My blood is your poems, how they make love. That’s why
I’m close to invisible as a companion, not of this sexual province.

One by one. Everyone else smiling. A sober intro...

We’re having a fit with anxiety. Everyone a worker-sleeper.
Then I remember there’s exigency in our good fortune.

Not like feeling mortal, all to the good...

Well, a few drinks later the silver range blows up! We’re

engaged about engaging — part of the work week!
I-Ching for idiots or dummies (like me):
Go on.


The gestalt is to look urbanely offhand and sound normal, asymmetrically curt.

In the change-up scene everything is repurposed into conceptual deflation.
Psychotropic bios now are commonly diagnosed as parallel discourse stratagems.

One concentrates on the next available thing
Until one goes broke; summarily I am screwed.
I then center on perception (whether beauty or wit), sustaining losses out of irony.
No futures present new phenomena —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony purring yet put aside.
3-D models are mindless taking chances, everyone we can engage in transparent secrecy, charged by mental concision.

Rationed compliments ensue and float
several kinds of math.
The math is fascinating, I think, to squelch tautologies of wealth and actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power we might have had. Had the self taken itself nostalgically?

— an idea to play w/ just one note in the future perfect.. where disrespect feels like eavesdropping.
64: The soul is a belief system, which I have seen defaced
done in by time, grief and American English.
I hope you can let this go..

Time will come to take our love away leaving me breathing without form; structurally I’m sustained by so lofty a hypothetical force —
I can’t go on without an interchange — an episode in your telegenics.
When we walk together, it makes no language difference what we believe, what the soul is.

I’m just commenting having you, I fear losing you.
The soul’s inscription reads you’re my business.
the thought is out there
I did not finish the sentence.
This is my first try in three dimensions.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, a humanist quiz.
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.
Thanks for the memories.

You ruined everything.


It was great being with you.
Or was it just me?
There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invest now, daylight garners one
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 an open enough peace
next to sleeping people staring through the ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason
before the ice scissored out the upper grades.
98: Smothered abstractions. Absent from you. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep in the spring, dreams drawn from you, dreams that forgive not for holding the moment but for paranoia’s trapping you too. Summer’s story, flowers’ smell, lilies, roses are but sweet. The spirit of youth losing control. If we let it go we yield all authority.
Close to my sources I believe in the healing power of unhealthy options. Percussive isolation. Resentment buried in a colossal physique. Orpheus, the overspontaneous,
beat through a dinosaur theme park. Don’t care, I only lie about what I believe is right, clinging
without a theory of purpose or the gift of agency to promote his case, as masking vanity becomes a sidekick’s challenge.
Baby Watteau —

The empty sale window is closing and I’m on the move (or we are). Early or late, the sky’s not falling as point of fact. Watteau flows like a dancer / stripper in a spiral. Another point in fact, harder to verify. More blessed, Baby’s greatest came early, someone like Cézanne was late. These data still matter, in a manner — I’ve found someone else, deeper in, a thinly veiled version of Cézanne.

The flow is hard to describe — a man, a higher up, going blind. Perfecting for a fall. My baby traps me.
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.


Concision in detailing method is a catamaran in process.

This is how morning began.

Getting there we wait in long lines for a Trane. The Japanese are hardly speaking. I turned to a companion and asked if he was interested in how poetry’s put together.
He thought about pure things are style surrounded by syntax. All at once.
It 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.
42: What do you need now and for what?
You may ask if I loved you.
Will it matter, that bravo question?
Do you test, tease, defame to get the best?
I ducked his punch, closed the distance.
My loss is my love’s gain for my sake.
I told him, no don’t, I want to bolt.
Loving offense I excuse you both.
Trump investments.

Absence of thought rules for higher authority. Top markets fill to their edges with intricate crosshatches over pastel word clumps, busy yet redacted, hacked into coherent thought. The soft vellum pellets change our impression a bit. A busy, contingent thoughtlessness that’s slimed, generally.
Summer’s welcome. The emptiness that was

one fine day...

