a quiet start, take down zero gravity bans. But you don’t keep any larvae. They’re apart. Their cloying song goes out kind of mutely and you feel a need to ache in their baby blue blather, calmly, accruing intimacy. Hey —

Never stop exploring.

Kind of show us your travel documents!
90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model passivity discharged by shore conditions. Only don’t drop in.

The pond holds scraps and parts of nesting authority, an after-loss. Rainy tomorrow. I join you to re-reference an arrow and bow made out of many purposed m.p.h. gusts — and this is my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.
This is not a test. It’s the blues. But who can tell if it goes well.
We’ll leave it at that.
The place was beautifully democratized with process.

Yet our processes blow decorum of law...
Also, it’s easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes for now, to have less to eat to soften your last interruption using little consonants in your throat.. but oft predicted, you’re holding firm. How many blue songs of parallel scenery can we communalists take?
By the way, every right wing worm thinks / every owner of a worm is subject to restitution
even as most tax experts evoke cuddliness w/ breeder values clad in brute colors.. I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.

I live in a container house near the city

and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.
I work in text and garden, that do? .. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track.

Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 


We were wondering about invention of the planets, empathizing
With a numbers guru also the director — one of them. Yours and mine.
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative section to sing.
Not foes, no spite
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting
To there uproots the light series, exalted then stiffened into parody..

Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing and showing
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.
I stand for doing this.
87: I’m sure I don’t deserve a king in sleep
but he rusts himself in, damnation de Faust!

He got in surrendering his fingerprints
humming to make a windfall. We’ll

welcome anyone else holding more riches, more determinate judgment

w/in one’s center, letting misprision slide away.


Farewell, I’m lying. Part of what I do here. Throw up my hands! No matter..

Everywhere there’s fog in sky swerving off force fields I dislike, nowhere better!
No ripped off melancholy, no lecture / rap / blues, it’s taken none.


In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal;
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable indeterminacy.

A given. Someday.
José or colder rain has a libido viewable within either construction
From a cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,

A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt when metamorphoses are active.
In plain verse we round this off in latinate stencils for amnesia’s fixed width.
Spirals discharge. You were great, shaken tame.
He called the youth a positive word.

Reading and living
Ontologically under-simulates his senses.
He should be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes, be
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips
Under the prowess of floating unquietly
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,
“A voice and nothing more.”
Mr Peanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. On the other hand, what choice did he have?


We just saw (a few feet minutes from now, however)
your address changed. We could have done it differently before
you discovered the user charts; the parent company was yours before you took over.

You’re not going to be delirious are you?
Just for a stretch of language... good for you
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...

Good for you!
A trivalent bond forms at birth, delays our death.

There are two ambient music cartels as well: Doggone moosebirds and dwarfs striking poses with all their operatic powers. De rigueur for now is writing over known injury to outrank others in the trivalence of thieves. I won’t do your religion, good day.
Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods for each of Four Graves.
I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness.  
Even so, if you could eat onlyone food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you called out. You were holding back first throbs as you forced his from the inside.   
I miss the walled city where an operator like him looks up when you arrive at this next step. . 
Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. 
We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with operators in them.  
(Ok, you there? Bye.) 
Song: Blushing is breaking news.
One time I was inconsonant. Or..

I was found holding a grand lodge of doing-splits glossary.
— why

Does a face arrest?
You had on your fabulous eyeliner from a while ago. Cunning
Thing is everybody had it goes without saying a probability before
The news

And all of us now are blown up by
Getting wind of the Red Wings.
I’m lost? I’m not familiar
with the neighborhood?

You’ve got a nice view of it
from up here.

Here we go. I got you.

Here we are.

I got you, I got you.

Got my back?
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?
Oh My God, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.
Task me, praise me about something else that’s forced..
Stop hurling new foodstuffs, sour leisure.


There is no name then it’s absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
That a fact?  
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is mostly vice versa.
Been holding our tongues. That’s how it works. 

Non-interference in charge, under which an authentic kindergarten, bourgeois language, genetic dance and charades get raised and quest is forcibly asserted. Working against deadline shaped the last phase of withdrawal from our deadlock with future attributes. Oedipus meantime, our founder, targeted a fan like me because of ageless obligations to familial platitude, his camouflage in plain view, the better part of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground.
A mind is a beautiful tool of late capitalism (the unwitting effect and cause).

