Hands up.

On the corner of statue and the outer cape, there’s
a beyond just passed an easy show of hands
beyond orgasm overdue an hour ago (one mild altercation took it
into a shade of de-constraining tease).

A heyday of hands. (If you seek it.)
I go for the moody and unexpected.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and below, unlikely yet

I put my name in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. I found so much of what you say emancipating, but the data are hardly unadulterated. You’re driving me nuts.
There is no name then it’s absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
That a fact?   
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s own “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is without forests or it’s forests with no memory, mostly vice versa.
39: Sing how in your absence, thoughts on love hint of torment. Separation seemed brilliant manners far back, before today. Thought of that now is oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.
One difference, then, sing: you are the better part of me that changes — I’ll praise you while praising him.

Even divided we prove we’re the same. We live to entertain thinking of love at times. Yet even this is separation. I dream w/ you.. as you sing.
Ode to love:

I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness. You there? 
All financial doubts are overcome.
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what sad unrest would you take up? “Take notes,” you recalled. You were holding back first throbs as we forced extra fonts from your abdomen. Then our fears increased. Mist in pockets.   

I miss the walled city where an operator like him looks up when you arrive at this next step. . . 

Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. The place is improper.
We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with asterisks in them, friends of friends.  

(Ok, you there? Bye.)
Nobody trusts perception, eh?

Tho the moral base is as gnarly as helicopters in spin, any panorama you enjoy leads to ‘representative fantasy’ or real facsimiles apposite the perceived, blocking open
view, requiring accommodation to time squeezes that appear on purpose, tho cyclical,
‘unlovable’ (according to Wilhelm and Baynes). Yet conflict tho evil lends focus to self regard
and moving on, moving collegially. This is the potential utility of bachelorhood.
I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.


The disease gathered in a kitchen of the West Wing.
Democracy is a charity case. I have checklists from television.
It’s beginning to come undone, a lesson-fraught plague.
Diva writes,
My leaving office is double edged as I am prone to off-center my impenitence about ‘the what’ we don’t get, the known limits to affirm any retraction, winding into a reliance on hard work, pleasures, plans, and this most generalized — one shoulder hitched higher, set to name names but allegorizing ‘the what’ — it happens.

It’s nothing personal.
Each walks alone. Groping in fog the fog groping thru...
21: This is a loose translation, drawing on your love. So it’s not about me but my verse muse. You planted yourself here with sun and moon.
I’m writing, stirred by such purpose and huge beauty —

I’m writing in love hemmed in April’s first-born flowers, rich gems, rarer hearsy to compose from — a retrieval search with gold candles fixed in air! There are no comparisons to how you and I write together and then believe I’m in love with you..
I go for the moody and unexpected.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and below, unlikely yet

I put my name in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. I found so much of what you say emancipating, but the data are hardly unadulterated. You’re driving me nuts.
Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a total mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.


Can I state my own fact as fact?
We’re nimbus-wet. The dark edges must be why
Two very different outcomes equally square
What we (a) hear;
(b) wear to the worry dance;
(c) fear on all edge with work.
The times call for action.

Caliginous faces, doubts, pleasantly high alerts.
No tedious script but liberation in horror!
We heard from the ‘producer’ under his own rubric
that I guess is also an icon of his intentions.

And yet stuck at this end I’d settle for a shorter story
or a preface to a cookbook. Staying within lines.

We’re feeling besieged, a little called out
in his meaning of no revolution now.
Ovid called youth a positive influence. 
Reading and living  
Ontologically under-simulated his senses —  
He should be doing flips,  
Be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes.. get  
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips  
Under the prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,  
“A voice and nothing more.”
1: Ornament is content.

The yews know how to wear theirs, desiring buds to contract brightness and increase —
much as we eat the world to save it. Together, dilating, tender, flaming, increasing now in riper time, your own eyes profusely fresh, then green.
MrPeanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. On the other hand, what choice did he have?
Focused. Demented.
No shortcuts. Nope.
It’s regrettable, they say —
Twin Peaks doesn’t add up
under binge watch...

Not entirely, but it seems unforced holding to an ideally liberal weirdness.
David L through Kyle M is an observer with an uncapped fortune,
reflecting what adolescents do when their backbones ice up,
raising all boats, all antisocial levels.
There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order.

The young gain on the old, those that would,

Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years. (Like the renaissance.)


“A solid base” cited in the last run of artificial snow foaming imagination — I do not have licenses to bring in blood.

It’ll be there where I leave it — under a trope for downward spikes in bonhomie —

In bed the U.S. landscape descends from clarity.
It collapses, torquing with disaster tv on, volume off, backpacking services and beautiful goods.
By future standards don’t-I-wish
is disgusting.

How so? we failures inquire. Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory, you howl. “Mm,” the man says. He was staring at my clogs, wondering how they’re embossed.

When struck a lightning rod emits dust, after that a solution, a chemical substance that squiggles down to my feet. That’s how.
No punishment without reward, sorrow over death.
Only your own meets you halfway, morning blurring promises in
An aftermath of the long hiatus, letting your adages cool.

Is this a document or did you make it up?
Frozen water on Mars is the smoking gun.

