Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio”
I am touched by everyone now alive,
softest blues, lower right, someone’s supportive lips moving up, down,
talking design shit. Someone’s naive mirror for sale, for example.
Cherubins have everything they know. How can a bantam weight =
feigner? his taller son asked over the phone.

X’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.
Amusing I suppose. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis
in a compulsive battle over the ultimate smiley face,
it’s not who grinned first that counts, but also where
and how. That’s my finger pointing for an interim
realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”
The School of Nobody takes 8 lives
rising to any occasion w/ pretty good yoga probabilities
tho troubleshooting is more shaped by time while taking
steps w/in unruly aplomb (to parse diacritically)...

There are no stages

for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting:
& moving
while Nobody wins in a debate over no and not distinctions.
To commune sounds handsome, also calm, also bendy. In the same call he reverses prerogatives — his voice does. (I’ll table the difference. Each.)
“Cloven, we are incorporate... ”
His message mixed but never better aligned. Together, all across our call center that serves as the hideout, learning the ropes, perusing scraps and parts of hope.

No fins of infinity. Nope.

Halloween patterns clenched exponents where detachment is trimmed.

We have no major issues.

No shady aftermath inter-scope.

And to think a way out, we can blur the ground and yield authority to a bowl... really a vase. Sit and watch dogs turn smoky brown tracking vans in drizzle, tarnished from sight, playing against a stack of storm windows, within a composure for light a translator can’t reach.
My first night at E. 12th everything was projected as though I had been decamped here for weeks or longer. Tub in the kitchen would be finessed, a foyer, walled in packed bookshelves, a studio workroom off the foyer filled with files of graphics and drafts, a large emptied bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, large, no curtains, just windows and walls with decades of paint peeled and peeling. My bedroom is perfect as-is, futon, a sprig of damp pine in a ceramic bowl, one or two books in-process. I knew the poets in the building, a few were famous, many pre-famous, so that’s not a shock. It will all be familiar backdrop in a newer craft.
Back I said, a piece of non-advice.

Innocence wrongly revealed concerns ethics, not intent. Spinoza acts against his own young interests.

Adoration had a poetic scent. Still has.

Reputations get worse preceding character, even when an act of apprehension remains deferentially. Creature masks are conditions in unreasoning reprieve.
Who will advocate toward peace, for the tranquil
to empower mergers & exchange?
Lilac is a devoted zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.


It’s a classic knife-in-sui-generis.

Parts of the world face streets whooshed by furbishing impurities of state.
The carport reflected in this point is perched high above subatomic attitudes of state, people using facebook for subject matter, like us.

There’s an end note for people who are sweating their attitude.

One polishes the text and hands it in.
Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio”
I am touched by everyone now alive,
softest jazz, lower right, someone’s lips moving up, down,
talking design shit. Someone’s naive mirror for sale, for example.
X has everything he knows. How can a bantam weight =
feigner? his son asked over the phone.

X’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.
Amusing I suppose. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis
in a compulsive battle over the ultimate smiley face,
it’s not who grinned first that counts, but also where
and how. That’s my finger giving us the interim
realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”
130: If my love is rare, modesty is unimpressive.
I’m a neo-accepter of coral red lips, reeking of objectivity and eating and breathing them, too, as my ideology-clean rhetoric vibrates into music and misnomers. No such comparisons come to mind, ergo, nothing like the sun. Then rising, the evolution of delight, cutthroat, a huge family of junk affixes to hear you speak to our addiction to pleasing sounds.

And yet I never understood or misapplied all those perfumes I love on your head, my vade mecum. After this, there are false equivalents prospering on the ground, yet well I know the seasons float in our modest willpower.
Poetry finalists quit general practice — some work converted to cottage industries
with little or no honor system. Certainly, making them think, when actuaries
unmoor. Affection is vicarious info. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer traditions merge in our skulls, a culture that can be broken
down... how lucky a lost cause. Joyfully predictable, driven to reach my market.

And here gear management inserted a bonus to exchange and it’s not so bad —
an innate physical act of fondness that can only end in a draw sustained one by one
getting up, stretching for an hour.

Whilst I’m driven to sketch sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes
now closed. And with that, I’ll use your language with no lexicon,
without conforming to a belief system to get forgotten.
We sometimes need fresh lexicon set for the mind-body problem, words to determine their own behavior, items like primality and cuboidal, glints of jazz, a glorious set.


So a redraft prompts special inquiry tho tentative after all meaning of structure. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you’ve been on the seas long enough, you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. I’m happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and objurgating..
Pausing to look at two tomes. That’s how you toned it.

Inside it’s gray. Divided & confused, I signed
up. The acoustics are here, also
a container for every dataset on loud
so the workspace will hear it
& feel it in stages taller, striking overnight.

Research-bent, the Astors do take their place.
It feels like a great new unofficial building
while I’m always wrong to prolong my appeal.

Being your flute, your ex-slave, what should I do?
A true fool, I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued anything, ‘other interests.’
What now? What desire? Now I have no precious time
save, I clock our absence of movement from the sour inside ...
While I dare question my jealousy —
It’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service in your will.
Though we’re requiring opéra where you could be moaning for hours about diffusion at any cost to render your mouth a sobbing mess that goes on. Happy you. Maybe. This is adieu, love, no ill.
I’ve got to hold back. Not to go down.

This is in response to the commerce-vector coursing through pop concepts, bringing unique comfort to support our position in the food chain, which is in dispute.

I adhere to the same late-filing rule as you. We are keepers of years all night.

Art is theft all right. I’m almost a novice enthusiast. Years from now.
Then, inscrutably I shall break down and cry.
Paul Broadnax & sidemen
adapt what’s spindly

talking to each other.

It dawns on me
this is taken up as a whole
before it’s moved onward

— it’s not utterly offhand.. rather:

We’re ordinarily against..
what’s called a change of heart.

Began far ahead,
we liberate ourselves to oppose counter basses.
Undressed — except for slacks — anonymous like Updike but I turn up as Camus. Look me in the eye and diagram conditions of spatial sentences (touching both elbows behind your back) . .

But calm down. There’s always the dual nature to justice finding “resentment and forgiveness” within top grains we can’t erase.

I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.


Love, A cool looking Japanese acrobat slow-motioned to me to go for the moody and unexpected.
Doesn’t it freak you when categories are givens you don’t need to work out? Some of you has given in — there you go, retreating, emancipating solitude, more sound-oriented than dance.

But that reminds me, your draw is immediate, overwhelming, terse and of a Castilian order. A hundred decors contained in one = you at the piano. The endive bloat for George Balanchine.
There are three pleasure substitutes.
The frayed honeymoon is first and, second, it’s normative, blushing with its little chant of guts and neurons dying in a fascinating little bottle.