Capitalism stands erect, at the American curbside, a whiff of more aroma
waiting, eyes unblinking.
( Or one could seek documentation, semblance, something Swiss..

 From now on the mind is Switzerland, ok? Two eyes
belong everywhere, you’re breathing into everywhere. )

Capitalism thus gets to open up its dude ranch, akin to rustic factories, the gig economy spreads further west to prey on the drunk and disorderly. This is the highway the slug runs out on, leaving us a little dizzy. You’re the 10th dude / muse..

I was wondering wha ...

The mind sits there. It wants to be best
friends. It’s saved us burgers.
While in the garden, the door banged shut.
Execution never gets cold.
The sky is in the air, a hue of golf balls. 
That color was discontinued, for historical justice.  
Days are broken into seasons separated by regions. 
Our supply chain deals fatalism as an element of allegory  
shaping and twisting regions of all desire, except a ready  
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us these days. 
Too excellent but passing concern:
IF we have an idea to process a text or artifact, subject to analysis, THEN how does the text or artifact change ways of analyzing the process? Does the result generate inquiry into both (a) who, how, when, why subjects of analysis came about and (b) any utility of further application or adaptation?


Massachusetts, one of the 13! Now tv.
I love needing what television does, colonizing until the wheels fall off. 
Nearly sunset in coconut milk. Skinny ‘eventude’ brings on video waves of fluttering, populist rage, dishonest dogs. (Tv dogs trained to come, fetch, force it down.) All in favor held under pressure.  
Channel surfing here in the cranberry state I see immigrants mix well w/ bohos, capitalist people, people people, subjectivity with certain rights for a life entrenched w/ exigency — it feels very large here. We’re all over tv. Just noticed.
Craning one’s mien goes on outside e.r.’s, the event passes — comments from nondoctors, random tvs, lies — freedoms in this vein takes off at many a critical point. It’s personal, e.r. managers point out. It’s conditions like these making it almost impossible to write enflamed birdsong and comb back your hair at the same time.. Can you do that? 

Light with a spooky edge 

To sound off like your own critic.
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute, spent? Why? 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost.  
I know the frame craves attention, that’s why I write of you.  
Why I finish a stretch and lines get confused, showing their birth. Fuse the way  
Continue. My argument.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Possessing

That noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure it was theirs), amusing
vim shaken from the inside. Each had a skeleton curse; growing
versed. (Youth, after all, is the determined object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking
then not knowing.
Nothing is such in all cases. This brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good grooming drives you all over. Recent example, no longer victims,
you and I grabbed the moment as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse —
A moment to stare out the window, a lamp over our shoulders to herald the swindle in wind farming.
Denis the Menace grew a pair this summer. I now have a boyfriend. We’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having no chapter delineations, just paragraph breaks.


O Jesus 
A severe honey glow  
crowning his shoulders — groomed  
disgust in his walk, his mystic theater practice 
already addressing us, the radiant  
pull at his mom’s sleeve  
emptied of the given moment. Puissance of a misprision sort, holy body of Christ. Already what Esau called discourse in action.
but I have to smile
                                The emptiness that was
one fine day...
                                A uranium-brimmed scree
insubstantial, to dawn ‘disappeared’
into a leg o’mutton of oblivion :
The reunion is off.
A spotlight called.
Lots of us are gifts 
and land across our example  
while we watch the wind taken  
that the waves under you lift  
Tho see-thru as doves  
which today are nothing more,  
swept with a visual certainty  
no matter how we change in love.
Voices in funnels, a trickle down of their futurity,
Dropping your sights — now rising
— the fastest way to earn points. And yet
We’re surrounded, opening
I write poems for children, progeny
Forward, a debit resonance disproving their successors —

We’re nothing their voices bell without words.

Make a difference, make an offer.
Stealing away the steepy treasure,
Baby Wateau vanishes
& the cake sale fails — vanished out of memory & sight as I am now.


62: It’s up to future officials to unpack failures’ base ironies. The speaker looking into a mirror. Failures of autumn. Where are they, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to
let supplies flow out since they
make love too much — painting my age w/ no explanation, only disgust because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, staying relaxed. No shape, no truth can lull you into an ex-jazz tranquility. There is no remedy for the language instinct’s sentimental counterreactions

Grounded inward in my heart, inequity’s failure up to now.
BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when you can’t dream... parking spaces have a word with him. Children are the future —
keep them distracted.
And back to you. If you lock your room you can transport anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues in white, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go...

