Sooner or later Chickee got uncomfortable knowing the gender question has a peculiar tripwire: in one tumble of silt and salt waves a queasiness signs on as gender is the one query no one ignores, also a quest ill-equipped to be entirely fulfilled. 
Thus, Chickee is a guy.
It’s hard to do a mock-up & care. 
That means you, banshee.  
Maybe I am foreshortened taking up prerequisites in criminal governance;  
I won’t cry to lessen the g-force of my depravity (your territory), but I hear  
squeaks. It could be me reduced in size talking to you for crissakes.  
I shouldn’t but I won’t.  
I can’t tell you I don’t care.
Neither so-called dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary bracing for normal heart spasms until climax, numbed in shade.
76: In flight, our work is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost. I meant 
I know the framework craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new, common birth.  
Lines fuse a way  
continue. My argument.
In this moon diagram a resistant fragrance was my last fill of fish sticks. Oh you know, unhappy

we supplemented photographs for subject matter, I recall.  
Garland fungus, students in foreground (by an arch to the abandoned parks).   
It’s up to pond structure to model our passivity learning the moon’s mother tongue, long vowels   
impelled by shore conditions, birds in flight. Protecting the hang of dignity threatens it. Everyone   
knows that. Everyone alive. A little sick, even unwell, yet one man’s voice is handsome, calm, also scrappy.   
Further down the pillar, a kimono has been entered, explaining prehension tongue in cheek.
I’m worshiping 
a whole number while a crew of higher energy  
blew town along with.. it’s no matter, since  
the full crew might be regular guys that could potentially flip out  
again until they’re replaced.   
How I think of you.   
Some water [Pause.] please.
My style is no variation, a luxurious quest. A stiff explanation.
If you’re stagnant, you’re undead, pure metaphysical pre-evil. 
I put a recalled toy in my mouth, more profitable than narcotics.


There’s no portrait, not even a good i.d.; the lion took  
the eagle’s wings yet kept his own name. 

Then he had an idea. O
there’re reproofs he keeps inside just the same. 
I notice the lion hadn’t said even half of 
anything before he took off.
Roadkill would be the most empirical debacle turning abstract to date — a bumblebee
clocked into epic death by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain his lack of manners or historicity
was a flaw like smearing a heartthrob, a Lebowski.

Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the weather surface in lithe shorthand coupled with a last
puffiness and black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
There’s no one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capital. 
Try feeling polyphonic with an uncapped fortune, reflecting what you did when your adolescent backbone iced up, raising all boats, all standards, all social levels.  
Our greatest fear is going deeper—   
That would kill our real parents.   
They’re dead already.   
Hence the family corporation is casually hidden   
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.  
Solitude, confidences, you’ll earn times in the day,  
the plays and many a jungle, many in an around the clock series —
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
fewer over time. (Youth remains, after all, the determined object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking you
then not knowing.
The air is sawed off, wishy and doing better. We were dangerous, once.
Smooth rhetoric is purely blur. It’s too late to make it sparse. Now we’re appalled. Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake.
We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no shit. None of mine.

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, rotary forces of moral freedom will drill 5 feet down underground, a strafed, ethical spectacle falling into proverbial and natural coherence like mumps, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.
Having a visible cocktail with yo... Take-down quotation-décor really scares me. Take-down as the day zooms, it seems anathematic enough but to specify a wipe-out draping fiber ...and still the hue comes back to bone-desperate substance. Bone hued, relaxed and free of contradictions in desire.
Our small party turning into Lost Colony as the fete evanesces into a seminar on comparisons, fact-rechecks, back formations, replenishings.

That was all I felt.

Discuss the cut-off points where ideas can meet and turn into commodious habits that muddle thru and onward. Talk about process. Curtains then drapes.
for you, core harmonic structure: call back when you want


We need a balance for everything foundered in obsession. Come in. Please step inside where the balance should be.

A dog actually ran in here just now shaking his tail, what deception.. In the sentence before — it wasn’t definite what sort of dog he is, but now I know — bad dog.

I'll make him disappear.

And away with these shirtless demagogues from the previous episode. 

We got them to crack their fever but I want you.
“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why  bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.
If that clothesline were untitled, to get started,
this is what then? The surface is bloody 
colossal — fun games, what they call trick arts. 

It occurs to you or me 

a trick has already been devised wholly 
before it’s hastened online or cancelled

— it’s not utterly offhand.. rather: 

a trick is called a change of pollen in the heart. 