Another question
Of where should I hurt?
Once and be done.
Sonnet 3: Now is the time. 
Fond image & posterity aren’t everything. Same for dying. Stop Pisces & piscean disdain. Face to face 
Mark self-love as no fond option. Unearned.
Yet thru new windows nearly your 
Own age April will call back another golden time re-forming 
Single light flows, even now 
Fair, prime, all beguiling, living for you, 
Your face, your ear, all forms of yours remembered.
In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
A given. Someday.
The other sun, authentic each day, is too direct to prefer less than disorder
beside a confection of labs, East Cambridge..

Obliqueness shows up around access to felt

authority. It’s fair if you can’t say why.
The new job title appears evenhanded getting back here.

This is an essay forgetting that mess nevertheless. I’m searching
new categories to enter in with you uninvolved.
“Indebted” you may think sounds offensive and depraved — down where
“forgive me” and “accept me” weave around power lines, owing.


New pressures, not from bodyguards.
I enjoyed it when the vertex saw us off.
Later we got dressed for golf and congregated in the face with peers.
Starting at the bottom, the face is inside a very powerful camouflage (instructing us to use it).
Non-linear process (formerly progress, one kind), implicit co-branding of public domain utterance, hysterical strings (upon strings) of surprise, skilled narrative downgraded to parish bulletins, text-snatching and re-assembly lead on. In “Was That a Real Poem or Did You Just Make It Up Yourself?” Robert Creeley observes, “As a poet, at this moment [1974]...I am angered, contemptuous, impatient, and possibly even cynical concerning the situation of our lives in this ‘national’ place. Language has, publicly, become such an instrument of coercion, persuasion, and deceit.” Sure, though keep in mind that sentiment, along with this very sentence, is a set of ad hoc thematic pointers.

In the process something like an orange cloud enters the locker room of the essay. This is the middle section where Jorge Borges is transported to the essay’s ‘character’ to do the interfacing, theme propositions in your own words. Form as script. Gustave Flaubert did not have a script, much less digital media, and the word ‘hysteria’ does not occur in the text of Madame Bovary. For his time, how informed he seems in connection with emerging appropriations by psychopathology. It’s an early manifest of a viral cloud in our terms. By now every sentence in MB can be re-assembled into a poem, waiting to be taken out.
A guru gets life.
51: Movement, not lineage — war seems unjust when there is only one side to wage it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps pace.

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

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

I hastened to run to you
even before starting ..
Deep in the dream shines.
This is not a test. It’s the blues. But who can tell if it goes well. 
We’ll leave it at that, happy, hatless. 
The place was beautifully democratized with process. 

Yet our processes blow decorum of moving info... 
Also, it’s easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes from now, to have less to tell
to soften your last interruption I ignored.
Elsewhere alien drag parallels scenery we communalists push our way thru,
looking fine.
We’re a special team. We’re circumspect.
Our sharing mechanism (pretext) gives no voice
to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence
we back off from. Nightly

we face thickets of cloud & southerly winds
taking it to other investors who might stay offended,

the next step in the training.

Onto what?
After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.


Living in an urban sandwich,
tomorrow or the day after you take out what’s here,
it’s in the doing log, down toward the end. Even if you see
spoilage as natural you might sense a hidden hand (vengeance),
every time those who argue grow untimely.
Stan the man, a legend;
it’s “OK” Stan explains,
we’re all Buddha’s fault.
He isn’t kidding.

More than a god or a three-in-one, a god’s pup
fills in quantum entities on a not-
fully-occupied terrain, terrain, I repeat, “on
pause.” This is space and time —
Whew — you think of puppy paws
as your head fills up with the stickiest
most adorable pup gifs filled out
in dissonance for street lights hum

and flicker

and ......


daisy-chain my 3 emotions,
which Stan aims to lay claim to and
protect as his own.
88: Patriarchy expands fraternal allegiance. You & I so belong.
We’re well acquainted with our own double weakness. Well, I really enjoy it. 9 out of 10.
What do you look like now? It’s right to ask? For your right I can set down our story, bending all my loving thoughts over you.

We both gain the advantage (all wrong) to prove you virtuous.
I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two    

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan  

with no memory how it got there?
Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting.
That’s not to say there’ll be no food.

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently
— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-

Per sacks. Imitation spinner features,
striving for positive letterform

abstractions, speed processed
but that alone is wearying. Bitch bitch.

You cannot do this job alone — an intuition.
Nor can I maintain perspicacity.

It’s just synecdoche leaving not sharing to chance.
Cloistered, possessive habits flatten into praxis
— tho it’s instinctive to watch who’s singing I get no points jumping in or off.

It’s just synecdoche leaving not sharing to chance.


No punishment without a reward, sorrow over death.
Only your own meets you halfway, morning blurring promises in
An aftermath of the long hiatus, letting your adages cool.

Is this a document or did you make it up?
Frozen water on Mars is the smoking gun.

Another question
Of where should I hurt?
Once and be done.
Thru drizzle stepping over water, balloons floating
In a once swimming pool.. spurts of views down
Hallways of stairs set apart and fronted
With music waking in dimming brightness
Without memory of how you got there, you.
Didn’t they tell you 
thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof  
— our brains are being stolen. After  

we wander off the promontory back home muttering “TV,  
TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia   

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  
Hazards all sides. 
Talk? You hoped we might &?
37: ‘Feelings are empty’ .. still / they’re
entitled − here is where many motifs help.

Despite our comfort and wealth
I told the boss he should go to hell
(after all), protecting shareholders from hock.

What’s a game emotion? the hang off it.
The contours. Nothing month. T’on. The shadows ’n
the lame, the poor, the despised will talk.