I don’t deserve friends like him or you.
Staring you in the eyes
In my illusion of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
Inside us, lost and scattered trying to remember.
Sonnet 28: I lost track of our last banter. 
How can I return then? debarred, oppressed.. not eased by night. 
Enemies shake hands to torture — stronger grief. No rest. 
The community’s been repurposed by consent. I can tell a long river
dries because of science. The rich (not advancement) won.
Here’s how I hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pull a trigger or 2, replacing subject matter with source text, exploring only some musts: structure, acquisition, re-use, mixed media — no Eros in ideas, room for the best except the pure.

One who hitches has no right to speak other than excellently. Self-conflict and compromise keep coming up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic failure. If that’s allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...

We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,
The great We of fish, that’s what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.


I have decent rooms and vegetarian board. Living large is an art prepared without couth. I hope you’re opening up to a former way of life stocked with mint colorations of air as in a plush, intimate drawing room augmented with coarse bouquet. Like Elizabethans, say, we would see there were lots of tulle and offline making of amends. Music sounds on alert changing uniforms for the weekend with some breathy, lithe, spooky edge.
Tv interview:
The enigmatic eaten alive by song layouts.
The strategy goes on because it’s clear.

Burying the syllogism for life.
I’m leafing through your agility in pouring out seeds, turning over new seedlings —

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m living on borrowed-spores.
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a truce..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs
Tho a pragmatics circumvents the will to mend things —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..
24: This is color: Q-tips & smoke. Good turns. Painter can pick you up, take a day off
                    from where everyone who’s still standing is drawn to your shape,
eyes for eyes, physical & prime for the stress of form relays between a rat race
                    & cunning security IF
Painter’s 3-D models have your body frame & everyone else’s Painter can gaze on w/, w/out you.
The tallest paintings remeasure your height.

 Painting ideas.

You had heard maggots eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s waste emaciated into planes of junk and emptiness.
Painting double quotes.
One assumption is tomorrow’s flight will be an extension of how it’s going now.
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any.


No interviews today. Triumph* is creepy**.

*Creepiness, unlike triumph, widely construed as inaudible tendencies toward plundering contexts to alter the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology. 

**Authentic triumph, group or personal, cannot be construed.
Writing in a voice for a glass room that rings of convoluted propaganda, in finger paint.

With brush and paint we take dirt off a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after the climate changes. So writ.

Go on, tell us about your background in propositional aesthetics (affiliates who you think are like you but aren’t).
Thudding airlines: The prosecution collapsed 
But you hand over your sack of warrants.  
In the end the evaluations are in. Jumbo on  

Justice, liberty, rule of law...  
Time to concentrate on that killer c.v.  
It’s about warrants for words, Might (Mate). Future thickets.  
It’s so much satori — Enablers will cooperate fully.  
For you, a love interest can get calculated —   
Back to work, first it’s  

Urgent we go out and get wasted.  
The mood then passes from desolating satire to  
Constant put-downs you parrot like executive control  
— Holding firm in the wilds where fireworks will be slowly ignited  
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration. 
39: Sing how absence, our thought, only hints at torment. Separation seemed brilliant manners far back, unremembered before now. Its worth oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.

One difference, the better part changes — I praise you at the gate praising him.
Soon after, more praise due you while we lose names over another difference, mine to mine. We went into this.

Even divided we live to entertain. And even for this it’s still a question. I dream w/ you.. as you prove.
Writing in a voice for a glass room that rings of convoluted propaganda, in finger paint. 

With brush and paint I take dirt off a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after the climate changes.  

Go on, tell us about your background in propositional aesthetics (affiliates who you think are like you but aren’t). 
Sitting down delivers the good news, stateliness while steering already had its faint say. Now we can text and ‘drive’ over time and zeta functions mowing down hedgerows like highway dividers along an infinite axis.


We already have what we ask for.
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics:
We gave it up at the Office.

This is hardly ever for the 1st time
disappearing in molecules like other words, just molecules ago.
Showing results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless
Theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.
Then you told me repetitive motion went further —
Making money w/out reason is mass

-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..