Began how far ahead 
we liberate ourselves to oppose either 

62: No account surmounts heaven where detachment is trimmed. Swimming there uproots the whole series, bright, tanned & then defined by sympathetic parody and indeed praise, contrary to less gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded by self-love & this choppy vocab of worthy affects. There’s a hint of falsetto, too. Shields up. I’m reading the last place you feel true, here in my heart, shifting iniquity to self-inquiry, I read you. Stay with me, so it will never stop. No sin here.

Beginning to see the picture. Beyond some blanks
you can follow our penmanship advancing to endlessness:
Our love (a winner ... have a look!) is a time share in calligraphy.
Joining you, me — my hand learns & flows with others’ stealth — committed to your living tongue tho, delivered from your brain,
nursed on your beauty’s signature.
If animals could talk they’d say, we pick our clothing style by the rules. We can’t get you out of our thoughts? Handle it? Come closer, you’re scary. 


A sparrow close-range, a dedicated follower, packing a double large elegy of values, love trouble, last blinded by the sea tonight, this evening of the seals. Two old seals suddenly lifted in a wave, the same rise in each. Humming back, large as the beach staring back at midnight. When it goes, it’s for gladness reasons. Often it’s no one you know, the seals go mourning their orchard rounds.
A twice quarterly tremolo fills the ground trailing off in a prism of sparrows, off to war everywhere but not here, a cogent ho, an earlier freer hum in a wash of other sounds along with schematic petals and stems, anywhere the free-lance mammoth goes after he drops a thread. 
Exactly. But the hand-on-thigh thing... You know, to the outside eye, to the person... who doesn’t know what a forgiving, wonderful person a free-lancer can be... this could look like you’re — per the Veda — confused. How do your readers feel about you living in this cesspool?
A disheartening skull pile supposes its completion. Angels speak up, tho, in
dialog enhancer mode. Storage rates go higher.
We get to a point where we have to stop adjusting to the margins as views, as shrine–y meadow 

as I give up missing your skin.
28: Robbing the cradle: The big picture shows me my modest place. 
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —   
each the other’s reigning enemy taking umbrage from grumpy distortion,  
fractured logic (Hex 39) and their combined morbidity.  
While you — I always flatter you in long consent —  
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,   
happy, long toil to stronger sorrows and griefs. So we never sleep — you thru me,
exactly, and vice versa what the cradle requests; the place rocks.
A private-public distinction, extension 8,
No longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force. 

Keeping my writing up
Besides giving empathy, suffering distress,
I write on my agenda, 

A vapidly growing ‘fortune’ 
Once I launch it — 

I got married however without knowing the side effects 
— wait, I forgot why I called.
Prognosis: It’s just getting started, more video, the century with 2 beginning decades that cannot be easily designated. As a citizen among millennials, it’s gross I live to blow off my masterpiece, suddenly building a new narrator under my notarized certificates of hubris and vulnerability — Euros tumble. The sensual spy novel is amusing and telegenic for killing time until 2020 through the 20s and 30s that follow, so let’s narrate that. And about that. We were always lovers. The meta-tick-tock due now and pronto — calling in Cupid — the greatest emcee and dues collector of any new century, sullen, endearing..
Modesty is unimpressive in itself.  
There’s an either / or for attrition of affects, concision or eyesore. 
And there’s a struggle to housesit too much information.


The heart is sore as 
Whitman precedes Aimé Césaire. Drink up.  
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam
(a love poem) one aroma 
— Accounting disappears like functions of context (starched procedures) — 
Love not being is taught  
But fought for in reverse. Freezing one difference.   
Physicalism (neural meditation) — here we wade slowly adapting to amoral schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Meow well.
Field painting, lower level: I’m a neo-accepter of things, making and living in particles of objective misnomers, eating and breathing them, too, as the ideology-clean rhetoric of double quotes in acrylic burgeons on officially sanctioned conjecture. Indexing suspicion and objurgating.. the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family fortune of junk, affixes and addictions to risk = vibrating blobs..