                  A mercury-brimmed scree

insubstantial in unexpectedness

to dawn, ‘disappeared’
into the leg o’mutton of oblivion :
You behind the scene evaporating..

— we owe you nothing
                  falling out w/ your daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer precipice..
every day becoming ordinary knowledge

of parallel ebullience
                  waiting to come round up ideas sprouting from half-sleep,
holding up w/in geometry to grant the horizon the whole body.
Light with a spooky edge
To sound like your own critic.


Everywhere there’s fog off a force field you tend to dislike, nowhere better!

No ripped off melancholy, no lecture / rap / blues, no shelter against the curious. I’m lying.
Part of what I do here. Throw up my hands!
O Jesus
A severe honey glow

crowning his shoulders — groomed

disgust in his walk, his mystic theater

perhaps addressing us, the radiant

pull at his mom’s sleeve.

Perpetuity emptied of the given moment.
56: Lament:

Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit, a blunter edge. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors. A sad interim:

The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Hey, there are no middle class essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, renew your force, stick to the sentence.
Come daily to the return of love tomorrow today.

To go along continue needing riches, sharper appetites.
Rare thanks for the view.
Snapping to / not snapping.

Anyway, hipster memory
is a contradiction in terms.
A shortcut to an off prediction.
Unilaterally a hipster

throws out softballs,

variously literal — the power

system (it’s decentralized)
mounting a bait

and switch to chalk up

the utility of hip lingerie per se,

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

Anyway, go to long love making memorizing

parallel futures on a projective plane.
Why move into the crash test?
It’s up to future officials to unpack Zen’s base ironies. Where are they, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to
get supplies flowing out since they
make love too much — so and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, staying relaxed can lull you into a slippery tranquility.

That’s Zen-not-Zen up to now.
Define a language with no kids.


* Before I turn into another parabola of you, yours, I should take myself out and stay out, crabbed, hesitant to set off emotion that might fail. There’re signs you just want to cry — and it’s not a bad smell, just sad or wifty in dimness when I wake up. It all goes well. You and I take off, tho. One by one. Reasons are weather related, paleness this morning and a similar wash of fog coming back, lilac-dark air and offshore atmospheres yesterday, the day before. Winds shifted and I barely pertain, and why should I? It would be contradictory and limitlessly impolite to insist we’ve won in a runoff of longing and gratitude. That you and I are taking time to sift through (even the slightest) parts here would be a datum of coincident poses. I cherish your transitioning to mine, bringing it up to me every day yet I can’t presume what we can’t express, foundering and tongue-tied, handing our fortune over to the 1st letters of the alphabet. You want back in — me too. Keep in touch.
Production through retrieval and communal ethos are distinctive features of the medieval era. It’s not unironic in the least digital data assembly enables our return to those kinds of production and ethos. Work produced now is parallel along almost incalculable dimensions. And if most of that work is still authored, we can posit the mushrooming of art production (including poetry) over a relative short time will totalize individual product into a kind of arguably 2nd-tier relevance (with a few nonconceptual exceptions, of course).
14: In my judgment
what I know is in your eyes. True for now.
Good luck can never bite. Except not at night. Newer urgencies
where prognosticators get rained on, pointing to each other
so exposed they feign constant ignorance. True for a night.

And yet bad luck when a lightning rod derives its light / very lightly
a chemical wind thrives for a second and returns to stars —
doomed as cognitive coloration, brief astronomy, all matter.
If you know rhetoric
it changes your feelings;
it changes others’ behavior,
especially in poetry.

Our poetry changes
our writing now,
the one you’re reading at another
time coming up now.
Benji, stop that. Strange dog. We’ve decided to beat it out of you.
Say something. We’re losing your spirit and pulse.
BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when you can’t dream..
When you ripen, parking spaces have a word with you. Children are the future —
keep them distracted.
if you lock your rooms you can’t get anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues on white, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go, head din, bones saturated watching out for huge snowy droves of behavior.