Sleep has no idea of here and now  when everything is the right answer.. all on your check.
After the decline of the XIX century,
The state held sway on the 2nd floor near the cloakroom.
Eminent domain: Paranoia was passed out. Young & ugly you & you were next. Nothing dumped into drinks
Not to arouse the unknown or undue, your well-being was my concern.
Few invitations I won’t forget.
And that does it sometimes for this hour. New world circumstances have postponed further equity together w/out & because of you = No end to observers laughing thru-out.
Damn, dancing, can’t complain, when your children
left we had chipmunk..

Next to nothing, and a white winged crossbill
went berserk, wet bubbles.

The chandeliers giggle a little.
Stacked tonal asperations.
The luminous patina of an excommunicant / He thought about SciFi from the Sixties / Of a bright, lit, obvious labyrinth / All of his life as if he were a mercurial creature / As if meeting death half-way by making connections / The kind of greenish pallor you’d desired —

He thought about SciFi from the Sixties / As the furry chestnut shadow turns from the window / Fighting the relative fight to endure / His coat with his assassin’s bullet, effluvia and life / All of his life as if he were a mercurial creature / Etc.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.  
Don’t smolder, show us.


A {most-
Ly random swagger for the catch)
(Trained} staff encourage sampling
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking.
26: In our heart of hearts, lord, we’re wading out to meta-trigonometries ..
I’m wanting respect, witness to a natural moon shining
its belle-lettrist metamorphoses, moving sweet points
over the slip, damning loose ends even with fairer aspects, so great a duty
but giving wind sheer every opportunity
.. to let us go. On.
Up. Now.
Prove me yours.
Your bromide is familiar. Let me grab a pen. You’re gaining attention for the wrong reasons, dummkopf. Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow fast.

The cosmos is unwilling to go far, now or later, this way or that — what we inhabit is neither a stoner planet nor merely a plywood-and-particulates object flown in time (w/ fewer and fewer afterparties). Earth turns out an enormous intimation as sexual icon, promoting death, laughter.

Those not laughing are listening, assuming we’re incandescent.

I’m pegging Seth MacFarlane Aegean-ward. There’s so much history,

Shadow sensory awareness, his chosen medium,

Flowers are em-poisoned by design, grateful waiters oozin’ adrenaline

to an audience of Schuberts, lecturers, saboteurs of the heart,

sons, daughters in search and rescue to catch every misconception lean ’n low.
Yet our bipolar mess words are set on war cry, plain
holy shit!

w/ a headless figure hammering out Bo Diddley. Panning back to lend bulk.
One thinks one loves you all-purpose, all calm, never resolved,
Because you’re only one resource, one swab

In a climate of drumming opinions and best practices —
Then driving rain and surging seas,

Overdue, you said, any day. A refreshing reminder.
My sympathies.
don’t pick on anyone else...


We have empty form in perpetuity and a hip cast of super
Angels strumming harps for a full encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus
Bringing up larger drama for the stretch and preen in vigilance —

Fall back, breathe while new cast members get authenticated —
Casually removed or

Restored at a slight remove since we retweet a manifold wave
From darkness as most scientists will tell you, like most vacuum ..
They want to call it heaven.
You have reached HR. Unemployment ‘better’ than 50 .. Which you are you?

After the fall you ran a plutonium on consignment thinktank. You thought that would be one formal outcome. Or would if you used to.

Darn if you weren’t a sophomore at it when you did
And naturally you know you’re a misfit for an assignment like ours.

New Hebrides calls for a quirk of sculpture in a spatial recession. The joy of employment

Is light. Hai, the tank answered to its dark alter ego; oh, the specificity is lost. [Get this, a thinktank that speaks among its selves, as a supposition. .]

Take info about and in precise form to bullet the ideas, grading your results.
As he got closer he realized he was his age
or maybe a couple of years younger, not edged.
Esthete’s fingers wrapping Lalique.

Both minds let drift as if
dragging one underwater, & the other grasps why..


Then it happens. A man’s voice, handsome, calm, also nervous ab structure.
Protecting a man’s dignity threatens it. Everyone knows that.
Bathing —
‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children
blurring the terrain,
stenciled closure. He shouts,

Can we search for reason in nature’s chaos...
No one writes like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful.

A miracle.
Here’s my favorite.

Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises.