Auto-electrocuted. But calmed down. No more tv, due to sore thumbs. There’s a dual nature of justice going around in “resentment and forgiveness” with high notes we won’t deflate. A muggy, fantastic tenor, jittery, soundless often, active against the grain. He reaches points at which the point director is traceable and draws me in. 
24: This is color: Q-tips & smoke. Good background turns. Painter can pick you up, take a day off
              from where everyone who’s still standing is drawn to your art — your glazed shape,
your true eye for an eye, physical & prime for the stress of form mallees between a rat race
             & cunning security IF
this is color, Painter’s models have your body frame in mind & Painter can gaze on your perspective for good yet never know your heart.
Landscape: Blimey. Local accents are a focus. Over the summer construction advances. 
Uncivil also true, summer advances over the construction.  
Everybody, everything goes!  
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are incised and joined.
Social progress is in a pickle.  
It goes for cheap so far, in another direction. Al  
-most curtains for the prom fitting, a horrible hot mess.  
The shortest path from here ignited by havoc, honest 
and exhausted tailors.  
The dancers are perpetual winners I guess.  
I wager we scarf the half-eaten take-out on the table. Slashed 40%!
The cremation service starts, it often says, when prayer behooves those who talk but no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 


Enthusiastic about scalloped attitudes.
Socialist by nature, cashing in analytics (private scenery), we’re 
Not sure discourse product pertains. Sacred axioms certify wealth and income  
Consultancy, honing descendants into two dimensions on the surface 
For a change before they’re emptied again, a perfection of themselves as children
Ad hoc, at least.
There aren’t any warnings. 
That said, the minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switches back. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never
I can’t tell you I don’t care, on the inside.  
Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague change, like our plebiscite, better to pump out to voices’ grasp. A normal life with submerged artifacts accrues Pascal highlights.
It would be a challenge [a koan under  
shapeless circumstances] to simplify winning a car or suffering injury starving how?  
The future would give more. No more  
than no thanks. 
I thought of you.
39: Sing how in absence our thoughts on love prove only hints of torment. Separation seemed brilliant manners far back, before now. The thought of that today is oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.
One difference, then, sing that you are the better part of me who changes — I’ll praise you at the gate praising him.
Even divided we’re the same. We live to entertain our time with thoughts of love. And even for this it’s still separation. I dream so w/ you.. as you sing.
Your snobbishness killed us. 
No monks wrote the inscription for our ashes. It reads: Just because we’re not there to floodlight what we know on swimming exhausted doesn’t mean we weren’t Bodhis / each physique w/ a hammer in hand. Nailing our souls together takes a moment of our lives that we don’t have, don’t love, don’t hate.  
Whatever takes substance and breadth, we’re not doing it!
We did one thing in common. Everyone bristled.  
One thing. One time. Other times, in tatters oneself, are gimme-erotic,  
circumspect. (I’m just beginning to explore them.) Their symbolism weighs in  
as a shortcut, “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer) 
Times (x) I’m pretending to be at your asinine behest, pet swapped,  
intimidating as a perfect stranger.  
As a consequence doors open. & I’m auto-electrocuted.
Uma Thurman’s son.. me..
Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer
All the time, staggering!


Tensions were apparent. 
Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to the co-op, wrapped in steam. 
Metaphor and life changing commerce, cities unknown but arriving soon. 
Sugar Dust (you in a Bernini head replant) brings on the knowledge effect where cloud equivalents prosper all day on a narrow isthmus, watching seasons float in willpower. I never understood insinuation. I never misunderstood it, either, a pulverizing divide teasing my attitude into admonitory tableaux sponged with your eyes...
Cupid fell into olive swelter in unnamed aromas 
that led his dogs to you, making clear    
Cupid in a blouse, Cupid’s blank stare =  
a blast furnace getting head.   
Cupid pulls the curtains to reveal a street, permitted 
yards outside where people pass by in walk-on parts.   
One doesn’t know any more  
if there are good times or bad ahead of war.
Sonnet 120: En route to password assistance, astronomical, infinitesimal amounts are rounded off as unsolved,
unkind work & compelling problems that front-load knowledge construction — like your partner & you finding empty bowls of light to explain & reform a voided bow of times-spaces, never stopping. 
Sure or no, my deepest sympathies certainly.  Properties of steel.
Yes, attempts to throw your voice are dumb & of a special force   
— I suffered in the same crime — 
Suffered from the unknown risks. As first-time infringers we don’t mushroom,  
Ignored. But we seem hellbent when two or three or more reach assistance,  
So we need oversight. 
Out front I’ll tell you what awaits the prosaic in The Bible. Locusts.
Meantime a varsity crew 

in a boat house.. eyes drift as if 

undressing underwater. I visualize why snails 

build their houses. They stand around and tank, 
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.
We like newness in a way when both leave things as they were.   
Like the price drop on Seymour. 
How I graduated from this shame of ours, pride  
in the mock debate between the sexes? There the rich won. The academy. 
Can you place our names there? I have a full waterfall of alter-egos, updates to asides
and decorative indeterminacy.
‘Electing’ a demagogue feels like brain cancer.