I feel absurd in doctor’s hold still shining through milk-white conditioning. The dirty side of dressing left; way left, skin head.

I don’t deserve friends like you.
In my illusion
of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
and got lost and scattered trying not to be distracted.


Sitting down delivers good news, stateliness already had its faint say. Now we can text and steer over time and zeta functions falling in hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.
How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pulling the trigger, replacing subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: there are structure, acquisition, use, media — no eros in no ideas.

Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic failure.

If that’s allowed. Failure, pleasure, pop up, to that effect.

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.
144: You and I model language as living matter, two loves we have re-involving impulsive energy that courses through particles of appropriated intellect, especially given appearances and given language itself. Still. Never in doubt, you and I may yet not directly tell this synthetic transmutation of fiendish intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t folk history of subjugate pride and procedure.
2. Bad news, I was
struck by the French property owner. You know,
plagiarism done in loose quotes.
It’s cold indirection,
but my metabolism really took off, along
with emotions from a huge manuscript
I’m freezing,

‘quote’ Watching text spin like sentience
refined by distance; since
it’s none of the above, this could be for you now.
1. I use bigger words than you,
The spring flowers, the moon in autumn —
Classification by evolutionary collisions.
I think I prefer staying all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.
Freakonomics in a Trump-era world, driving toward departure from what is present in the original meaning to experience.


Shoo-ut, I’ve been put on a 20-year watch list. Again.
Good I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of misnomers. Eating and breathing them too.

Ghosts roam with the panicked. (All of them.) It’s like a last dance to respect what you guys were doing — you were working on it.

There’s hustle to market, along with rips in the cargo of space/time whose vessels burgeon on ennobling, blobby warmth, piped in like Berlioz, accompanied by addictions to risk. Come here often?
A poem fires up photoshop.

It’s often said a poem is a picture — I read madras pea
Coats — albino kittens hitting crescendos annoying cringing robots.
Drown me out, speed bags.
Drown and kiss the cleft, sanguinary as dissolvents —
Love makes lock up toxic.

Photoshop that.
No problem.
No appointments today. Triumph** is creepy*.

*Creepy widely construed as inaudible tendencies toward plundering contexts to alter the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology. 

**Triumph, group or personal, can be unscrewed during Q & A’s. How does triumph threaten a referent? when going straight to the point? Was ist das?

I’m asking out loud for one reason only, so the receiver will sound an alarm (an annunciator light).

Merely of course sounded.
59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new here — going backwards —

Let’s labor through
this ostentatious luncheon in old world pensiveness,
self-admiring praise.
I might see more, fool my brain mended by your image yet your fly is open.
Stay in character.

O sure you’re freaked by what antique words
dig up and how re-inventions are composed, but we have to keep our wits — and under whose

thumb? And am I yours? At first revolutionary, we’re going backwards —
Our politics are criminal.
That way it is (the way it is).
I’m going to try and get around this.

I’m going to take my inside voice
...over here I have news to
twist in cold but leafy acreage.
‘Come here, get out of here..
I’m out of here..’ other poll data
. . Out out of
mind I guess —

That’s how we want it.
Absolute vice concerns phrasal pyrotechnics, no news content.
Honesty — we used to say — is the sanest practice for thumb control and body fitness.

I have nine lines for you:
Let’s go thru it again, generations of worship set in. They come back. Soon you relax your balance, honestly, equipoise for a good writer is common enough, even now.

We went over appearances, for instance. Funny and finally, nine lines are one-sided in three dimensions.
Key is you volunteer in a regimen for hours at a time and it wears off — here’s what’s known: secretions from glands hang out in our brains, slanting the blurred promise you have, had or you don’t know in the aftermath of the hiatus, revving up.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis
according to types of daring.