(That is, artisans among the audience rise, impetuous, some from costive stock, unflappably happy, even brusque.)

Somewhere I float in. I’m late for the prom fitting, weeping inside. Funny place

for a dance, Mr Baker.
Leaves are no longer the leaves, you think?
Don’t come near — I’m writing in fraught cycles of perpetual panic.
The set director had called for vinyl yellow corn husks flanking french doors leading to the territorial room where they proceed with surgery to remove complainant fat..

Not yours, happily. But close enough . . .

The screenwriter, who cheated our father, wants to stay chic simple, s/he develops fat samples — tints them solar . .

Then changes fat to bay windows . .
And the surgery is successive! The windows break down with no views.
& what of?
I’m like everyone else who grew up refusing novels, a nutshell of a wonk glaring, boasting bragging rights over inexact outcomes, crayon-ing onto smiley, boundless love non-judgmentally!
& of course I did time w/ “live people...”
I can’t win, that’s the end of inattention. 
More bounce for the retina to unscrew my internal hysteria pouring up but  
embarrassing, rocking like breaking news, losing both death and life, dropping your  
rogue’s whip down over my heels.
I forget what really and concretely meant to nature. 
My post values are really skewed, I forget William Blake.  
forget historicism. 
I forget the Kennedys and the Dead Kennedys. 
It’s the same wearing bangs.


Aren’t we supposed to feed the bad dogs? Yes but summer, winter? Minutes after the work is filed, dozens stand in line for a treat, free rein over the sentence.
You put a question mark after feeling genreless, if in play, it becomes a pick-up line.

There is no personality, only successive time frames, 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 others’ labor, enabling and overlooking our conditional first day together...
120: En route to password assistance, astronomical, infinitesimal amounts are rounded off as unsolved, unkind problems, compelling exercise that front-loads knowledge construction, like finding a bowl of light to explain & reform a void bow of times-spaces.

Sure or no, hardly sorrow my deepest sense certainly.
Yes, attempts to throw your voice are dumb & of a special force

— I suffered in your crime —
Over the unknown risks. As first-time infringers we don’t mushroom,
Ignored. But we seem hellbent when three or more reach assistance,

So we need oversight.
Sonnet 119:
Software permeates adolescent philosophy. This hell points to asphalt perimeters, why error messages inspect structures (applying fears to hopes)

building up un-manacled distraction so amor in the head is amazing, far greater madder fever!

Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate — evil still made better — for amnesia’s fixed width, blessed never, rebuked to our heart’s content.

And ruined we were losing true, losing you .. still spent, shaken tame.
5: No remembrance. Of course I did time as a stealth pathologist overdoing autopsies on people who lost their show. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofa sectionals — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch / pooches — yes I’ll love you better with frost and lusty! —
I’d say I am a pervert approaching you as a woman / who is a man thinking she’s he of the pulverized dots — a liquid prisoner

— I duck their punch however and close the distance. Nothing more.
                        ...speech is streaked w/ extra
sensory blather —


You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, sky
dogs, paint & sloppy intercourse under conditions that surround ourdesire
to laugh down time for love of you.
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 — 
yet 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 so much less — these are facts slaughtered within memory.
The drill of local news, temperature, hours of indebtedness, mayhem, a fascinating stack of known challenges — locale reduced to the economy, co-rejecting isms not centric. Both influence perception, both engage what leftists and the right make up as sources. Nothing in between. Nothing to uphold. More below.
It’s simple (the invention of worship is over.. )
(so much over: the topic is civility, imparting numeric dicta slathered across century-old middle ground) the themeless module (where we sleep) and fields of action (and we continue playing around vulgar innuendo to stay kind, as you undress to force a smile) fully emancipating me to feel obliged to receive you slipping into question and questioning.
Sonnet 4:
We wake up, cartoon-lean. Inconceivable, forms of address change ideology into overwrought subject matter while a service industry shows up to clear things w/ the bosses. Those days were unthrifty loveliness. In graduate courses we taught the integral self can level w/ all the others, an acceptable audit, and sadness is a public health problem, a sum of sums. So protesters are hired to hunt down incriminating thoughts and, being frank, raise contentment rates.

An access prose for pathways folds into dreams. What’s the point? tho, unless we’re feeling it, noun phrases are [void] all we’re leaving at the door, now personally ajar, since we’d like to see or set up a space to witness the dissolved thread to narrative, its needle and as it were a point given you to give.
At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there spirit is on your side.