Not a one in the cards can bend. Simply phrased.
Emotionally poets always knew, ‘knowing
they have not made a point’ —

Should I continue to enjoy happiness at dinner
having intercourse by

Missing your motifs? Any or all? Enjoy how
people say they’re living to be admired..
Have a child? This wish I have..

How people talk?

2 out of 2 observers were cut off. Innocent men on a wet
Highway, casually substituted. Putting it
Bluntly, during the break we reached an agreement.


Sex has nothing to do with sex.

I thought you knew that.
It’s a joy problem, love let go on a technicality,
The dichotomy produces a smooch-punch

— bantam partisans in calculated terror
Toweling off ready for their next bracket.
Boxing’s hospitable. We’re not that stupid.
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?
What are doing here if you’re leaving?
84: Partnerships were counterparts, 1st a little lunatic, more than most...
                Worse, hotly culled. Who can say?
Let me copy what’s written clearly, how it lends some small glory, substituting natural praise
                — you’re admired everywhere! Fame dignifies your story.
Add a curse, I lower my voice to approximate parity.

To such immured an example, who can say more? You alone are you
                 As the story goes. And you let it go.
Rich in style, but penurious compared to what is written in you.
I can’t make enough, can’t make it. I’m staying home. 
I once said goal!  
We cannot always gather this way but we do. 
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age.  
The lucky take the pain, live on then perish. More will, fudging abasement in clean restraint serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (re-wombed).
Trading down, can you place our names? You miss the point.
I have a decorative indeterminacy wearing a terminal degree, while I got to anticipating how ambivalent I am about Bedlam.

Unlike the head in a head, a third-rate supreme court is traded from the top; time to find fortune underground, in roundish coiffures north of town. As noted last century, there’s the rustic perp for a painter style and muddled cool.

“Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”
Calming do wn, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with top notes we won’t ignore, some jittery appliance in occipital brushfire, active against the ‘human grain’ in intimate groups under our governing bo dies.


Received pronunciation foregrounds style but
We’re both bat shit over historical fantasy. Well, I enjoyed it.
Bowie’s on Netflix. What does he look like? It’s ok to impart?

I admire his pronounced snaps of skepticism, obsequious, sharpened anomalies.

An etude like celebrity.
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
You make my morning.
You think?
This never happened.
112: Do you like spiral staircases, scandals that strive to branch out to no one alive in so profound abysm?

Facts are a marketplace whose figures look green when least derivative. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B).

Our nervous system can distort music in a vulgar adder’s sense, Charles might say, to emphasize changes in snaking, radial evil neglected by the super ego. B is for Bukowski.
Uma Thurman’s son.. me.. 

Let’s file it down.  
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.  
Taken to your path. Utopia arrives to enrich. Walking in sheer  
All the time, staggering!
Boo hoo.
My friend ran away with his silent partner
who stole my identity. I'm trying
to look at it from my point of view.
The current balance resumes its teachings. Can-
dles out, pie for the asking, grace
to be white boats opposing payment due.
Destroy and smooth nothing.
Mind control is a full canoe of alter-egos, disingenuous.


Midnight dining, rambling
later like deer in bed, unnatural, shiny in smoke. Seagulls play duets birches tear thru passive groans uttered it seems to affirm fajita in snatches, opera and shush...
Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth- 
Stratagems. Siphon starters. Add the rank  
I confer on the next available beauty, living and perhaps dying with one  
Until he goes broke — summarily I’m screwed of what beauty was.  
I center then on perception (for another purpose), sustaining losses out of irony.
I am lewd, in a blink in my ‘true mind,’ stinting
claimant of photogenic vitamins to embellish the bleeding
but not completely, lacking historic truth tho settling in —
in a way — in a rain and raincoat of moods.

Warm-bodied, visually queuing up. Him or them.

So you get it now, assigning de facto completion thru real, cathartic gunk
is no yes vending graft about dualism —
send in the marines with hand and finger gestures to boot
and never complete, never shaken how they prolong dulling pleasure
but at higher altitudes.
22: Inside you

The mirror shows raiment of sorts — therefore
so long as your youth & your ...

or not ... praise & the opposite grow acrostic, seemly rife, stirred by beauty
for days. I grab my pen and clamber over to write down hearsay bearing your heart
(unrehearsed washes of shadows as you will)
where we’re coupling to eclipse soundtracks, fixed in air, true in love. Expiators.
Time runs out.

Your poetry has a political bent.
I stay in position, authentic / inauthentic;

I model your bifurcated attitude

everything I do is sin. One after another piles up if
or when —

This is when —

The nuclear self, writing you, lingers for a moment or more... Huh? Now you know I did it.

I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.
Fund-raise off that.
Ode: I’m sleep. An only hill
I’ve been researching
Awake most nights:
A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light that’s the best.
Dogs and woods by the ocean
Together, like them and like us.
Can you dig the stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.

Repeat this until approved.
I do what I can. It wears on you and me.


Flashbacks pertain.
Large reflecting pools in the future, it’s just a thought.
If I introduce vagueness as a more devout
machine therapist, we can escape

thought-train derailment, bringing on experiments in graphemic parole,
rescue room from disillusionment.

[final part]
RNA itemizes facts.
Do you like spiral dares?
Or to be bubble-footed in dark briefs!
None of the above!

Fat, never satisfied,
we come from creatures far back, slowly calmed
by fear we were of a kind they were to others, lacking
redoubled patrimony and finding-it-out tools.

