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


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 ....

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

open, moving, waiting, meaning
it 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.