It goes with a backhand irony like a pigeon guided missile or extra guards at the gate.
No, the front gate won’t front
As there 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!
While chestnuts stand around in jobbed hoards
Coupons expire.
I’m going to leave you in the middle of the city where you belong, you robot of a dog.


Death, I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a life without suffering
That can’t exist.
From here it all seems like a miracle;
It’s good we are now separated.
The mind just calculates sitting there. It wants to be best friends. It’s saved us a burger.
An idea of glimmers, aroma:
The moon beneath pink brightness out back, grill in place, waiting —
Camille under command matures into familiar splashes of watercolorist anesthesia: Takes my place being places (an event in tropes) —

Meantime, ping. We’re here for discovery thru inflection in lap pools of condensed matter from excursions in the aquatic world.
The named oceans are dated, right, left
Pouting, getting better! When they come to — there will be perorations re-framing rainwater within fairer scents rimming sunlight in suspension, ripped,

Amputated chutes!

Grape vines burst out, nonlackluster. Though I love grime, Camille’s guilt-making — her carrying me thru, unphased: She does this to deplete me of hope.

1st choice for a sonnet is to solve for x. Be funny and coalesce.

Dear multiple choices from eternity: Send a message I can wolf down. Convey a sense of urgency that’s superfluous. Then put Camille off.
Docile or not,
Look away.
Blatantly un-shipshape seems the new daring..
I have no idea —
The bemused, deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning.
We should seek co-equals now, an engaged handshake, clear speech
To thank the whole body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.

Back when there was a hell, each vow deemed sufficient and inclusive for a new occasion or faith.
It’s easy, too distinguished and uniform now.
Once back in the day the fair-minded had more complex appetites,
when giving eyes to blindness brainstormed over innocence —
truths, lies never happened.
In the larger context there was the most recidivism in fashion.
Dante nibbled fast, in very mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace.

There was a terrific wine list — and that made for grace twists, kindness
drinking perfusions, he had at strangers shedding their platform shoes.
Cliché inflects necklines. But I like your flask.


Poetics process stuff. Ketchupy
The coast is never clear, fat boy...

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, clear in the nick of it.
’Recursive perception‘
For your birthday (bleak as 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,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, ambiguously, in pastels.

It was everything.

Forward and determined. What shall we dredge today?
A friend notes, Thief,

Tonight’s salad won’t contain nor belong to itself.


tho commitment is delicious, to tell it so to its face = sucking up..

taking majoram for granted

..we’ll leave the d.r. to the maligners = our foreheads are nothing-firm just thinking that way, why? — as if adapting to a contest in pride between decentered sets!
Vengeful dioramas later
soaking up positron equations that might italicize sex (our hobby and bent!) annexing us to commune
midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes?

Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing blushing shame / anthropological-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.
Sonnet 135
for John

To commune sounds spacious, un-calm, bent to boot. In the same call you vex prerogatives, that is, your voice does. (I’ll table the large difference.) 
“The sea.. all water” 

— Your message is mixed but never better aligned for a way or a will of mine. We’re rich together in our acceptance — this will be our hideout, learning the ropes, perusing scraps and hopes of coping. 

The unoccupied mind long overdue. The you 

I reference in primary season. With your suitcase. 

I’ll pack for the gracious aftershock of your going ahead, reading, lifting, adding and reflective or reflecting? you in the foreground, all water. 
The 10 impulses do not exist
So that the singular could be correct appears

A flaw 2 syntactical secessionists —

No ironic separation, we were on our feet. Stepped on toes. This
Could keep up as long as 1 cared 2 bring a monster like Trump 2 headstrong, crocodile tears.

That’s what 1 impulse looks like or sounds like, not is.
You pattern after the funniest films of all time.
You can exit the room at any point, burning, or add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.


After you, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing.

I lower your voice to closest saturnal parity
plucked of adversative brutality ..
Yet nothing is forbidden.
Finalists like you quit general practice — off to privacy
with little or no honor left, one laughed. And yet not you, your honor...

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving stone. Vicarious isn’t strong enough.
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows, o praise the light flow drawn
in odor and hue. After you.
Psalm make me sorry.