Distribution adjustment has those to spare..
tasked down from behaviorist beliefs.

[1st part]
Since prison you don’t talk.
I want to but don’t have to.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Adding

that noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure it was theirs), amusing
vim shaken from the inside. Each had a skeleton curse; the lot growing thinner,
fewer. (Youth, after you, is the determined object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking you
then not knowing.
I liked him and he liked me. It’s an eye popper, a new 
Use for fumy italics — fumy on the outside,  
Different inside, just on my nerve, just to the time  
Like him I leave for no one, for nothing.  
Here take a wildflower. This is my house. 
A young monk will then say,   

Tell us about your recent postal experience.   
I was going to mail him  
Though he died before I reached the office.  
One enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit self sponsorship
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —

Skilled decor, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
ironic technologies without precedent —
a corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax, all noun phrases.
Two Spanish-speaking women try new salads.
The contours.


Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hoy! — another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
A blinding texture pours over adverbs, rocks...
Is that all we’re having for dinner?
Eating so little as I advance through security,
I promise nothing. I die today!
When an opportunity to think took off we rocked,
Turning the environment into identity and rumors.
Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s colossal — masking your vanity becomes the tortured challenge clinging to verse.
20: Like voices & solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.) — amazing particles sleep it off in traffic, affecting shifting hues up to the rolled bridge lattice. You
& by you, nature’s face warm & bright. All hues charged & painted brilliant to the eye. Passion that’s stuffed with pleasure, not needing love, except altogether!

Our handiwork thereupon is controlled, less false than life, almost like master-&-mistress gazing on as it grew.
In my illusion of minimalism, hammering steel, 
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of time. The frayed entity, o  
no, I should say the accretion settled down, humble salve  
soon spread over us both, lost, scattered trying to remember and   
Simply put, to understand now where early wounds from speech are  
pronounced, which sort hits or fits, kind friend .... mimesis within nature,  
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?
Dear Diary,

Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s a part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)

& aspected by hedges, almost. To go on shifting subjects there, about there
— I whisper to you, falling myself for weird directions —
panicked a zillion light seconds too soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast & rubbery clouds, a proverbial laugh:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were punched out, assorted butters. It’s

little irony the highway house repaired to is only offered in the ‘thereabouts’ pattern...
What happened there?
Narrow rails, sheer curtain..

Step out of that church.

Never confess.

Straighten your teeth, vampire.


A politician, claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop the gurgling,
is not much of a sentence, lacking rounder meaning, more useful settled in mere syntax
as warm-to-medium as a visual partnership queued up for applause.
Coat of arms:
There’s something to mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating / replicating Dionysius for the evening drive and later.

We’ve now passed the second-cousin stage of wretchedness. You’re
good to take it up with the authorities before severing qualms.
You may have noticed I write over your face, in praise,  
fuzzy & lovely fragrance coming in, out  
of many then forwarding myself as backdrop for another de ar fac
loaded for blizzard.
Sonnet 7:

Outgoing at noon, attending on what? I’m not going out. I’m mouthing off about getting on with or without you. Just look how my sight’s scripted by high pitched infantile alienation, falling over you. Again. It’s not too late! New optimism apparently pays serving your burning head. Another way we’re both blackmailed over there is nothing low, nothing sacred.
Politics & dignity of appearances don’t mix. The financial & party pacs are just kidding. Nothing personal. Trump is the sustained concussion version of civic charity thru animal chaos as vacuum... I also give a lily for what’s not available, a cabin in the launch for recondite sentiments, whinnying for pleasure. Or I cry when it ebbs. 

Government is the emblem of an economy of duress.. South of Palm Beach.. I discredit everything from the engine without a message..
Tattoos first, 2nd, his hair.

The plot leaves the door to irresolution ajar —

Guess what, the grabber is un-belted in segments like a sex rattle
spinning to take effect. It adds an all night ring to our narrative, id est,
the needle breathing hard, leaving the hole
open to mas irresolution
and topspin for picking up the dissolved thread.
You & then I change very slowly with a shower curtain,
on televised football. Management didn’t yell
raising your pulse rate. Or is sweet smelling flame just to remind me?


Frag-mento steps in, We came from coming back, he says, never the same last cry when you like to stay running on a cult classic with breathy folk components, listening and showing we both are here, one part synergetic Weltliteratur giving less weight to fantasy — another, no excuses, is where the renaissance part sways.
What does it mean to work? I don’t know that either. What I know is how to belong, stake out territory and bust heads, maintaining an atmosphere of trust.
2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive, eager to do what we were afraid to be?
24: This is color in mind: Q-tips & smoke. Good turns. Painter can pick you up, take a day off
              from where everyone who’s still standing is drawn to your shape,
your eye for eye, physical & prime for the stress of form relays between a rat race
             & cunning security. IF
Painter’s 3-D models have your body frame & everyone else’s in mind Painter can gaze on w/, w/out you.
Geometry respects the brain..
somebody likes a piggyback...