After a honeymoon deflections accrue. Third, there’s a genie that needs you.
Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a concept board from workshop, keeps going big. A simple turn of the ignition, what’s the deal? A journey within the 5th x nth element, becoming a pathless scrubland back at that bind when you and many are reading data beyond the point. All in an identical manner, everyone derives one message as sugar consumption rockets, news advances in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can it diagram its strength of skill?
It refused to come here deducing another head scene to make me love you, more like the first time. That’s in my mind ever since love’s regimen bulked up, corresponding with humanist competition for powerful excess, powerful perspective in every word mentioned or almost mentioned, and all syllables performing as one compass spin between you and others trained in your elite language. Who or what taught you?

her flak shirt was on inside-out and it’s entirely because it’s unexpected she had her languid hands up in the air, made eyeglasses with her fingers, meaning she was ready..
I taper our next stage with visually inevitable things and select for keen gameness. Today a deep-seated specialist would work with genres and forms and play something interdisciplinary; I see. Um, ok, yes, ma’am. I’ve misspelled some signs.
I have not fulfilled norms set by stop action. (Politics and dignity of appearances don’t mix.) Nothing personal, I cry when it becomes subsequent. I credit everything on the surface without a message. But now —
114: I say.

I say drink up.
My eye say thanks there’s so much.

Haiku-ing to Delmore Schwartz repeatedly gives me monsters giving head.

We or most of us have a destiny, flattery after all. But it’s after-hours

To vocalize what my eyes sink in. I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.

When struck a lightning rod emits a ballet in dust and after that a solution, a chemical substance that recuses itself and returns as a cognitive coloration, a hint there is a small commotion in the back of something the matter. Like with one who is loved.


1st question, true or false. Is the last part ok? Technology keeps humming to Aristotelian extremes. The cigar and its plantations. It’s a manageable stretch from there to when you left, even while I ruled what went between us out. You hadn’t left a name, either. And yet, I stood closer, always wrong. To leverage and grow are businessspeak. To get feedback. To misunderstand.

Two or more are affianced to life / love in different ways, always murmuring to the lightning therefrom a la mode, and beyond.
I see it but am I seeing it?

Were we mannerists, we’d describe this as Absence from This.

Quick version: A wall of calm; also capture: The cross-hatching that allowed ancestors to exchange traits for others... has just about run out of steam, my profane friend interjects, & has left us wondering, once more what there is about our plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

This version ushers in even more non-urgencies of grueling yet quickened aversion over entropy, what it captures.
A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments being & extends our altercations to reproach non absence : I am & all men are not to be bad and to be not bad

working against deadline we accelerate just pleasures, ok —
my unfeeling mind has a point & I see it.
I think good.
In Throne of Blood — if you’ve seen it, you won’t forget — the tall growth of Cobweb Forest is sawed down to new ends, camouflage for an avenging army on the march. The sad image is threshing fir and pine needles that shield warriors advancing to unseat a despot flummoxed by presentiment.
Ontologically, a wild deed like rewriting a poem is complemented by an autocracy of attitude toward its occasion; they combine as a sawtooth. Standing by and looking on — face it, I’m prone to passive aggression — stunted, I limp off scowling to the dull deforested haze of profuse misses in experience and lightness of touch.
Let’s dance. I defy you.
Empiricists map it, we know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness.
I will be true and change nothing

but pure benefits are not to accrue, never grasp for governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know we and they are in an infinite series w/in mine shafts of each day’s gossip. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history over as we have heard them recover it.) As you were.
(The Chief of Staff says.)
Informality — stress & refined inelegance.

Doo-wop’s creepy; let us through;

We’re sort of gifted — ok,

This is house arrest.


CVS counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, vice versa

.. sorry, I have no other associations I’ll add. I was driving everywhere. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation of now or that a minute from now after the transaction but before thinking about it, sending it over in my head, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands connected to CVS.
I’ve got a pet name for my tongue.

Surely as there’s a heartbeat in math there are light, oblique truths about achieving access to felt qualities.
We’re brusque. The new job title, urgent. More pets ahead of sober airedales w/ no clawback motives. But I’m underhanded getting back to an axiom we can manipulate;

no amnesty?
or / & like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness.

This takes place in a weather balloon holding beef jerky.
142: Concision or love is my hue dealing method, means
can be objective and lack pity, sin, hate.
To study those, those lips, yours,
will seal an incident virtue unveiled as ambition. To study the eye

as a catamaran of process.. your eyes. This is while I love you, bond with you
as one ornament on a crazed errand-stream for our scarlet masters of art.
Poetry on the style page (where it stays).

(A thought I’ll put aside is that a poem is the sonic record of felling trees.)
YOu defile my people once. Only once
expresses seeds in the mail ..

solutions to endnotes on drums.. & pity nowhere now w/
dark engendered powers @ 1% .. Cavaradossi!
We’ll misapply principals, w/ others,
the higher ones [Trained staff encourages sampling.

Any higher are not talking.
(There’s tighter discipline

Then repetitive motion goes too far
and some at all levels become enclosed]
climbing into casual ritual (putting
their lives together) & keeping order.)
I question the following.
“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling, sane
behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.” I still can’t turn that
down. Can I? Could he?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.


The jet gate opens to the drawing room, once a factory outdoors where snow & sunlight close their distance. The old new & new strung out on sectionals, an untapped atmosphere of oblique, puckish Swiss.. The Swiss playing the stunt of relays between workplace & dogma, everything everyone can live by w/out being sequestered or brutally charged by material objects : so by these shortcomings we softball in harmony around some parts of sky & parts of parts.
132: I’d like to bend rules for a stretch to wipe within a finger painting
where we get dressed soberly for a sky out west —
It’s so cold here. A place for mourning w/ subdued hearts, rare
minerals that become tree colors back east.

Your eyes I love, and they torment me
where full stars usher us by your grace in every succession —
not half the sun nor half the glory to heaven
as those eyes become your face.
Each of us raises a leg. We like to comport with others. And we have developed responses
.. untruthful automated Now Pro voices “that acquiesce on a positive note..”

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

I’m captioning the fixed width to Pro “Token Austerity,
Sleep-laden, Eating Unnutritious Food.” Massive overuse,

you wore counterfeits and felt fake. I bet.
A few words on process: Counterfeiting
is luckier than needing everything before it’s rooted in or out.

No sweat. In this new version of Recently Used
English we delete any plagiarism still missing.
Combustion and dust spores filling avenues between scrapers, your honor. People borrow shelter in ice cream convenience stores, then run to the subway, running with asinine language (you can’t call it dialog). Ugly apartments. Life-draining clothes. New affections. Highly recommended.

Fats Domino, RIP
Yamaguchi circulates the flowers — up to now they have many words for it

but it’s fielding skepticism that’s making money hard to borrow. Clenching-tight,
I’m in another century where hoax passes for coming near, too red-shifted by the viability of
conquering death with abundance, Yamaguchi says.
Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale, immaculate.
The sky has its style, subject for close attention. It’s said.

Paying attention is the field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends.

But it does not impinge on the field.
I can’t be overdrawn, I still have cheques.