Misdoers — with a kill-agenda — are tickled into corruption. 
Here is the place you and I may detect the language driver, untidy and young, loath despite the foundational rule of no rule  
And speaking up without permission. In other words, 
Misdeeds get somewhere then stop. The wind withers snowballs. 
In the mentalist version we grow inner living language over — to pillory hindsight.
I’m shifting emphasis for my best friend.
Our position is to find breathing room, what leaves you?
enough of what you want lessened so we can start over. 
Whom will we discover? 

I’m in no hurry. A life is doffed. Embrace.
Ten hut. What service are we in? 
Bankruptcy. (Have to gorge.) My fault, my head is cleared.
Sonnet 119: Software permeates adolescent philosophy. This madder hell points to asphalt perimeters, why error messages inspect structures (applying fears to hopes) :
building up un-manacled distraction so amor in the head is amazing, far greater madder fever! :
Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate — evil still made better — for amnesia’s fixed width, blessed never, rebuked to our heart’s content! :
And ruined we kept losing, true, losing you .. spent, shaken tame.
(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
That’s the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate my clemency.   
What kind of government overthrow takes parliament  
maneuvers more lightly?
Song in the prime of summer:

On the closing date, only a lumpy scent. No contrivance or Schubertian opposition feels like glistening bouclé heating under pressure. Not our roles either to
fill the marsh in, lengthening Schubert’s menace while coddling the wetlands. I call this a sex drive / minus attrition. Gay

alert: The wetlands work it through. Remember. Words we had and didn’t have consequences.

It appears unseemly as well as unspeakable for libido to constitute knowledge modules, aimlessly blowing in summer’s good news of constant unitary joy...

tho they with winter meet...
Data take charge within the hour.


Act gathered. 
There’s personal glamor that can only end in a draw sustained by two  getting up, stretching for an hour.  
After glamor there’s power. The virus is already inside us.
Taking flak, but unwilling to signal afar, this gong or that, neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object in future time. A leatherneck develops his own future humanism. I’ll grab my cover and scramble over here to math skills, since my brain runs on the new comedy network promoting my partner’s satisfaction as we pivot from jokes and brokering to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria. 
Our sketch begins.
...pleasure before Hey, that your velour vox?  
For the poet art administrator, hissy fits of modesty are unimpressive, swept up and vacuumed off each cowpoke. 
A year of taxes and you’re a neo-accepter into excess, making, being smithereens since and before the temporal.  
Fits of pique are objective misnomers, eating and breathing them, too, as our ideology-swept rhetoric of double quotes administrating burgeons. Omniscience is semi-officially sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes and custodians.  
[w John W]
5: No remembrance of what it was. Of confounding beauty. Of the lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Of course I did play a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on whom I led on. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofa sectionals — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but yes I’ll love you better frosty and lusty!  

— Often I’d say I’m a pervert approaching you as a pointillist of the pulverized, liquid dots — doing time as a distiller of summer love

pent in never-resting time that still lives —
Standard touching looks terrible or descendant. 
Capacious anxiety, refusal to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done.  
You can break the law to shoulder perfection or save a life, only once. Either way is a fractional immeasurable in any context / e.r.  
Something was definitely going on.   
Lefties are feeling cornered (not to say conned) but  
it’s breathtaking administering the right wing to you.
Dispatched for ignoring each other,
chaos therein
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo  
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible  
July light  
and suddenly only theory  
awing in a wolf’s regime,  
There’s brush  
fire toward mosquitos — shot  
through the throat, asking too much
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to behold 
but with the same vulgar, adolescent cri de coeur.  
(Good night, wallet.)


So far I can see your light 
Tendencies shifting free of fever, ague, 

Homo intemperance, the gay flu. Beware. Uproar
Coming clean is part of gay unity, all alone so fast
Entering & staying w/ an elliptical value, not knowing

What comes into you, wild boys fantastic to watch! 
Teen to older person: 
cornered (not to say conned).   
Hold to your decoder status forever sparkled quo vadis,  
meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —  
Either way is a fractional  
infinite in the context / e.r.   
OK I mean  
I’m done.
We think on our feet like animals brushing up on ideas...
Condition blue. 
Ten or so 
ululations kick it off, running 
over one ocean. 

Ripping in mean 
swimmer’s blue, 
in a competing mesne, 
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta 
more down surf, startling 
That swells 
the back light among us.
4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing.
To traffic in deception, record your writing. Take notes here
.. and I’m being frank, beauty given to you
will oppose given facts of previous loveliness gone unused —
a perplexed legacy taken outside why or what’s acceptable, let alone

to audit profit and thrift. I’ll lend you
my saddle for your extrication from hallucinatory delirium ..