Don’t smolder, show us.


Bandits 1st.
You translators are a close 2nd.
That leaves ‘just the 2 of us.’ We appear ordinary.
This is about something else.

Then I repeated if I were you I’m all I should have —
Dawn went. You were next. Nothing else. Eminent domain:
Not to arouse the unknown or undue, your well being was my concern. I won’t forget.
And that does it for this hour. Circumstances have postponed further equity w/out a wife, w/out you = one counter-narrator chuckling in introspection as an open reading picks at our rhapsody rights, erasing them (or trying) in observed time, laughing behind the capitol. Many observers.
Just because I feel nothing, Pessoa,

You’re leaking results before ‘thinking it over’;
IF I have no idea that holds you,
THEN how does an idea
Of idea an
-ticpate stipulating processes for missing the feel of practice?
Let’s start then w/ an idea
Of making out
Up a big tree in Zion where detachment is trimmed back —
Just because I feel nothing doesn’t mean
I can’t or won’t come up w/ representational songs of cognition, w/ jaded lyrics.. Literally externalize my comfort. Externalize discomfort, too.

You’d lose a lot of the dude and preachy man. Sounds yeh.
Show me a locket grant once.
Once & be done. A few more should
Do the climate fast with aughts shining

A whole new side to nuts & tightening bolts, narrow & hollow at center, along with holding on 100%

— inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, fragile, dark in the nick of it.
Angst, a buffered work force roughens up indulgence.
You got married without thinking about known side effects,
without — wait, I forgot why I called.
We’re halfway there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.
The loneliness and excruciating pain
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing
basin, weeping .. Trumpets! You try piling on debt, ok?
Highly readable to a point.
These data waving in rocks of sunlight, gaunt & obese
Blowing cold.


Here’s my favorite. Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises. (The audience is artisans rising, 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.
The it happens. A man’s voice, handsome, calm, also nervous ab structure.
Protecting dignity threatens it. Everyone knows that.
Bathing —
‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to a dictator eating a banana casing the terrain. From the next room.
A white room with a sense of space and ruthless closure.
50: A hip cast of super angels strumming harps, an encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus

Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far the miles for me are measured from my friends left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members get authenticated —
They are casually let go as they groan for us.

Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind
Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:

Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are away while I am on the way at travel’s end.
I had this idea. No ethnicity.
Not like gogo boots or a crucifix or ...
longer eyelashes to bring your pupils out.

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

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

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

You know I’m two-faced. What? Nothing. All right...

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

A wordless deaf-mute. What could
be more what you are?
Producer to producer, a private-public distinction
no longer limits enormous outcomes.

Besides giving birth
I write on my agenda.

I manufacture algorithmic flyweights.
For lunch I drink up history, empathy, bounce.
My protectors are brokered by a security alliance like yours.
“Let’s trash love stinks.”
Rakish note, my mixed medium ..

The exact second you insert the first-person, a moral freedom can and will drill five feet down under the ground, a strafed, natural spectacle falling into coherence, something you never saw and you never will, you existentialist freak-Jack.


Japanese all nighter :
Dedicated robots embrace the free market, she announced in a penetrating tone,

a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, free of anguish for the moment.
She picked that up from them..
..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..
O Buddhists of progress **
We’re back in vertigo

Yielding authority practicing karate high noon.
: Yeh, sure, take me on your own.
Karate brings up vast nothingness just now. Nothing is vast and tiny. Or vice versa.

Or maybe nothing is merely pragmatic, more like mannerist enigma-cutting, modifying collective memory w/in incessant self-interrogation?

Who can share one’s convictions?
Since the larger backdrop flows, for my corpus I’m writing in a bristling cycle of perpetual panic.
The set director has called for corn husks now, vinyl-yellow, by french doors in a gentian shaded room where we proceed with surgery to remove a wall of fat.

Not yours, happily. But close enough.