Guards stood tall in part over parcels. Now they tell me to take off my belt. Your belt.
My impression is each motion serves a purpose. A higher light according to utopians hoisted in the sky headed toward realpolitik under their own glare. Guards collapsing into supernumerary states of hemi-fusion, small adjustments in scales opposite a line-up of our unnumbered bodies. (2 or more.) Every dancer stops for a mote, a moment, feels better they tell me.
Then we yield to the rush of new people stage center, taking on our subject matter w/ a fire to clear few or no differences worth repeating.
68: Flowers shorn off bowers of wholly living signs —
inhabiting death seconds before you, around you,
I’m a zealot about knowing when nature’s
bastard signs are vital, not recreational. For bell, orchestra, a map of nature’s store.

October, Arvo Pärt is chafing: making no summer or flowers, no second life
& oblique as you — hours in fair defiance, making another green
unpolished release for subsiding in attrition, missing you, composing around you.

Your beauty.. new roses, a second head..
9: No form of you
Feels anything but unused, average, a spent, destructive sort of guilt, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed by issueless fears in political experience / current status / win-loss =

Here I am! Staying single we may change our minds!
I almost forgot to. Permission to speak freely, señor?
Could we? ah! you and I are loved by many. I’ll commit to that if you ...
Are gracious, watched over and settled into a kindly almost unthrifty shifting
Still, but still enjoying practice, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...
your private voice is wet like children’s eyes. Look.

Then I wake [Ah!] — My own voice hoarsens
A life desire talking with you,
But no form of you.
114: Things to ingest.

I flubbed a sacrifice to appear tough, best. (Each moment was electrocuted in pleasure.)
Shall I say my time is for my removal waffle and sproat interpretation. This perfect
Assembly as birds cover their nests, beavers their dams. Poisoned on your flattery

I put a recalled toy in my mouth. (Eric Dolphy)
Softly speaking, I thought of you.

Then we see a dart has feathers and it flies as it works the crowd.
And something came up. Initial elements were bled into overcherished ideals I thought you stored overseas — they were sent back in a screw-up, gleaming like oxide from my grandparents’ era. The real guys (grandparents w/ ideals) were thrown out before we got to know them.

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

That said, it’s not likely anything not-said expands fields or roots underground.
It’s snowing, nothing personal.
Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders
descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)

hustling all the time, awesome!


I personally maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic one more time.
The place is firmly democratized, sir. Once beginning seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this.
This is ur-autumn & with these Q-tips it’s free to cut nothing off.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, thoughts washed over time —
For starters: Do you test, lease, defame to get the best?

& the answer in a day wherever that is if ...
Is it time or times?
I came for the invoices.

Ever notice? No one lives in that town.

Half-vegetarian, self-colliding fog drinks only from its disconnected, treasured demographic squandering energy.
We cannot mean erasure, remember.
Our nerve infused by regulatory propriety until we get up to dance founding paradox.

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

We’ve heard enough.

This is strictly the governor’s business.
Will you cover me?
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Anne is compassionate.
Sonnet 3:

Fate felt better in winter, if not, youth’s fate will give up. Now is the time.
Image & posterity aren’t everything. But they call you back. Same for dying. Stop Pisces & disdain.
Mark self-love as not an option. Unearned. & thru windows nearly your
Own age April will renew another shower that forms
Single light flows, now “Could you be a little more specific, viewer?”
Fair, prime, calling you, fond of repairing for rain
An ear, face, a form of yours remembered.
You’re really this tall? There is no wrong answer. Your current voice sports a staggering pedigree, too late to make it sparse.

Even your restraint is watered. You’re too qualified and thrifty to feel anything suspended — Mayday!
I told you I agree. Enjoy your timeshare, a revisionist’s afterlife to the future, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.


80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology is providing a revitalizing lift. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when I write. Empiricists map it. It’s in the literature. When I write of you, I’m in sympathy and while I try a couple of poses from the repertoire of the defrocked — ha there are great, pure benefits sponsored by broad-shouldered believers afloat, grasping for governance, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they’re in an infinite series within the history of gossip. (Or from another angle they are the series, wracked by history.) You who.
Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush nimbus-wet in devotion to their next decimal of the property. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when. Tomorrow.
I worked on this, from D.C.’s escorts: “You can change yourself into infinity, but still get the changes to the location from where you left...” That feels clear in a symbolic realm. It’s a higher amendment.

Again, I’m doing an accordion fold, a plu-code of the escort’s sensibility (as if I know what any 1 syllable of that means). Reverse stabbings thru-out, they concern writing and writing-2 who meet up in a fixed-action pattern within rational yet imprecise kairos, recycling once or twice.

There are episode interiors silhouetted in projections of analysis that screen the ‘official’ episode. However I believe we’re past the middle and nearing an end to 1; the outlines say there’s a Mammoth Double interior where writing adjusts to incidents of long division, complex facticity that writing-2 tears open and begins to pick at to pay writing off in disappointment, near failure — both writing and writing-2 climbing uphill and sliding back down just before turning 17, biting down, gritting their teeth, growing up.

There’s improvisatory depth to one surface and to their despairing perceptions of what won’t be retained, nothing prime to curate or disbelieve. Writing is a little wiped. So is writing-2. The drawing of the accordion frowning, ready to be seen. 2 is blabbing. Writing is a little fucked up too. “Just starting one.” “Cool.” The thing is not to get fucked up too often.

Teaching is something.
7: Two very different looks square equally when you lift up middle age
Serving as homage with the apogee you are.
Young, I staked my reputation on it,
adoring our new illness, touting
you & kissed the air in your high-most pitch.

Stronger in youth,
mortal burning lips, brainy ellipses & a big hand!
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam,
Accounting disappears like functions of context (procedures) —

Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Travel well.


Are they saying the same thing? Chögyam Trungpa teaches First thought best thought; George Balanchine, Don’t think do. Both mean and don’t mean it. Put extremely, the meaning / meaningless exotica buries itself in application: a first thought in Trungpa’s belief is already broken in two; thinking (or not thinking), even (or especially) when it’s “first,” impedes being (and incidents not attached to being); while Balanchine wants physical movement to write over and above mental representation, yet one thinks on the way forward to execution. Both statements — first thought, don’t think — are similar examples of intuitive layers in which meaning deploys no meaning, slaying the butterfly native to these parts, reflection on and of opposite outcomes.
128: How often climate stands a tacit partner confounded with snow, which I know jacks about. To be in concord, how often my envy walks into the wiry mirror, tickling the ivory — music for a white harvest. Your hands, piano fingers are morally exigent, maybe, dancing chips shivering in a synthetic silk-festooned weigh station, changing state and situation — how often? Blushing! It’s new weather boldness leaping either side of my poor lips making inward sounds over your lips to kiss.
102: You’re the matter at hand merchandized within isomorphic rotations from green hues perpetual to earth.

You’re asking a lot.

Our love was new.
Well, most of these “pieces” are literal, based on trying to sit down [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still the matter.”

The access air of inevitability around advanced codes shattered. I hold my tongue. Shattered seemed inauthentic in the first mustache sense. You are more than sex. You’re holding me, the middle of the throat..