Love whom else? Is it largess to go free? In a coin flip, we

traffic with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air —
spending its shade upon you and me,
so great a denatured octagonal gloom
by our own natures, sum of sums, we must leave it there, undone.
I can put a very ultimate prayer this way.  
We need to work on a new trial and platform. I recommend blending in with ex-lyricists and anyone non music industry.  
So I put your name on and in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I?  
The pinnacle of the spine plots murder while we stay neutral, high and low, austere yet foreseeable. 
And the evaluations are in.  
You are part of what we hold.  
It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before more uplift.
The will to quiet is the flip side of getting ch- 
amber pieces to burble, to cry nearly inaudible  
tears for renewed power, whence  
(following power) the score winds up if you must know..  
tranquil beneath the surface, no surplus  
message. So there’s nothing to represent.
Adaptability in circumstances 
is hardly effortless:  
I add, ellipses.


When we’re talking silt..

Central options are missing or off schedule
jumping around, leaving their staggered posts as mental constructs.

Driftwood. Meanwhile. 
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 for infamous exposure (in costume).
152: Back when there was a hell, each vow
was or seemed sufficient and inclusive for a new occasion of faith.
It was easy, deemed distinguished then, too uniform now.
Once back in the day the fair-minded had more complex appetites.
When giving eyes to blindness they brainstormed over such enlightened innocence —
truths, lies never happened.
In a larger context there was the most recidivism in fashion and lit.
Dante nibbled fast, in very mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace.

There was a terrific wine list — and that made for loving twists, kindness,
drinking perfusions as he had at strangers shedding their platform shoes.
Marxist-self irony:  
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers.  Eating and breathing them too. It’s July, August.. 
And this is what it means to have a muse. No blame. 
No poet will work in a freezing apartment except when it’s far more than a place for thoughts to gather thru summer. She struggles in cold rooms for little compensation and goes beyond the joy of subverting arbiters of something loath. Something enlivened, something ripe. 
Paperwork fastened to repetitive joy, coming July, August..
We left our module to look over curricula. 
Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..   
Filming, taping = reporting: imparting numeric dicta, slathered middle ground,   
‘Local slippery conditions’ (where we can tape this off).  
Keep all of yours together. Own your swarm and lend them jackets.  
Up in blanched smoke — flames, sparks...   
A red bonfire indispensable for smearing highway color —  
Filming made more relaxing, the way things sustain  
More opportunities for interruption.
Cliché inflects necklines. But I like your flask.


You’re exempted from outdoors, empty Psyche, 
Exempted from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..  
That’s before I reverse your leavings, fragrance —  
The calm never resolved —  
because we’re only one muppet and one marine  
reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, the last weaves.   
“‘In a way’,” he said, “‘nothing saved me until we ran the gauntlet —’”
99: Stay on the hunt, tough to please, speculate (ouch)

even as vengeful tectonic plates jump over
our fears, our shame and despair.
Annexed to you, a forward violet seems grossly dyed, soft on your cheek.
Purple raining havoc for lilies.. marjoram, my love’s breath, your breath. (Uh.) Here’s where you and I lose the scent. Ever

-yone does. A smell clouded (ouch);
flames ennoble the sky to blush through

my love’s veins, your hands — both of ours fearfully in thorns,
condemned for pride, going on all nerves stolen from you.
Ode to the dead (maybe not yet). Then dims. 
A beseeching sentence:  
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.  
Food also knows where it belongs. Rapid in general.  
The proscenium brightens. Thinned out. 
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?   
Knowing the ropes to scale now, even substance,  
clearing the theatre of lame comforts,   
stern, food pecked over, even down  
to our place, last place, last row.
During recess we agreed not to. 
The sun feels showing up here is messy enough, organizing  
the day community; buildings love it grabbing hold of their walls,  
windows and square vines like rope thickening into tree limbs..    
How can harness rope go on climbing  
vines’ drear canopy? How can it climb at dawn 
playing down any agreement you keep in your head?
Little sentences with twists.   Gambling with your money, brooding of course, waking up. Highball glasses tinkle and clink in the spirit of dangling my shit.