The screenwriter wants to stay translatable, simple, s/he develops the fat — rewrites fat as windows.

And the surgery is successive! One pane at a time, the windows break down, riv vu.
18: I compare eternal lines to you, as you are more.

I believe a temperate art is set to do so, to make mistakes, rough comparisons to too hot a month this coming May or one that’s past. Say, all summer you compose more than nature’s change in course, growing (untrimmed) — owning every day for every moment — and knowing when to shine, to seethe.

And often seeing how hot eternal summer is, then fading all too short ..
Whew .. we see you not fade sometime and often in poetry and art from fair as far and long as men can breathe.
I believe in fact
There’s a way we recover from riches and most happiness: as litigants in the field henceforth —

With context as the right field once there was a C-class.

We stay on board out in left ..

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

It’s about letting go and taking you out of context —
Donor class curricular adjustments. They apologize for the inconvenience.
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. we’ll ..
Near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, managerial sweepers,
Theorists of a visual world culture wholly populated by posturing.
Remember to slam the parentheses behind you
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang
(to be on the safe side).

— James Schuyler


Ever the moment to play all night.
Look around, what’s background?
Barely perceptible lightning over fog. Homology and prudence. Package v immolation. The expressed instant comes around, triples our worth. No questions asked, we work the lower teeth for the same carbons to put this together literally, a textual refuge.

Meanwhile something came up.
Variation: Small islands serve as hideouts. Safety regulators are restless. Excellent. We shall conquer childhood, read over the presentation, juggle a few heads. You’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop. I’ll invade your space then leave later, lately not feeling calm over you but crazy.
51: Movement, not lineage — war is unjust when there is only one side to wage it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps pace.

I’m an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly deliriously a business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles, no excuses.

What time do you get off work in poetry? Shall I know?
Speeding up when swift extremity can seem but slow

I hasten to run toward you
before even starting ..
It’s real privilege to be singled out
.. Suffering, complaining, 2 out of 3 observers got off, depleting the shipment. Surnames are ..oh forget it, uh? They’re randomly conjoined.

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

Fall back, breathe while our new rescuers get authenticated.

Breathe, again, push, five..

It’s about not breaking ranks

To achieve a balanced personality we come to bury.
Affordable Noh. That’s us w/ big hanging wolf eyes. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to breathe when we meet, somersaulting in /

What goes around then comes gasping, the more irregular the verb:

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

Noh stuff.
Are you sitting in the sentence
listening ? wearing nothing but
eagerness for a motive to
hear what we were afraid to be?


I’ve tried my hand at cinematography, finally. What are the chances of two projects in one year.. I’ll lighten what’s complex, replacing clean and dirty dialog with ad libs, also silence, a kind of stripping down to not using your poems. Not reading enough of them for two films!

I’m making this next one into more of a slowpoke essay when it comes to transcendence. Filming is writing, so the essay part is built in. The problem is engineered simplicity, both as affectation and a trans requirement.

Looking into the camera, I go protesting demons, go shopping, and I like standing outside various consulates.

I’ll let you know how diners at the beach fare.
A beautiful writer, standing in the sun, front and center. When
distracted, one heard “Continue − to enter the contest area − Continue.”

Not going to lie to you, I watched both of us — affecting a radius, destabilizing ‘oppositional’ temperament. On our side, all going well, considering;

                    — to consider is the great work, cuts straight through any restructure, throwing out hyper-nonliteral churning depth w/ gutsy abandon.
* The budget cuts (last line) are background to double-rhymed soundtracks. Entire funding sectors feel it’s the end of capital, epic sums expended in slender career arcs. The bitcoin walkway and instrumentation

are redone for full combat. I pictured us in another life or

I’m wondering about a lifetime, what could be. Male feminists are on genome probation,

according to decision theory. / Only for you...
Sonnet 61:
Simple enough picking up a pen . . . land and those living on it have data functions, similarly I see you.