I kiss the air. This.
My area is interpretive search.
You’re always not talking.
I get your point (approbation without the tedium of argument).
I come unannounced because I am socially awkward.
A line in a poem.

J parades toward emptiness in subrogation, embraces it to bring us back into space.
J is Kerouac.
A mood is an emotional state. Comcast Xfinity.


Hi cute girl in black hat that works here, brief punches of copy look great. Works in evolutionary niche construction.
De-processing text in a wartime between paragraphs v bullets, guess who’s won?
Tiny, simple, the better to clobber you in short iterations. That ze plan. 

All of Holland Tunnel v one garish tulip brocaded with energy.

You are man-y crisp, a color too blush orange for anything that can happen if you pretend you care.
I’m new to housecleaning with you.
That’s how we have 2 arrays for time & harmony
when doing it.

The ass comment — I meant juniper
within a philosophy (of moving spatial dimensions)
a few hours forward;

heated inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer dimensional rhetoric
meh. Cosmos not not unhappy.

Can waving time like a moony branch
on a corporate tree supersede nature,
a piece of research asks. Why open

atoms under quiver at the edge to sleep?

In a way it just feels like games.
For more in bed we’ll wear tartans & paisley.
119: Intimation, insinuation, innuendo.
It was something I ate but stronger.
Never believe quite a theory, never say it’s conjecture (inauspicious string, hope and fear).
It costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, false of.


I liked him and he liked me. It’s an eye popper, a new
Use for fumy italics — fumy outside,
Different inside, just on my nerve, just to the time
Like him I leave for no one, nothing.
Here take a wildflower. This is my house.

A monk will then say,

Tell us about your recent postal experience.

I was going to mail him
Though he died before I got to the office.
Like him I leave for nothing.
10 out of 10.
116: One’s {most-
Ly random swagger looks on marriage as a catch which alters one’s worth unknown to
Trained} staff encouraging sampling —
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking, fixing this mark: Love is not love.

No one, nothing concentrates like love then doom. That’s if I’m never hit by what I feel in the a.m. I believe you, fool, no man ever loved.

Let me take our musical temperature, wanderings of your true mind bear it out —

What are you and I fixing up? a few removes in weeks, brief hours; for others find soft alteration, removing you.

Love is no fool. It’s goes off the boards, like when the water lilies kick off their work boots and women rule. Snipers crouch,

the edge of Burberry’s.
Capital is redeemable, all winds exchange directions and they’ll barely pertain, and why should they? What’s on our minds will be low on your mussed list, even lower than that. Off list.


Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to interminable sex.
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both adolescent in a persistent sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly,

unspeakably, as libido constitutes knowledge modules, glistening aimlessly.

Candy will stop by later.
Here’s another centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut in plurals of progression.

Iconoclasts count on progressions in a series, along with any allure of falling fortunes
(they did).

From the center literally nothing is granted, good as your word.
It’s a poem.
Now months later, fine timing
Since you waited to listen, not empower others.

Everything belongs hiding in plain sight, living unhinged, no limits. A fact, also
a point... an ornamental one; our brain / body fiber pierced day, night, point b...

Terpsichore is still ascetic, improvisatory, a voice sherbet hued like Erato’s toppling the series, a voice of suspicion, hisses.
104: You’re being fair doing this, my friend, etc. I saw
You stop the actual dial hands, reset the pace. Still 
as such you and I may be deceived, turning to seasonal
purebreds for new figures, times and hot pricing, unless  
Turning green to yellow with fear is perceived better. Burn for me, friend. Hues balanced in your green motions 
Since.. I have seen shaken vector  
Utilities (direct flares) expressing beauty within your eye. Before you were born to me. 
Perfumes of April still stand as axioms in June — cold pride 
You’ve processed.. already stolen. Since and with such pride 
You turn summer into spring’s fresh age, 
Such a future never can be old.
Here’s what I would say to your teachers.
* We started hubble.
Being a family is our work.
Sonnet 105: We express idolatry as a science. Fair, kind, true.

Amazing to meet you as well as science all in one.

Amazing to touch your penumbra, feel influenced by funky themes, many songs.

I was pleased you communicated thru love.
Take care, and take your time;
likewise, inspire small talk between you

while keeping the sum under surveillance. You look good together.
Juniper my ass.


— since we polished the text, handed it in, don’t expect me after all.

Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform the boss
You’re not serious, never are.

Like you we’re turning state’s evidence holding on to meet
                  even newer phenomena (‘stolen parts’
To run over) any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved)
Or some won’t since you and I separate thru flexible equations,

Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.
Pantoum: given a key, you lose it
— shifting attention but staying in touch.

I forget functioning ghost towns caked with tire tracks,
I draw a blank on jailhouse interiors and decades of Tonka trucks

[...there is no outside [...] only what’s already here [what we breathe] below,
which is
Immature, impulsive...] [as above]

— I forget empirical relationships the most, the visual force of
                    a “mottled taxonomy,”

Complaints and sworn declarations,
I forget meeting you.
154: I’m sick of true love, disarming love once asleep; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of you.

I’m sick and so I vow a life of heart-inflaming desire never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate maiden hand abstractions.. (tripping by..

each taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we grow

mind and body worship by your side, un-quenched, a general practice that warms us before perpetuating a healthful belief system. Or is

That I prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats my heart for a cure?

As you advance, there are four surveillance cultures from which to plagiarize a response, while materials become more complex, building on what’s been put in the record.

Is that all you’re having for dinner?

One will need a clearer message for individual agency. There’s no humor in discretion. Wind in your hair makes us sick.
We can provide hacks for frenetic formality; tap the death screen. And when you come to a three-syllable word you don’t know, you can just reference your dad’s manual to nab the one-syllable crib.
114: There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in poetry. My eye wonders if that’s true; his best thoughts knit together like mica in kingly piles, shouts ricocheting through more than 1 voicetrack, lobbing pinned objects and underbrush until they’re scooped up holding our breath, beamed, kicked and gloved by catalysts.
Crime: The noun to which much is given. 
Can you spot the q and a between shorelines?  
While in the time and motion garden, a parallel door banged thru the night.  
I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground, our encampment after  
Ridiculous, I guess.. juxtaposed, dative..  
Anglophone atonal fuzzy. It’s so. We know it when we hear it,  


86 (Entanglement): 
Study Freud or any evolutionary researcher of the antic.  
Stick with too insoluble nonfiction you’ll fall into a niche in 5 days  
Blindfolded. Astonished. (Our precious guarantee.) By night 
Too brilliant dislocations a\we\re expected; it goes  
Beyond, there are dark, affable predicates fixated on gulling maneuvers —  
Team spirit by giddy ‘ghosts’ in their familiar case procedures to see into a surfeit of space,  
A sumptuous, sick bond,  
Full sail hosts lacking matter, writing in silence. 
for you

I went to hell with you.
You gave me hiccups back when, floor six. Now my senses are restored. The unoccupied mind is long overdue.