There are a few tongue twisters. Episode interiors silhouetted in un-analytical projection, coming-of-age views that screen an official episode [how will I leave you] : However I believe we’re past the middle, nearing the accordion fold of 1 — loving time; not an accident the outlines say there’s a double interior where scribbling adjusts to long division, complex facticity, which scribbling-2 — hate time — tears open and picks at — to pay 1 off in near disappointment — Both scribbling and scribbling-2 climb uphill, texting odd incidents still, and both slide back down just before turning 17, fortune’s bastards biting hard, gritting their teeth, a lot older now. 
The work-together-bellows form I assemble — touches from a momentary lineage we’d overlook otherwise. No proof required, especially. A range of conversations bellowed into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences. 
A flaming kitchen to heat pizza.  
(more below...) 
We’re imprisoned to reach market — 
Otherwise, normal project staff on the roof, smug in taut outfits and at the top of their game, which is synchronized, perforated by breaking news, jumping bail.  
Gardens hold what is commonly loaned.
Meeting here feels like preparing our cabin in the launch.

Bad behavior, showing anger, the beginning of learning — more easily understood as work- 
permitted off time,
she’s too many promising variations like this citrus ring where sawdust

hell tore past our sawdust delusions often for hellbent pleasures
while we’ve had enough fair acceptance over brunch.

Send for a woman thus addressed. Very late it began to be less... cloudy.

Lamps buzz daubs of sound, almost a lotion
to countermine Gemini.

Her neck and collarbone burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems progressive and cimarron.
Sonnet 135

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

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

The unoccupied mind long overdue adds to the store. The you 

I reference in primary season. With your large suitcase. 
I’ll pack for the gracious aftershock of your going ahead, reading, lifting, adding and reflective or reflecting? you in the unkind foreground, all water. 
Publicity is the soul of justice.
That’s a great question.
Piano strings! precise and going no-


 floating up nervous laughter

.. an octopus taken no more than once a day.
Minutes after your work can be filed ..
‘work’ to ‘file.’
Or will we be going anywhere?

It seems like anywhere unless you knew where you were ..
just praying ..
Self-barter, a potential volt in a then-this-is-now domain...
Just praying.


Experiment 12: Declutter, depersonalize,
let’s snorkel down. Terrific view.
I saw you on ghost tv from across a dance flotilla

moving your future hands

like tracks on time, no touching...

you be a woman I'll be a man.

The simple complex of entire atonement —

touch television — now proceeding normal ly —
How fast in my illusion 
of minimalism more or less today 
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,  
I should say the accretion settled down,  
got lost and scattered trying to remember. 
Its odor hit the trail with twin stinkers.  
It had kind eyeholes.
Now we have equities,
the story has legs.
46: Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand abstractions
like unforgettable elements
in our sight, touching and holding the
moment, dividing it with
illusions of taking off for the
unknown, a mortal war
spinning or spun / upset / out of control yet
just outward parts of how our eyes impanel freedom and my rights
to your appearance, to your quests and thoughts, your inward heart.
Variation : prototypes, scars, male processional battle 
gear, skye terriers, background media & sexual  
exercise under conditions surrounding our desire  
to adapt compliments for insurgents to go dark enough.   

That’s how you hang staring in the mirror —  
A few of these items won’t balance  
until you think a way to scan your proceeds, listening until you  
stage the best into stressed & refined inelegance.  
All informal — creepy — with eyes half closed.
A blank referral.  
A burst of daft tone substitutes for info of a lifetime. 
Wait. There’s nothing.  
No tone, no daftness.   
And rightly ok o I know 
I lower the volume to closest approximate parity  
and we have the yard puffing, bearing sounds..  
a shout away to body paint sweet totems that “look pretty close”  
with your eyes closed.
Sunshine feels like a slap in the face. 
Milling around is jammed.  
Engines manage to hover. Pie charts and July market data are no guarantee of future thrum and rumble, hey and whoa — how awful, how much are we exercising to circumvent compulsory salutes and arm flapping? 


One assumption is tomorrow’s classless flight will be an extension of how it’s going now. 
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced  
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any.  
This introduces the cult of the squish factor. (My  
Luggage did this to me.)
12: This is a fugue in your name
talk talk future talk..

We do not count the clock telling time
..we’re spry in our motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.

You may have noticed we’re behind open doors, past

abhorring a vacuum when it doesn’t matter —
vibrato and sunlight close their distance.
Our wastes of time are subject to change, so?
— never saw them coming, old and new to some usual ends
but not here — we’re braving talk of your beauty telling the future..
Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage 
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.
Unfinished sculpture. 
I am is still here, the body’s heroic purring could not be put off. (One hush dissipates the other.) And one sorority reviews egg whites in their spare, bubbly zeal to outpace an apparatus (not properly issued to commentary).
Meantime we’ve moved off the mainland. 
No unknown futures present newer phenomena, fenced off.  
We have no perverse incentive to take more chances as we talk thru our replacement woods.  


sleep where I work. A company like ours takes it into the physics facility. 
We’re in the flat present tense, multiple account outlines in simultaneous perception. 