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

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

like it was
lighting up my senses

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

It’s deeper, more formal than that really
a perfect animal halo front to back.
I have nothing — O Q-tip


A truffle and goat cheese pizza, for all its ambition, feels contrived
next to Talking Chimp.
The Talking Mallard Dogs sounded as good as they looked, they could speak for themselves, and they seemed so authentic you and your pet thought they were Talking Chimps. But they produced only vowel sounds from a larynx implant device.
Talking Chimp is laughing now unable to stop touching himself.
Spa services await you, Talking Chimp!
Opening windows, pissing.
Perfect! Beautiful...
When the soup lady arrives, a cosmic order inside you snaps. A crack-up.
Exactly, exactly. It’s all gotten to you... poverty, deprivation,
peeing in the streets. So you reach into your bag... and you grab a
knife! You take the knife, and you lunge at the soup but immediately
fall into a numb coma. You are dumb, so you cannot speak, you grunt a little.
Okay? Try it. Good.

You’re confused? I have my poem now.
60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, god feeds on us ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

Sing: this changing place, this pebbled
shore is in the repair shop because
it is the repair shop — as miles streak by...

We’ll do what we can — crawling to maturity
set on the rarity of natural youth and beauty.
Slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless in times w/ no hope
Yet guardians who follow grow tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; wherewith the corporation is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

When? as soon as today.
C.V.: In three parts. I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns in fair use, and there’s the age old hand hath put link to a disgrace we dreamed up or could dream up, borrowing a face beauty slandered.

#2 Once inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying, nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think:

So #3 many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after we couldn’t wait. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their others halfway, borrowing a face, again and again slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had after a few hours, letting it die down.
Auto minimalism (3 steps):
I don’t know any means to practice externalizing thought to see myself as snowfall in faint sunlight; I don’t know how to transfer contextuals and theory dated over a hundred years ago or much earlier!

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

Vernacular means I’m not doing it unless ego steps ‘aside’ and I get paid with sleep.
My view of SSTs is fuzzy, made fuzzier

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


Loud poetics antecedents and indebtedness toward them could be handled better if questions of egotism, fashion, clique formation, and friends-enemies were eliminated. That’s asking for several parcels of human experience to be disappeared. For each poet and her cohort, tho, matters of contemporary personalities, preferences, biases, etc. do blow apart in time.
We descend from loudness. The Dylans, G. Stein, E. Pound, B. Mayer. Take Pound (please). Today most ‘responsible’ poets speak less canonically, less willfully than he, one of our accomplished loudmouths.
Sadly Emily’s neighbors: according to the census,

Their presence was filled with compression, ideals opening a science of situation (Thoreau) and unobstructed sky (Whitman), unstructured joy, bouncing up years later with satiric multiples (Wieners, Ricard). Only yesterday! Literary worth automatically fills the page like scrub pine — becoming more fearless (less indiscernible) when units of innocence, acrobacy and self-neutering come together, vaunting in plain English, a content now addressed by new neighbors.
45: Sir, libido and swift words send and return messages — coming back as first thoughts even when quicker elements, air, my fire are both with you (wherever I am).

When I don’t hear back — I’m no longer glad
or assured, merely present-absent, oppressed by melancholy.
As it were,
by this account I’ve sent my desire back, far away from me.
Give up leverage in a more collaborative framework. 
Sure, I’ll leverage our last minute or two, let’s say I’m deeply missing you.  
There you go! but how long have we planted post mortems without precursors, without conventional frames for gender balance? without knowhow not to reterminate? 
Maybe it’s a mistake, collaborating on curious travel so close to the fault line... I grant you that; 

Like all of the above and people going in and out of Odd Fellows buildings, navigating stairs, you’re one hundred percent normal running up debt to keep devotees heartbroken.  
Adoring you is my fault! and my moral politics! any leverage follows orders.
Full version.

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

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness.
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught.
(Our addendum is in the mouth.)
Libido and new ways to be policed are on a vain man’s brain (one with any pulse); the 1st few words take on destabilizing character. I’m trying to clean this [snip] to leave enough ‘intent’ to keep me happy after I’m finished he’s finished. This is an exemplary yet limited procedure, so I’m framing it fun work, restructure creating more choppy patterns to abandon ...


— 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.
By popular demand we sign off on others’ labor — A newspaper edition, documentary remnants, penetrable databases — We occupy this clever, conceptual nook, curl up and at times siding with the powerful is deliberate as well as passive-aggressive. I’m kidding. I’m staying sarcastic — It bears repeating un-ironically there’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed. The oppressed are whom we avoid where or when we can be free — On the outside, in place of a popular voice, outsourced bouquets smolder w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.
114: I say. I say drink up. My eye says thanks there’s so much. * Haiku-ing to Delmore Schwartz repeatedly gives me monsters. Monsters giving head. We or most of us have a destiny within flattery, after all. But it’s after-hours To vocalize what my eyes sink into. I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.
Conditions look rigged, shut down — like wanting you (I do) —

For pickerel eggs eat each other

Not out of calculation, it began with barcode

Moms defending their young

While floating on new dimensional bedding

But can’t sleep. (Picture peach cones & rods of violet.)

Sliders remain, still the eggs’ plans change. Like taking some time off
Flying the squarest airlines.
Nasal voices wake you up.
pulsing in a deep mirror,
light rain performing heavy Norman orator.

(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.)

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

tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette,
— the Demon Puff in your plumage / language.
The music brokerage remains in nautical aerospace.
A month ago a morning flew by.
My best friend my
most erotic partner.
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.
I knew I am unhappy and, like most everyone, I am not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..


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

A fetus in these circumstances brings on future drug dependence, except not yours of course.