And I’m back in my vertigo seat, reading over and writing my disciplined boilerplate, my editor’s marble thought structure swarming with pleasant memories.
Gilbert Ryle asks, “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”

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

“Absolutely,” visiting professor I don’t know her last name will reply, if asked.
It’s only words, assembly, to quote you. 
They are real actors, not people. 


Frame: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources our way as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up temp and humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the fed in balance for two (or three, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, semblances that comprise enmeshments in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed for poetics; appliance hint: metronome.
I am is still here, the body’s purring could not be put off. (One dissipates the other.) And one sorority reviews egg whites in their spare, bubbly zeal to outpace an apparatus (not properly issued to commentary).
Wrong. Constantly wrong is correct once an hour if you’re a minute hand person. (Seriously? But what is identity.)
[...can’t stop it...through
language [going in] [out...] cheesy time lapses in which [animating backward] speech & narrative continuity become incrementally
transformed into deep structure affixing Old Norse phonemes to nonobserving verbs. ]
Now my head is cleared.

Still if we had grounds I’d subside higher up having you weed out caution.

I call this leaving you.
We’re trained in several logos and theologies; 
Hey it’s obvious as that degree you’re holding.  
Hands down.  
Sung language has a light vegan sexuality — 
Take a verse.  

We chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties  

Hanging out in their unusual white corridors  

Suggesting you’re still trembling from the  

Chew off .. just a short chopper ride  

From the bank and trade. It’s vegan  
With a so called mother gloss, 1st-  
Order phenomena pitted together as cognates  
Still coming to seed and adornment,  
Half-audible ricochets seeding us like a lawn. 
1: Ornament is content.

The yews know how to wear theirs, contracting buds to bury might in content with our bed in it — the last day we ate the world. Together and tender, flaming, increasing now
and then their memory subsided in time, turning dull and bright green.
63: Hours..drain..blood. Something came up.

As I am now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for a frontier in vanishing unboundedness: Organized treasures in a small package, tethered particle immolation. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory. With little or no motive, the sky foregrounds their process styles, stealing them all always.
Full expression is ruinous ahead of patterned, glimmering haze surrounding the powerful, dating them; you know, the level of glamorous self regard goes high. If all we do is seduce and note conquests, we lose. We lose austere joys, cloud dogma, sculpture perpetrated out of wire in scentless comfort, winter is coming skies. Scentless discomfort, too. 


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

Something came up.

Little or no, nothing. There’s so small

an exchange to transact, no product, only

an exhibitionist’s subtopic within the power den,

to prove repeated effort protracts pleasure.
There’s a cloying aspect when able bodies gather to
phenotype, we have to polish the devices

we had called gateways where wealth is wed (by the dooryard)
to far correlates, aspect 2, inventing a new intelligence of largess.

The third part I guess is our resolve that comes in processing integuments,
weekly tea, investigative retailing..

Here’s our take on never getting back together. It’s another part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
musical notes conflict w/ breakfast & rubbery clouds, a proverbial laugh:

Nobody totally killed it. Until you. The docents were untouched.

The estate repaired to is only offered in the ‘thereabouts’ pattern:

still, it’s not overrated, I whisper to you, falling myself for reincarnation roughing it ..oh,
wait we did this already..
54: You’re back!

Given the truth, we cave wantonly to your lovely sweet odor (fairer in our forgetfulness).
O wooed rose!

Before they show within you — and like you — perfumes far ahead were of dark matter, unmasking buds that distill a civilizing beauty added to summer’s space

Filling our eyes for show with unmeasured disassociation.
53: A substance note:
Shadow and imitation we know from illusion — 

Millions of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some other part a
-s long as shade 
stays constantly out of shape
through spring. Everyone’s one counterfeit value a
-mounts so poorly vs your new beauty, a 
constant show and all 
art, strangely lent to us either way. 
62: A painting of sin beaten, confounding as I am now —

I can say we drained its blood willingly (nurture, nature, frantic leisure).
All my heart the fit was good. My age has traveled on, your every fortified part of spring
When I noticed my self-love at work under you to make your poise smoke
w/ the problem being.


Suspend suspension..

Our hesitance to go there is weather related warmth riding in and a similar improvised sauna of fog out, darkness offshore the day before.
The atmosphere wheezes common sense. We can’t bang it out though its pace is emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, I’m a musician.
I have aged for you. You may have noticed I’m on the side of folding in meaning that has no purpose, just sheer falsetto.

You want in? Try eye accessing cues, carve out what rafter was last seen strapped at the top. A name for emphasis might be imagined.

A serious pronominal.
There’s a discontinuous method to share.
There is an automated palletizer of bread
With industrial KUKA robots in a bakery
In Germany where groove is so a verb.

An odd relay plants these thoughts.

We don’t do pinpricks, I’m told. I did my research.
Since I’m not adding bespoke grammar to anguish,
This would be a special offer, today only.
Anyway, I retract my falsehoods.
Sonnet 26: A life is charged by the menu. A duty so great
Occasionally you sleep, given immunity, I hope.
My thought is tottered, all naked.

Dear you,

The fine knits are lacking for a generalist’s conceit, wanting words to show half a wit. I’m fairly clueless about vertically integrated brinkmanship. Conceits in that field are deliberately made up to look made up, to look as if we need a hand skipping dinner, combing through motions and whatsoever low pressure peeled back from almost getting our tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brought you and me home.

I don’t think driving in the mind can be boasted of by moving points so good I’m not worried it gets easier.

I do love you till then.
Something came up. And what’s not mentioned expands underground.
This is unlikely as lightning gaining on fog. Lightning understands

it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no product.

How is it fire some want to be? Up in sparks fog glows

and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed or remedial past

the exercise and expense of the seven seas.
This is a short study. Or it was. Youth is that impressionable.
Ultra blurry, anamorphic, bound movement sung by writing it down and it occurs in the latest form of repayment,

— you
weigh nothing in and get no credit, no
spectral, tiny swaggering to cash in.

As it comes to end, there’s a substitution agreement containing someone to look up to
                            and me in force, pulled on from inside.

— oh yeah, pulled awake more than once w/ a face, a filled out line. Or lines. Smiling lessons.
You contain only so much of me.
I live where you belong, she said.


In every country other than the U.S. confessions are taboo. Not here. The first person is like everyone else in lyrical society, boasting bragging rights for having interesting things to read, packs of old love notes, crayoned hearts and drunken smiley faces, pledging boundless love.

Of course the I-trope is... sticky. The Ivy trope acts as if it spent decades on self-gazing, an assembly of pulverized dots — big, jaunty dots that gather at will to darken world markets, ducking your punch and closing the distance.
Blackened windows:
We know we don’t know
Facts are a marketplace,
A rendezvous to encapsulate sleights of tongue.
I’ll have sherry Pepsi. And just the sardines.  
I’m sorry this happened. I was going to stay  
from the moment we set the stage squinting within representation,  
getting some miles in, taking them on board, putting them in mind  
of a menial photorealism. 
Come on, don’t let me down.
Someday all this will be yours. A few
City blocks that lean socialist, an oblique, neat,
Untapped atmosphere w/ corners of slovenly
Housekeeping and, worse, earnest alignment,
Reading strung out everywhere. Living
Chronologically simulates the senses; these new scents
Went in circles as tho undressing.. sidestepping
Into some prowess of floating rare, unquietly new
Dance: It’s a sorry concentrate: Until I went broke I was indebted.