We’re reciting new slang exponents to snag and support 
Two syllables of love while scouting flyweights in the recursive landscape.
Medicine, anecdotes are a way of life. He had meant antidotes, composer in this case, not the narrator. One withdrew. They just seem wound up terribly in the same horology. One in the study of, the other in the art. 
Walking to the new place he has to deposit deleted utterances in surface structure to get back to the rugged complex.  
Then we can drive the good stuff fast, much faster.
What’s curious style? 
Engineered simplicity holds tho 
Taken whole:  
“Give in, dig it.”  
(There’s a new policy to highlight deletions.)  
I’m waving on the wave’s behalf,  
Taken your lead. Word processing in Palatino sans 
All the time, staggering prose!  
Tomorrow I’ll  
Tap out more deletions I forgot to close —
69: Kind eyes are deeds.  That’s the world’s outward view.
Other parts of you I can measure watching you bathe  
crowned in tawny daybreak synthetics.  
Others in common accents commend your beauty in seraphic white.  
We’re all right! Two more loiter, intent.  
No smiling. We’re wearing harnesses w/ panoptic properties 
extending our blood-pull orbit toward the camera.  
That’s outward praise.
The gist in a slurry, plump, downy evanescing took the elevator. Up buzzers rise above affixes and urgent notation. Helium released — pushed in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the un-spontaneous summer physique. With his gift of sullen madness signing everything in burlap, compounded and oncoming in percussive isolation. The upshot. 
To paraphrase ... you can’t pixilate  
How or even what you’ll be taking from the background;  
MoMA in the original shifted genealogy,  
Different periods of shifts changing contexts for us;  
We were both wearing black Lacostes.   
When you got up your voice was a drawing  
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flat in dust in 4 dimensional motes.   
That was something 
(where-is-he-now knows what he said)  
Vibrating = Sturm und Drang, pursuant  
Dust controls anger / how minds wed.
Prayer behooves you, it often says. Prayer for those who talk shite no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 


Dispatched for 
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo  
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible  

July light  
and suddenly just theory  
awing in a wolf’s regime,   
There’s brush  
fire toward mosquitos — shot  
through the throat, asking too much 
..dropped by my boyfriend,
we all do dark things sometimes...
Sonnet 100:

We have tangibility subtracting song
— work converted to a crooked argument
with little or no honor.

But it adds up. The numbers spoil everywhere, and this time
We don’t have to see you
get the job done. You’re faster than time.

We forget that’s why esteemed actuaries went
unmoored. Affection is idly vicarious doing what’s graven here.
Vicarious isn’t surveyed enough. Fame and skill redeem
all fury over what accounts spent,
a despised waste of life as satire, as if not, as the survey avers.
Socialist by nature, cashing in analytics, 
Not sure discourse product pertains. 
But reading or composing usually subverts expectations.  
We’re dealing particles of thought paying homage  
To finding a subject,  
Finding how nature moves discourse from oversight.
Their young have gained on the older, those that could, 
Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years — 
They’re real actors, not people. 


What do we know? We have functional emotions and this much-traveled vocabulary of affects. 
To learn something about what you mean is to let high jinks belie despair over entropy.  
For a quiet start, you don’t get to keep larvae. They’re apart, wise in their ways. Their cloying song goes out mum and you feel a need to ache in their baby blue blather, calmly accruing intimacy. Hey — Never stop exploring.  
In a word, intermission.
It began as parallel ideas. 
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect  
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping  
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series  
As a glow that’s cool and regular.
Spell it out:
Crucibles, dignity of appearances don’t mix. The dirt on this is your
personal, sustained concussion version of unintended charity... 
or untended or..
But here’s a perfect ‘out’ —
How lost on the trail? What trim?
We’ll word process away impetuous, costive, unflappably happy,
brusque — the donor’s shimmer a blazer of complacency. And so better.
Leaves us crying for the boinks in your pleasure, O
and little to pay you except wait.

And what’s the charge?
Vacation. A violet mist. 
This is prison.   
(You have the evidence. Ugh!)   
Losers = worshippers of their detractors.  
Heaven is in our hearts with an eggdrop of credos and documents, from which large scale dull instruments get tossed.   
We drink to our loud mouths.
The big thief of American poetry? 
Dickinson speaking: I never win, she says. Except at night.  
Management would feel mortified showing themselves,  
So exposed they’d feign ignorance, wander aimlessly   
Taking off (in their heads, at least) for better moments   
Until new urgencies emerge.   
Man, she is weird. Is there room in the room   
For further origins. Let’s rewrite Biotherm, she says.   
I fear her sarcasm.   
Composition for her is sardonic comfort with a sober edge.   
Management leaked this against her wishes.   
A pervert is attacking my persona. Except at night.
Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing. 
To traffic in deception, film your writing, take notes.