I watch your synthetic appropriation by composition, the vigil and force applied putting your youth

into a piece, since the grown man does not come by himself, regardless of beauty — the river bank plied by far off

metaphors and substitutions of the time — more informal, so near home it’s taking dictation, thinking after your love of my love of you.
All your life as if a mercurial quantum.. floating in erotic lurches and nibbling torque measured across dotted lines..

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

Yeah, that’s funny.

Take all of mine.
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, holy body of ... could be Christ —
Sir, m’lord,
Parlance should sound ok, staying measured outside,
What Esau called discourse in action ...

Our love may be fraught but
Esau is the Seth Myers of discourse pundits for Christ’s sake.
The mind just calculates sitting there. It wants to be best friends. It’s saved us a burger. An idea of glimmers, aroma: The apparatus out back, grills in place, waiting —


The 10 impulses do not exist
So that the singular are correct appears

A flaw to syntactical secessionists —

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

That’s what one impulse sounds like, not is.
A new problem set:
Work through naïve discourse —

Keep methods observable as mayhem —
Call this ‘transactional’ taking action
Unlocking — on sight — your feeling from the start, the only unmoving part.
To declassify is to achieve: Aiming faster at deficiency of thought, a text of ideas. All the same, this is the 2nd point.
Surely there’s no rebounding beneath the social parasail of poetics administration.
— not even one’s afterlife can break the dark rules that commit us.
Universalisms belong in the verbatim over

-supply. That is, which lexicons will be appointed most enabling. Ellipses point a way out of rational elements & will continue — how we express and re-express others’ ideas, cup

in hand. Big, multiple ideas are broken down or / add up..

constituent, subordinated data emerge, repeated as big data, simple / and not.

Simpler the better. Poor verse yes, scansion none the less.
92: To my love in constant revolt, stealing away...

Once again my life ends. Next, I’m happy love never stays; love is vexing weather dependent on inside scars. Manual labor. A heightened blush. Learning to fear the worst I’m happy to have had your love — I don’t know, what’s a fair question — is there one last best state to restage or not to live in? It depends on you and me, not false humor, not wrong, I belong in this humorless state without you, without dashing our love. I find my lifetime love for you is self-assured and formally difficult and, oops... Others happy to die are on fire.
Happy to die! — do we take their place?
How could I be so foolish in bed, you ask.
You’re the matter at hand.

There are subtitles, various languages. You pen and ink while staying awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
I’m taking you taking this from the back to the throat. (You asked.)

Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.
You can exit the room at any point, burning, or add features to nodes, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.


Wearing new ear buds, flashing forward. Unnerved by this chamber piece somberly floating in fun stuff, now audible jokes of mute resignation, of intention preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power. Not hearing more fosters coercion of what evolutionary good was before it ran through some options.

Unless there is nowhere else.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply, our lot’s in a hurry.
Can we cut to the scary part?

No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual, sparkled amid meanderings that are ordered appearances going dormant or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
97: How to croon: Conditions look hopeless — like winter without you —

like wanting you (I do) for pleasure,

not calculation. Being orphaned began vast and bare, removed from summer.

And yet fleeting — I feel you like to stay away!
What freezing and dark days! Seems to me the very birds are mute.

But I’ll wait on you, perplexed by December’s bareness

and now everywhere dreading the winter’s near.
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, in a more subjective state, a quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height.
This is a true/false dance question. Fibber Perseus v radium Dana (his mom). Which are ya?
In one draft you as Perseus can see big futures, taller mouthpieces enter the salon rolled ‘into’ burbles [B flat major], ‘into’ spools of more of her opposites, Dana’s tendencious pedestrians, 1st- or 2nd-years, sweating lead colors.

Dana can’t help smothering her loved ones. The very birds are mute.
On morality,

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

I’m alive, wanton feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a duplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up swans, emotionally shot ..
devoted to seamless disproportionality.
Mere research reports what’s on the mind.
Why not reflect it in the text?
One lie cannot be replaced by another
It contains without a filled out license.