I just can’t do enough.
Now an international scale opposes the light in my body. It’s scary-loud at first, yet there are comic possibilities as dreams seem to centralize.

I came to my senses separating to put up a lava tint. So what if I say prompts the assembly made of torn Gillette letters and small decimals?
As a rule any attempt to hold forth is off topic.

The sun shines larger. We rely,
really like your ideas. / O

It’s such nice work, any idea
with its schema proliferates —

I’m still not finished, you pay.
We call soliloquy theoretical
since there’s no one else speaking.
The idea she’s extended is not audible —
it’s just a backstory in a way
sulking inside schemata for rooms —
Websites lie. This a translation lesson. I’m elegant and round. I can’t snicker. You can though. ### I’m off the wall. So I turn blue when I cool up. I blast by myself when you leave for work. When you come home I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the new temp, humidity tolerance and so. ### I can’t snicker I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.


I see your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it happens fast.

We wanted to go to

This point, stabilizing the office — over the ocean
W/out ‘water- or personal-contact.’
— you mentioned erring out

For tax purposes as accountants for love will suggest —
Kudos for some of their thanks!
Your iron determination to play your own tax guy is magnetic.

I’m solving you for new parity
W/ the scum of the peninsula.
32: You’re reserved outdoors, Psyche, for his love
Exempts us from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue.. 
That’s before reaching heights of happier men.
Satie playing, giving away what we’re good at 
— gosh a population for tears forms in cozy brothels. 
A class struggle thinking it’s for real. 

The struggle, not the tears. 
20: Like voices and solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.) — amazing particles sleep it off in traffic, affecting hands up to the bridge lattice.
Inside nature’s face you’ll find warm things. All hues, charged, painted brilliant to the eye. Passion that’s stuffed-ish.

Antic intellectualism invades the host work. The work less false & the life, almost like master and mistress glimpsing it as it flew.
23: My agent is a penis. Imperfect
actor. Its shortcomings balloon in ‘harmony’ & w/ use

— where my epistemology scampers in transparent secrecy
in such abundance I weaken w/ fierce ideas to leverage your heart in the pluperfect.

My mien adheres to an expressed rule staying purposely
dull, entered into by going your way first. It’s

clear refinement where character offers libation,
supports your tantrums from underneath. I can step right in.
It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?  
You’re at the door  
As I thought of you.  
Now a delay for  


Living somewhat left of Unitarian 
(Japanese cranes)  
it’s impossible to separate churning out understatement from the performance; both are adolescent in a good sense, pitch. So that’s how the cave and landscape felt. Next, a full database advanced by a minimalist method, burning out your swing meeting half-death in no way hapless, sensing no value contingent; partly insight, partly rot. 
It began as parallel ideas.
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series
As a glow that’s cool and regular.
36: Let me confess I sign off on others’ labor —
A newspaper edition, documentary remnants, penetrable databases —

We occupy this clever, conceptual nook, curling up, thinking up ...
At times siding with the powerful seems deliberate as well as passive-aggressive, love’s public effect, blots of respect for labor.
I’m kidding. I’m staying sarcastic — unironically. Anxious pleasures bearing pleasurable anxiety, repeating ...
A nonreligion of men, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:

Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases the dress code, a bolo tie display on 2 thru 8
For a race of giants (giants are made up pieces of one another in other names).

Love came up short for a few and drove them to forgery. Then shatters.
The taking of whatever works to swat the hand that feeds them,

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.
This is my 1st stab at tantrics, 
boiling sanguine, sad going through her pinafore of latitudes, so  
Perfect, she doesn’t see we’re getting drawing from other traces  
and no matter. 


There’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed;
the oppressed are what we avoid when we can be free

on the outside. A natural voice bouquet smolders
w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

In better Prada, a louder voice distorting the status-quo on otherworldly streets:
“Where are we going?” This or that way. I guess
so. Not particularly.
Those who still insist on fighting state power, let alone directly taking it over, are immediately accused of being stuck in the ‘old paradigm’: the task today is to resist state power by withdrawing from its scope, subtracting oneself from it, creating new spaces outside its control.

— Savoj Žižek
Solitary dark
                          the air pushes..aside

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

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.

I knew and now know I am unhappy and, like most everyone, not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..
Sonnet 100:

We have tangibility subtracting song
— work converted to industry
with little or no honor in order. Worthless

But it adds up. That numbers spoil everywhere, times
We don’t have to see you,
get the job done. Surveyed

We forget that’s why esteemed actuaries went
unmoored. Affection is idly vicarious what’s what. Vicarious isn’t long
enough. Thinner, stouter merge within what accounts spent,
a despised lost cause like a belief system, if any, the survey said.
Dear October looking like June,
I went to your reading dreaming of cutting out. I thought I went outside
and cried. Happy nerves. I need a new sum of things, just remembered.

A heart shaken culinary distaste holding
my tongue on the verge of resisting you, thanks to notes of civet and benzoin.

In the right daylight, polygamy twitching inside a church, acquainted with women and men’s affairs —
“In each house a different white hall, adapted to sever the head
from the vines. That’s an odd thing
to say, are you in or out?

Another thing, I want all the pillars and vines shaken.
I’ll put it this way and be done.
I misfiled your core principles, went 
for higher ones in baroque-neurotic sleep. 

Any higher, they’re not talking ..
(there’s tighter discipline) 

Highly apéritif, 
morally camouflaged cold indirection 

But our metabolism really took off, along 
with raw emotions from a huge manuscript 
I’m freezing, since 

It’s none of the above. 
Naval voices wake me up. 
It’s too embarrassing 

pulsing in a deep mirror, 
light rain to snow performing butoh. 

(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.) 


2)  Here’s a proposition. Start over. Compelling work toasts knowledge construction — in plain speak — as well as finds, explains & reforms infinitesimal times-spaces. Your optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning our work, always. 

Read Ashbery from the back forward: Defense owns — there seem — accents — these:
reticence such on put days, our
moving and light, puzzling in place
of morning winter smiles .. a chorus

Emerges which on canvas ..
noises w/ filled already silence ..

101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses re-cooled — mindful silence long overdue.
The senses I reference are in primary season.

And I’m back teaching, reading and lifting texts, you in the foreground with outlived memories. (The conductor knows everything because he needs nothing.)

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in the twin columns.
I can talk to your teachers. I can reason with them.
I can’t reason with you. I can’t even talk to you. Why?
Literally nothing is granted, nowhere, no why, no how.
There’s another centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut as progressions. 

Iconoclasts count them in a series, along with any allure of falling cornices. 

They did (in plurals). 

Now months later, it’s good news 
Since you wait for new word, not empower others. 