I note its pale eyestripe of looking and reading. Down curved and black edged, its camouflage for being read. Frankly, it’s not that much into whom? When the father was asked, he hesitated and then offered, “Not me.”
As ‘you make a profit, remind yourself...’
the president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting
esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a punning bone, also he was merciless. Really
his movies remind me of tin futures & allegiance to the ice
ants swarming as the mind controllers sidle away —
53: A substance note about you:
Suspend suspension of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some part shadow
as long as a 
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring shades a
-mounting to zero autumn... after your beauty, a 
constant show and a 
variable now. You always have some part!

You appear in every august shape we know.
On mortality,  
I’m a big baby. That’s b for clarified as black-and gold pelage, married and vulnerable, exploring reiterations of my own duality. 
I’m alive feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a triplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up meat, fish, emotionally shot ..  devoted to seamless disproportionality.
No just proof —

The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense.

Come out and play, practice, sample finding out
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of national honor
backed up with inexact and multiple scents of feeling, crooning sounds
from what we were doing before [give me a sec..] took hold,
instantly recognized as identity.

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

(Argument intact once you forget some live to practice all of this.)
There are procedures for mourning. There are a slew of them.
I can’t say these things. These same things. Page one, no one, page 101.

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


Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. It isn’t safe yet. I won’t forget.  And that does it for this rehearsal. Observe proud exclamations to postpone further videotaping, advancing a counternarrative with guilt beyond marchers stepping slowly waving gold torches in flame, pressing the crowd joined into feeling nervous in observed time, expanding behind the capitol. Many observers, shadowed.. 
I will never betray metaphysics oxidizing beauty goals.

The main thing is to tell a story. It is almost very important.
— Frank O’Hara — et al.
Composing like this focuses on writers, how they are unionized and surrounded. Focus is prewriting.
Our racecar can’t postpone it.
A tongue in your ear
a driving noise from pioneers and
‘kissin’ cousins in lines of duty.

A two-mate cabin five steps down.
Sleeping with you, blackmailed looking for a mnemonic to store in a palindrome.
90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model passivity discharged by shore conditions. Only don’t drop in.

The pond holds scraps and parts of nesting authority, an after-loss. Rainy tomorrow. I join you to re-reference an arrow and bow made out of many purposed m.p.h. gusts — and this is my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.
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!  
almost forgot to. Permission to speak freely, señor?  
Could we? ah! you and I are loved by many. I’ll commit to that as you ...  
Are gracious, watched over and settled into a kindly shifting  
Still, but still enjoying private practice, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...  
Your consuming voice all 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.
If you know rhetoric
it changes your feelings;
it changes others’ behavior,
especially within poetry.

Our poetry changes
our writing now,
the writing 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’ve lost your spirit and pulse.
I work in the market.
I ran from information, bracing for a selloff.
Consequences, real overhead

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


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

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

and I see your form
as I fill in the questionnaire
putting your back into it.
Ode on pause: I’m sleep.
An only hill
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights:

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

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

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

For a stretch, drops hints of a larger, open-minded we-don’t-know − was it something to do with a singer to one side, blocking another?

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

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

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

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

It’s closeness ahead shaped by time gone just like that.
There are subtitles, various languages. You dream staying awake and translate what’s exposed, the back of another dreaming. 
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.  
(Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.)  
You can exit the profession at any point, burning inside; you also can add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.
Let’s now prescribe an observance of justice
for each game, any obvious bravery.

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

A magnificent evening can be given to loose, persistent thought.
This then or any separation we call the blues, shyness,

meaning frame and ligaments hold feeling, no source.
Feeling is not sad. One votes sadly.
I’m learning squat
until you get home.


I’m new to this housewarming.
That’s why we have two arrays for time & harmony.
Can waving time like a ‘crown’ of contradictions
supersede nature,
a piece of research asks: Why open
not quite a theory? it’s string conjecture.
Intimation, insinuation, innuendo.
Then it was something I ate.
English language trends...
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time.
also =
a glistening database advanced by textuality. The underground =
stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity.
ID traces out how to refine / displace any remnant of cultural contempt.
Classification adjoined by adaptation passed thru descendants.
This break and entry taking place under balloons holding our beef jerky.
I forget what really and concretely mean to nature.
My tensile values are so skewed I forget William Blake.
I forget historicism.
I forget the Kennedys and Dead Kennedys.
It’s the same when I’m wearing fangs.
I can’t stop. It’s my job.
106: In love, the practice of counterclockwise is nothing at all, only sustained focus, innovation of hand, foot, lips, of eye, of brow, nowhere expressing your fairest beauty ...

all right, I lose. I’ll open in complete command of nothing, no skill to praise you.
From the outside the sky hints of hinges, bolted prophesies that you’ll master now —

I won’t waste time — we’re tethered there.

For love we’ll ingest all of you prefiguring our present day,
inflating while we data dive, I guess

exhaling descriptions
w/ eyes to wonder on the full worth of your beauty making beauty.
We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with nasality. Birch in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to the ideal civil democratic union with permissions built on headwinds — dormant crescendos 
with as it were or without lyric attitude. Good manners can scar others, you see, they also let us peons act like participants in marking time as tho zippers to the regulatory plutocracy. 
Either way, I know so little about the state and the state knows much less — we see nothing but blank stares operated by blankety remote.
A note: to John W,
Illusory a
-utomatism maintains a low balance outdoors. Fashion calls, evolving anonymous pretexts amounting to near
zero, a
large zero, derived from sweet metaphors for punishing discourse. Automatism covers some
ground. Nonetheless graceful concealment lets prehensile factions go free within our known
physics, weeds among weeds

demeaning no value and a
variable either way.