Nothing is unimportant. Neither the bray of birds nor their sweet after play. Send for Fr Pierre.
He lives in harm’s way. “A transit of showdowns.”
Channel my absence from you.
It reminds me of you in harm’s way.

When I am feeling discordant, scared of death
where we come back to having it all wrong.
We’re both wrong but it’s negative matter
only a fleeting year
less or more spasmodically time restored removed.
So I put my name in. Just one. Am I fit for the scenario? The next one. Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. Instead of my lives, I found so much of what you say emancipating, but our data are adulterated. You’re driving me nuts. 
Oh my god, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.


Criticism “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, colonized with off-rhymes; my lexicon wears rhetorical “skirts”
 wrapped in thunderheads.

Oscar de la Renta lies in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the new office along with murals of white doves passing out. His critique has no name; it’s all about listening.
Often a partner in comp can be deliberately passive-aggressive like any Pilgrim. I’m kidding. By oneself, practice makes perfect scatter.

In this one my partner is disguised as a scatterer to spy on others. There he goes —
stomping across borders. That is his

moonlight made of lard. It’s indispensable smearing a glow

that travels down over Earth changing into a flummoxed packet of energy, wearing maroon cords.
Mere research reports what’s on your mind.
Why not reflect it in text?
One lie can never be replaced by another
It contains.
I go back to when no Murphy bed was sacred or chic. Tempus fugit. Take an interest in opulence & stratagems bequeathing us 
sherbet, oomphy comforts & massive inflows of feel-

ing great! The brands are awesome taken to far corners, above

a once bowling facility, now vacated forever last summer.
I’m a metaphysicist to an inner antecendant.
Lemme go.


Shopping sprees are migratory patterns.

They get disrupted but don’t let up.
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 removed of fugues. I’m spry and underhanded getting back to private reasons, private freezings of how teeming reeds work their summer bare scents.
C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns in fair use praxis, and there’s the old age hand hath put connection to an eyesore we could fix up, borrowing a face beauty slandered. Inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer!
Leading in, wise and cruel.
In sleep even a con anarchist gets immunity.
Going wide, immunity is madness, better it were bad news washing over time under preseason wraps.

Snow this soon is a surprise. (Didn’t know I’m a novice enthusiast, a manner of pity.)

Should I despair?

It’s snowing, nothing personal, wafting like foam over my awesome hamlet —

Further out the world is grown with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always.
There’s a method to share, I whisper to myself, falling for the freshest ingredients.


Media is clogged with a reductive, neo-fascist message...
Trump just has to look presidential for a few minutes to emerge [..presidential].
Fascism stays underground for as long as it takes. Now here it is — it’s about to play nice.

Nice or mean fascist views won’t disappear. Unamerican discourse has entered our lives. It’s commonplace in our high schools.

The time seems backward.
There is the example from frog species. Frogs lost teeth in the lower jaw at least 200 million years ago, but whoooa.. lower teeth reappeared in a marsupial tree frog species about 20 million years ago.
— Sept., 2016
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. Miss you. Miss you.. There you are!
To explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework.. 

we’re adoring you as a full service enterprise assuming a moral politics where leverage follows its bliss!
Terns suffering rain, finding things out,
Unleashing each other —

You enjoy yourself when abroad.
Who’s sick over us and who questions any vulcanized backlash?
A last payment received.

No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless:

The future would give more / no more
Than thanks, laughably... no thanks.

I thought of you.
A foolish few of us keep fighting for independence. But bosses are out there. Sure savages, quick with their own designs. Yet the bosses, deeply above, I keep running from, the psycho-analogs, nonverbal monitors of sensory and motor operations standing up to view the repaired wall unit, hearing you read fibrous new copy, pacing in warrior suspense, smelling something burning, watering potted moss, falling asleep. When you listen closely they’re meddling, nudging nearer to a verbal core, editing prose, keeping everything tidy; above that, less of a presence, there’s one or more crisis managers descended from a family of ethicists, whom Freudians describe as superegos mostly whizzing by shaking a finger up in the brain and mumbling something half-received, half-worked-out for the moment — be tiny, be warned — there are tribal icons above superegos, and their points of view are even more fleeting, harder to perceive as they’re fossils — given up to us like paste gems and gluey blobs, deliberately dulled into falsehood, almost! 

I wear them indoors.
Not to be interested,
I have a free awning idea..