Everything belongs hiding in plain sight, on the ground, no hinge, 
Ornamental to a point ...a voice of suspicion, hisses. 
Two decades earlier I loved your mother and father.

I digress: I’ve got your back that’s looking deep and allowing, pleasant.
Parable: It’s nice to be interrupted thrice.


Our last owner had an understanding with multiple staff. 
His happiness washes up in our candy bar and cudgel DNA.  
O we celebrated, beaten but breathing in what’s next.  
We have a most advanced gene distribution system.  
Try to look better. 
Flames stink up the place. Hay on fire. Let’s dump all this way in the rearview where we can’t see. We will be leaving footholds in town, doubles of blurs in dizzy luxury, punching thru colorless straw and spheres in embers.

Hay savors just punishment! — regulatory propriety could care less, looking to nominal trivia — exactly what we recoil from, summoning logical defenses to explain a Hail Mary pass and your first entertaining containment.
31: You remind me of lovers gone. A morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms over their heads in all naked patterns —
This is their 1st stab at tantrics, due of many now.
They merit love trophies — now yours alone,

Tears hiding in view of you, in you
Disguised as glare removed from coastal space.
Playing hockey, any one team can lose
Yet we always won, until Vietnam, fair, square, smoking. 
Cupid’s appeal? Head-on appeal is stark 
for pacifist taste. Here, that’s speaking practically 
just as shoulders tilt 
half a second, the long answer’s in his moves hanging around the goal
you can scream, open and enjoy. 

I don’t know. Yes. Details collect. It’s a mad softness where 
we’re going over one part, step after Santa Claus step 
as mating instruction and human rights. 
Ly random swagger for the catch) 
(Trained} staff encourage sampling  
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking. 


Cupid is a hired gun who goes anywhere. Cupid’s id? It’s a violent,
smoking culture so we need straight talk.

It’s a gay culture so we need that. We’ve been up
for two centuries fighting overseas.
Head-on war is a mistake (Diane di Prima).
For all appearances nothing lurid was due at signing. Default 
Swaps in reconnaissance at the barricades live — 
You appear ok. Lie. This was about something else. Love,  
Never weep with your pant legs up, banker,  
Since footwear permeates antinomy, buried love  
Finally & meantime — your new agent’s housewarming runs on   
(blanched) curtains along w/ sliders showing movement hidden in you inside —   
Trolls at the barricades have been taking icky notes as the weather cooperates,   
Where reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains.   
Who will advocate for peace to empower mergers & exchange?   
For example. 
154: During the break we reached an agreement,
so the ham’s anger has hatched.. while his endurance and ours
enable the passing tourney (tense Fu owners)
to nuance emotions for the 3-in-1 innocents to proceed.

Heart asleep, little love, I remember looking up at you, at —
ahem — feeling an urgency in ideas taking heat. Women, men:
Legions warmed living in a debt growing city state. Maximum restraint
= get it done and so don’t talk to me.

Pumped with mandatory inflows of feel-
oops, they’re metering to block counterfeiters’
hen of steam: From which, from art of algorithms, all
Personnel will have to be shifted or fired,
coming to work anyway, achieving a remedy, seemly
bliss of the non-willed state, enlightened but as it is, lacking need or goodwill.
On a highway, gentle police lights
— Luxury vans flow in aid. Further uphill
Hauling “rays of light that seethe patently” — Stolen beauty ...and he gives!
He can afford it.

A ray’s lip, your lip, curls in his record performance /
Your opinion or position counts, a worthy argument
Made easier — you take the wheel,
Officer. I’ll hand it to you & have your way —

Then thank him —
There’s due process replicating our facial
Comfort in raw push-pulls ..

Touching on other behavior in a wily, rough
Translation .. (desultorily sexual) to read on, reread
Brutality extending just to your cheek by jowl for the nth call;
More intuition — “rhymed” with your near-virginity beneath disappearing into

What’s my business? Aperture systems led me to holding Volatility models from tv, vocalism in a sense. Hidden risks shift weight (merge accounts request). CVS photo counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, he back. Instructions are errands; I’m my own boss.
Collaborating on 1’s entrance essay: 1 firmly believes 1 can do this. The question is the same.

Nothing went wrong?

Part 2: Question losses, excesses.*

*The answer is the same. Next, we did our homework, which was study more for a spelling bee.


Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody 
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within practice 

To engage another’s psyche. 
 You’re always wrong to prolong your appeal. 
A bright spot on the game horizon, we’re beginning to see a need for a blanket authority or foundation to issue antinomian licenses. A nondemocratic institution that constitutes only one of a set to which no democratic or parliamentarian voice matters, no second thoughts, no heuristics, and in which nothing un-elfin or hurtful belongs or stays put, holding ourselves to the test doctrine of multiple shots at Todd’s Miniature Golf. 
152: Selfportrait in loving you with hedge clippers, fighting blood sugar.
[Zygotes follow commands. It’s a collective.]
I remember hedges thru 3rd parties, their deep kindness.

Sunrise. Whose-ever rhyming system — Uhmmms call up oblong homonyms,

Playing back strings to pop songs — the RNA of things they see..
[Earle Brown in the audio ground..]
And to enlighten you and me I’m

Mashing oaths of love into phosphate genetic tads, keep-saking you, me, ourselves!
Poeets with long guns:
Jonn Yau, Anne Waldman, Charles Bernstein
And silencers:
Peter Gizzi, David Shapiro, Al Filreis
What’s this eyebrow to?  Eyebrows pile up like the snow of socks before a sit-down inside the capitol.


I am confused,
claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop bleeding
is not a complete thought, lacking, useless settling in
meaning in a way — a rain and raincoat of moods, one’s thank you for pastimes
as warm-bodied as visually queuing up for everything.

So you get it now, assigning completion to us to go cathartic
is no yes vending graft about dualism
with hand and finger gestures where we get caught chatting.
Once your public is mounted you can add your own awesome content!
Your first lover.

He could heal you thru.
Then forces of narrative come seething, your breath fixed

to the floor as it circles midair as if it had a right to.
Also we see our ETA.
We won’t be a second late — your ex boyfriends
understand we can meet seeing you.

That’s the gist.
146: I’m talking to you in American. 
Christ is missing. No more dying then? Not going to lie to you, I watched us dream economics feeding, painting a radius, destabilizing temperament like small worms eating up the soul. A body loss. Looters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing well respectively — great work, cuts straight through its own restructure creating more chopping patterns to abandon.  
The chips mount a background to soundtracks muting key words. Entire sectors of us feel it’s about time, so short a lease, epic sums on new slender gloss. The walkway and manly instrumentation  
are redone in full combat. Let’s wonder about tidbits of hyper-literal churning depth. (It might be feminists who went on genome probation.)  
This is that world’s decision theory now selling hours of dross.  
(Ideologues always get stuck on the last lines.) 
The float seems to learn fever can be unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things,” had 
Simon Schama anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the fair, to the bright we’d need no caption.”  
The float throughout anticipated that base point ..  
What does there’s still a move to go do?  
Keep nursing desire past cure — a psychic point or three feeding the appetite to please. 
And here gear management inserted a bonus to exchange and not so bad — 
a physical act of fondness that can only end in a draw sustained one by one  
getting up, stretching for an hour. 