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


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

When we struck an alliance back home right after the start I thought, friend or not? It’s no way to begin altho ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became footloose and incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
I forget what really and concretely mean to nature.
My tensile values are so skewed I forget William Blake.
I forget historicism.
I forget the Kennedys and Dead Kennedys.
It’s the same when I’m wearing fangs.
I can’t stop. It’s my job.
124: New contract. Deep linkage. Bigger venues. And no stress. Percentages stay constant. Here we are by accident — stuck in two dimensions in time out of four! eating sweat! Pomp. Love. Hate.

We worked on this. We saw five drafts. Weeds among weeds, flowers with flowers. The 20-60 split seems generous given crimes of heretics in growing heat. (Funny, I may call you on your mobile device or redeem coupons of yours I gathered into origami.) No, not enthralled I dream with you, splitting the other 20.
I have felt your voice,
heard your drift —

One touch,
one orated note.

Sleep has more ideas for here and how
we made contact then for a time inspired by my taking your sleep course.

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

Dress casual \ spectacle,
putting my life together but keeping your drift ..
Outdoors a muted roll call gathers under bright archways, A hazard to paper aircraft taking off. Um sure I gather.. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation now or a few seconds from now after the transaction but before thinking and looking it over, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands reprieving vice versa.


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

That would be indoors at our place.

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

Waiting for you know who,
I hope you’re feeling great. I’m not.
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.
Song: It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer of grabbing knives and spoons v. the naive intuition that expresses it.

Missing you doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds if you want that look like versions of wicked cunning and mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle — Throaty, we thought we thought we were entangled set against puzzle fetishes and hiked vibes. It also helps to turn on the bed side to side. Conceive a break-in.


We do not impinge on feeling fine /

10 gallons of the Hirsch, please,
W/ the canonical crescent tartelle, ah..

A pipeline of debits operates across casual monotones.
Everyone’s direction shifts as our nervous system distorts

To emphasize changes for whose overall system this is over time..

‘I never make judgments about people I shoot.’
Beyond us, them, 4% atoms, tiny
wriggling strings; hidden, 22% of the tug —

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

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

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

open, moving, waiting, transferring
but hardly tempted.

A rational effect? You and I can’t attempt it,
touching on our dual roles as we reradiate consensus.
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 as it were.
Rare thanks for the view.
We unholster & dance across the room / a lumberjack in me & you. A cobra balance.
The color wheel is graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley 
faces. We speak in our mother tongue of fine ethos and interiors, to no product hewn.
Poetry is politics hardening joy orbs. Shotgun pleasure.
A proposition (like this) is anxious. Nano technology I guess
...what? This early
When you got up your speech was
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling
Flattened onto cyber note pads.....

Mary had a little post-gossip; that’s all it was, gossip
Like politics is controlling our anger; how minds are read.
There were missing utterances filling balloons
w/ the enormity of what got hooded — a dirge-y lexicon
that cannot be considered tenurable
given cost averages — One’s intellect seeks damages
even while in concert, active but still missing.


Blatantly careless, docile or not, seems the new daring..
I have no idea it was handed to me
The deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning —
We should see an immaculate, engaged shake of the hand
To thank the audience, the body electorate,
So we will learn that or relearn it.
A film maker, one poet (out of two), is turning to performance crafts, sits and lets you alternate looking at this person and thinking, has the floor moved? To sing of thingness = wild mist, without much shine and whose staying put is more to the point — dull mist, not deep enough.

A good film maker works in mists. Thanks for his or her almost dry touches and for you with weak calligraphy — placing personality before nature and dreaming. Literally.

You’re standing up, looking ok despite your sleeping sickness as a work-around to perfection. I’m by your side. On your side.
Mist trickles down rewriting chain letters you refuse to answer. Good for you. Good for you!
79: How it may happen
On a highway, gentle police lights 
— Luxury vans flow in aid. Further uphill 
Hauling “rays of virtue” — stolen beauty, yours.
He can afford it.

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

Then thank him —
You pay him what I owe.
Can’t say what happened that day (ekphrasis) but I know we slept because there was a pressed mattress to lie on. 
The mime sequence where I speak out was overall spoofy. More, there was a modulator from a board of moderation.
I cannot stress enough
your card was de-activated.
It’s a perilous ‘was’ — let me give you a way out.
Since there are multiple aims, capital will be re-bought, redefined,
irresistibly absorbed in sleights of hand. Meaning it,

if I voice a question mark at the end of feeling genreless, it becomes a pick-up line for the calmative afterlife.
Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of the knowledge industry that can consider anonymous approximations in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard.

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


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

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

We have no perverse incentive acting mindless taking chances, since we have already gone over gonzo utility in hammock talk, too often raising a toast to the madness that’s most missing in straight men (and how angry they get when they hear it!) and how it makes us screwball over the late poetry of Rene Ricard.
Midnight horror porn, cheesy parody paying homage to its subject.

Nudes mean more when their heads are chopped.

Pass the white gloves.

It’s amazing
It seems cuckoo

A little before four in the afternoon.
49: Let me hold you ... no, don’t, I’m a future defect in law against your time.
If ever that time comes within my own knowledge, no, I’ll know
love is no less or more the thing it was...
                and no cause alleged.
I raise my hand now, called to, on your part
when you scarcely greet me as we pass.
That’s how with all due respect works in both our times.
A private-public distinction, extension 8.
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force. 