Sweeping reductions were next.
One pleasure then is borrowing sentences to cut your rent.

The previous owner told us to cut it all off, gave us gobs of cash
and that led to holding our share of a volatile

augmented beyond constraint, driven
by the smallest shift in feeling you all over me at the core.

I never use that word now.
What is known is types of metonymy.
Outside branches of instrumental research,

Poetics, a subset of epistemology, entails voicing new speech from old,

I see the wind smudging a porch, observing what’s streamlined and compressed, aiming fast —
I’m scared. Good night to write up an accident or two that don’t matter, made tactical as we circumvent voice commands, remaking spatial morality into chance agency, no vision, no dash, no longer having to know.
95: There’s a container for every vice, every sport or budding passion. Also the story of our days.
We leverage, if we really want to, commenting further w/out you. But there you are! my heart.

How long does my tongue have for praising, telling your story — how great, how sweet it was / adoring your beauty

.. yet .. Here I am! Lascivious conditions. Only naming a name, your name;

No hope it’s you. Bliss bundles this large privilege, including all my shame all eyes can see — in a kind of heedful praise of our sins, my heart.
De rigueur for now is farfetched. / Let’s consider what might outrank Zen. / Your dialogs sound libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio, some science fiction

— all right, let’s start the open air in complete command of nothing.
Wearing a wigless wig is 1 method and standard model.
Measure = unbending contradiction, full, official division in one’s mind and 1 other, you!
Start writing.
It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.
The charge is here, thrill in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to remember the (mission) exchange. Or extra charge.
Your every utterance is on the jet trail — quelling fear of pain —
That’s how being with you seems in sleep and still you are unattainable —
Say you’ll be back. You never can tell.
Poverty is all right, but fuck extreme poverty.


You’re on every page you were unmentioned.
There aren’t enough shortcuts to go around ..

My soul’s on break, thinking in a style of incompletion (tourist boats),
Obsequious, sharpened,

Few motifs — the wash of light gets exaggerated.
I need you and wonder on (language).

: A new music took off about here :
To encapsulate your suspicions ..
“To whisper through fracas takes a kind of aplomb, an achievement needing practice, a cookout with overview. Among classes of poets: waifs & strays & some lucky ones orphaned to an alien ethnicity, completely busted, out of place, in the wrong skin. (Welcome, rookies!) At teaching intersections they come together for untangling snarls in their alien presence. If they nearly die for the gravy, they’ll show us their wounds, love notes imitating fury.”
35: Your slightly shabby rooms are elegant.

There’s a scent of acacia and soft frangipani, but not a trespass.

You are a triumph.

Don’t worry about past comparisons. Done.
May I bring up you love skiing and even play chess against yourself?
It makes sense at that, loving you is civil war — sensual to a fault —

Roses, grieve no more. Silver fountain, clouds and eclipses.

Good-bye everything.
I’m thinking of a most awkward color.
The masked ballroom looks glowing
& tiled back & forth mistily
Across immense miasma.
Half of it waxing along with the bride
Adorned along varietal circumstance.
She once kissed a cat.
She made an inappropriate shoe choice.

Identity theft occurred when the sky was an idea
Of seeming permanent as a child
Utterly absorbed by stars.
There are no thresholds as if

monkish materiality does not exist. There are
appearances, such as a vantage baseline holding apple trees’ leafy

To be chaste is on the house.

In the States yoga is really charming..

First done wrong, quaint, then drenched though slackened
Janus was proud to sponsor Janus.
Book-worthy twists. Cross brandings. Contracts.
I promised you a ham for painting bombast, yonder.

That would be deep indoors at your place and mine. I’ll have you over when life and death crack the lobes of automation... After that, there’ll be everything standing in rain to grab at.