After glamour there’s power. The virus is already inside us, wo-
lfed down improv crap, we’re pre-wired or is there a fee?
Radiance now is the lather of swing. Remember deliverance?

“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?”
Anytime and place of our choosing: Act gathered.
Monkish antinomy left the office to 1/2
nter on taking off for pinier points, points to please death, love,
                    desperate even dying.
My 3-D models are you & everything else I can be w/ w/out you if
You left me at random past care.

This dawns on me once
Before blasted onward, discourse & chaos go hand in hand, utterly psychic as we are
— having seen it, married it earlier

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

My love as a fever costume, stretched black poplin, black as hell in a trance.
I see your idea. Gnarly aviation.

Purity on the surface deed’s recorded, perked into light


Private property struts, wound up slugged from penmanship,

A ’contract’ in big physics, ghastly on its back.
There’s envy of haters’ swimming synchronized, beyond prayer —
With or without ebon ink global capitalists itemize all bets.

One pleasure is borrowing sentences to raise our debits.

All experience is seriously correct.. How to win.
You called me what?
134: Knocked up by surety and apparatus, unattainable vote totals involve usurer intrigue, bromance, equipage of the half-taught or self-illumined. An inured slice of childhood domains all to use another time. Back in time.
So now and then I liked primary grades more. Later, in romantic couplets, one confessed breathing up, swollen within a radiant distance — lost, wearing nothing but motives for aching to do what we were afraid to be? So he’s yours?

I’ll sue you for disrespect, covetous of my comfort, a friend, my couplet. I lived your peach flash thru witless dialectic. I drank your Labrador tea. And for doctoral research I took up free, motorized speech.

I don’t worry or pierce my ears further.
All experience is seriously correct.. 
But what is?   
How can it if I tell you what I’m?   
I’m in no hurry. A life was charged  
now curled up on the menu.  
(Have to go.)  
There I’m preaching to your eyebrows.  
(Cave safely.) 


Dutch people go Dutch. I go along. 
I’ve moved to the Delft coast, Rijswijkse Waterweg, dunes of Irontown, because my ideal climax is at the salt edge, just across from Spread Eagle where I’ve bagged the dainty, ultra built new guy who lives at the priest’s house, along with the priest’s teen sons.  
[Very few priests hereabouts.]
Just before Halloween this comes in.
Your first lover could not heal your mind through his skin.
Then we happened to answer you, seeing the wind is fixed in the dirt
and circles midair. We see your subtle flight.

Buried for dead but still in our view:
If I put my hands on..
you can’t hear me you’re going too fast (bicyclist to bicyclist).

It’s a mistake in the tradition but it gets you to sleepwalk with one shoe in hand.

I will find you.
There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore.

And there’s a hypertonic struggle to housesit too much information. You know it exists. Human body fat is worth $100,000 a gallon.
This is the good gold.

A life is charged for care. I’m otherwise a coffee head! But let’s pare it down.

Have we ever done anything but tamper with the weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, Ladytron. You seem so fake-excited in the sprayed periphery, staying in balance inside a soft radical vapor of bigness, loosely demolished.
Facts are a marketplace; figures look good when least derivative. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B).

It’s profound and prefigured... mark how the Frankfurt School’s defenders get nested within the keyboard to flatter contingent values within partitas, trios and quartets for others’ voices from inventory.

Our nervous system can distort music abysmally, Charles might say, to emphasize changes in radial evil neglected by the super ego. B is for Bukowski.
That slap in the face harder to explain now — a waste of energy..
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropic action — 
W/ a cruel lemon sliver caught in my nose, pairing up past reason,  
Romeo and Eurydice. Just a wedge. 


Your mellowness operates transferrable accounts.

As it were. Yet it’s shameful to work for the state. How did Paulo Freire alone stand, pause and brush back his hair? others like him looking up like flight risks? To keep going we find little or no compromise.

The music seems headstrong but we’ll give you a call.

“Great ... I’ll just hold...”
Trust an old memory,

Corporate design is a full-length mink coat.

I have nothing else to wear.
Ounce by carbon resin ounce native fluency may be floatable within, once regarded in this wholeness w/ contours beeped forward, smart enough tho meaner beyond these whereabouts.

The native whereabouts on loud speaker as it were, the workspace, the top percents of it, can hear,
feel its sweet succinct stages striking noon after dark.
What about fabulous machinations to pull off another scandal to influence comment?
Visceral, intellectual? Dopey red (Perseus) v. sociopathic radiation (his mom). Vaunted in sap, complexities debate the high surface where the stars in secret inform a young writer:

Find yourself with someone brave-headed for a new decraese... try an elision with young clowns, inconstant, non mimetic v. those mouth-piecing others’ ideas (wearing sweat colors).

If I join you now we might invert informally. Married, selfsame unmarried.

After lovemaking, performance.
151: Our berserk contacts squeeze topical structure into gentle shadows that are too numb to know what conscience is.

We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over the poor and excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When instrumentalists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross prize although our ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
Wait time takes full effect per a week ago.
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.

One only care

I wave where you are not tho I feel you are.

2. This is tomorrow before the cart.
The vapor all for it, both arms, waving. We see
Your candidates constitute the unmarried Non-Group playing a best-of-vulgar,
Long shot in a ritual for door prize for outlasting how nice that would be.
I’d heard a heart beats faster waiting at ease. Wait time takes ‘full effect’ without attachment to addictive capital, arresting back.

This is an edit. That’s as close as I have to lush, less certain, too-ennobling a pulse.

It’s what’s put back.


Here it comes. Sometimes later.
Bandits 1st
You translators are a close 2nd. 

We appear ordinary. This is almost about something else. 

Then I repeated if I were you I’m about all I should have — 
Space time. Slash pauses.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while angles of light are brawling on taking us home.
Vaccinated, a merciless itch, what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
/ Passing thought immortalizes the X+1 “casting
of cities,” thinking past us. A true 2 years B-4
messing with U. Why wait?
I’m dating other cast members while I go thru systems
as in your own speech act II.

We’ve gone over this.
You look great in text, available where I promise not to rewrite.
Before I’m never to see you again ff course there’s a way unfolding to take you out, shake you tamed,

Fair illustrator. Killer. I’m otherwise kind of a coffee head. Question..
Have we ever done anything but toy with the true weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, fair Ladytron. You know, you seem so fake-excited in your periphery, kind of staying inside a soft radical anathemic vapor, loosely true

Yet demolished. Ergo your discourse comes down as animated routines. No personality.
Going back, favoring a fair objective

Boy-girl, your kind is in a chess game.
I’m going to castle you. We are..

Shall I mark you as another true ambition
in an illustrator’s incident layers, 3 in 1 —

Having what you’re having, sorting the dots’

Congeries of texture? I turned and we asked again.
(It felt unwise.)
Heavy-lidded, an escort’s sensibility (as if I know any —