Besides giving empathy like babble
I write on my agenda, 

A vapidly growing other hand 
once I launch it — 

I got married without knowing side effects 
— wait, I forgot why I called.
I’m a member of the takeaway school.
Mean something, take it away...

how my twin psyche writes more conscientiously
touching on raw parts in this endearing translation.
In your memory, throwing kisses
We did it once in complete metonymy. Everything bristled.
Symbolism weighs in
as a shortcut: Some future of the past thinking & writing as if.
Never dine — a term of
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

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


In bar lighting, one’s eyes drift as if
undressing underwater. You see why snails
build a house. They stand around, slowly tank,
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.
Etude for an ice cube.
A sunny, boyish grin.
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.

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

Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains
deferentially. Creature masks are a precondition in reprieve.
44: It was nice once to have known you. If flesh were thought
A word could count remotely, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean in a large-scale dialectic —
No matter, despite the farthest limits of space time I could be brought before you if you think it over.

Will you think of me?
Warning: It’s impossible to separate understatement from performance; both are adolescent in a good sense, pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be felt, my sovereign. Next, a cool minimal database advanced to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The waterfall is waiting on a bender. What matters is some jealous thought to find and / or emplace each close to noble thought on ahead.
We can build something better.
You can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun,
seething too, proportionate to the open space.
The smoke is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified with ozone.
The whole firebox glow ..
yellow wallpaper engages on.
There are a 100 butterflies out of sorts in what’s wrong watching even one or two spin like mediums,
happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.
The collapse of spinning it better is.. no, the aim changed, functions bounce.


What if I am a drifter returning with this season of enthusiasms, could you still ‘like’ me, could you choose ‘I liked it overall except for you?’
You’re welcome, April. Plugged, tall, slim,

We’re in public space, an elevator or the hallway. We think
Mining data still has a more colossal future than trigonometry, many floors
To appropriate then publish recipes we began tinkering on.
Life wheels. We borrow the ephemeral Triumphs as April questions
Conventions, boundaries, and syntax. April exits. Yay.
19: Innocence evokes night devouring daytime, burning like a lion’s hummingbird if lions are allowed — plucking keen teeth from a tiger’s jaw if you allow. Taping together both hands.
And grease-pencil trompe l’oeil anywhere. Please.
Innocence is guilt in a heinous group. All on earth devouring their own brood, against beauty’s pattern but with beaucoup success.

Young, untainted and long lived, you’ve gone wrong. I forbid it but I hope you’re happy.
Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..
Leaving you like a health threat...

Dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, a handshake spreads the rain,

flowers, rain,
(That's it!

The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we
can walk off with. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows.

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


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

The newest apartment, top floor of the building, a small
Bedroom, kitchenette, barely a sitting room with parts of a sectional.
One wall cloud patterns, washed grassland, blue woods, paper lemurs.

I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing
The national costume, swaggering in poplin, in a trance.
I must guard against clubby overenthusiasm.
This cloaking device avoids detection. Slanting, lost, an hour later we’re beginning to ride over borders, borders are still porous, just look at this phonemic adventure! I need some topper wipe.

You’re turning me on.

Reading pulp, there’s an interlude between devices where I wish you’d taken up singing of thingness.
2: We never come across it here.

Never before. Yet a thriftless parabola intersects its pedigree (that was).
Face to shoulders, gestures are precise in your eyes thru the viewer’s glass.
These are proud motions. Warm and cold climbing down the first, second, third hill, lower down there’s a new quad mainstream-underground

deep-sunken eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Will

you recover mine? Renew me? how much? let’s call back the
rectangular coordinates, summed up in praise

remembering pleasures of the eyes, neck and chest.
Yes there..
Ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe a grain or 2.. anything grateful.  What are faux resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and a jillion bloodlines.  Um.. there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘orders’ you put in reckless hands —  Don’t forget silent partners ripening the future, sleeping in green, un-despairing — they effect usage summaries...  Brilliant. Breathing. Knew life, we have hundreds .. Look at you.
Conformity is a serious consequence and urban hazard
And it’s well to recall that feeling inside you and me, too,
How prominently your spritz of attention became an asking price.

(End of asking)

To deodorize a poem conforms to what?
Don’t waste energy on haters. The illusion of minimalism in networking — as in prostitution there is no time for fascination.


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

Ladies tailored upstairs conserved for the surface
torn off mountainous pates (veined with woods),
in a rage and afterlife like phosphorous’s.
Leo was dismissive of Gertrude’s writing. Stein took
a working vacation, arranging piss flowers. Bianca!
Without that sweet sous-perfect of brotherly disdain
she may not have gone hunting in the lather of swing.
142: Concision or love is my hue dealing method, means
can be objective and lack incident, pity, sin and hate.
To study those, those lips, yours
will seal an ornamental virtue unveiled as ambition. To study the eye

as a catamaran of process.. your eye. This is while I love you, bond with you
on a crazed errand-stream for our scarlet masters of arts.
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.
I prefer a clean hotel.
I’m calling time-out dull
outside boundaries of regular hours.
Looking around we need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss growing
Up, shiny, imperfect, not held in place —
your nose looks finished beneath the stopper.

Breakfast at Starbucks and we’re off wandering
headed for B terminal,
a legacy installation in profane solace.
I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist.
It’s sad we are now separated.