Experiment 13: Touch television —

the mercury-brimmed scree

insubstantial in its unexpectedness,

               a dangerous, frisky slither

on the now-clear train to a continuum —
tv retaliates against falling / falling out
in daytime, programming on a sheer precipice.
I am a non attorney spokesperson. Been through the wringer.
And we should know. Something is pouring out, moving forward filling imaginations emptied flat on the table. (They were bound to organize.) And we were thinking about a hole fetish against full transparency. Oh, sorry.. for. 

A murmuring board of hulks struck by lightning had emitted a ballet of dust (of and in) a fare commotion in what’s the matter.

Top down that is.
A portrait should be backdrop to it. This one of you in the back. Undressed — except for slacks — up-waisted like Updike. Look me in the eye and diagram conditions of spatial sentences (touching both elbows behind your back — 
Not out of calculation) — I now know this will be ok conditionally 
For big amounts ashore are fudged — we can watch it come true to one side — tempted by re-mechanized perils, untested, untried.
Nothing better rubs me back within its reach. It = your grasp, my central aggregate.
145: A fiend’s tongue taught me to greet then end each day with nothing woeful, nothing sweet —

Once I don’t hate you 
I find mercy to renew argument and sing.

For your sake, I hate hate.
I see chidingly day follows night...  your lips’ gentle breathing, a languished state yet explosive.

But today I saw your hand in my life ... a great doomed sound altered, flown away.. I’m totally saved, from heaven to hell, flown straight to your heart, Jezebel, never to hate, “not you.”
Provincetown: Trained staff encourage sampling as Lt Benji takes fingerprints, once a full-time hobby for Meister beach boy put in charge after age 30. 

No incriminating evidence yet (or ever). The night is younger than that.
After glamour there’s revisionist power. The virus is already inside us, wo-  lfed down improv crap, we’re pre-wired or is there a fee? 
Radiance now is the lather of swing. Remember deliverance?  
“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?” Everything works. 
In any time and place of our choosing: Act gathered, nothing there.  
True love is a physician with a way of relapsing.
...a good amount, meaning?
that would be as thematic as I get
with that solid a wonder.


Landscape — Antinomy in its own time: I should know. Something after poured out, dazzling its double structure toward filling empty assembly boxes you were bound to organize. 

Losing steamy light downstairs. And nevertheless you were rushing then pausing over more optical symmetry. An interim for you, pushing up and out. Before we got laid. There is little point now to hold back (cremate) a fixed melody tonight unless there is nowhere else. 
We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance and manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are what we have in mind!) : The last step brand.
Did I mention Wittgenstein helped set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere the living supersede water towers and physicality itself, where there is no algebra, no privacy. The brand started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, his ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films that transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back.
147: The float seems to learn love fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant wares,” 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the fair as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no caption.”  
Mad discourse throughout anticipated that base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave me now when there’s a move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please. 
I’m reading theses in time and opinion.  
An interpretive opera about hoofers. Local accents are a focus
I listen for: Ya, 
It’s a question of escalating to inhabit received logic.  
I’mretracing what I think I see, why ya, I’m 
Concentrating on the song colors, naming touching sounds.  
Oblique sounds patrolled in symmetry, a body
Like yours. Pushing the most obvious among broken arts,  
The self-defiant from slanted states of meagre influence. 
Ha baby.
Your search had no results.
The time is split into categories of use for your work and for the sinister about-face of a system download added to our labor.
A life sentence for causing a ruckus.
Call when you’re ready.
Reach out touch base break the silence


I added frontal motion to the story about those looks that intimidate, m’lord. 
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or ember 
floating down to our nose level. That’s cool — creamed just for sleeping with you, blackmailed..  
wandering into the new wrong theater guild  
chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming  
and massive parallel vistas projecting smiles and feeling 
invisible. Totally insane. Libido.
Let me grab a pen and clamber over here to the landmark network... you’re right, this isn’t the window for you or me. Before the heat dies, if ever, we’ll try praying in all directions, improving our math skills for our window cleaners’ sexual satisfaction as they pivot from top panes to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria.
57: I watch the clock. Being a slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests  
all at once. Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of movement from the inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to diffuse, to expend ...  
to question my jealousy — 
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of my desire at any cost to render your mouth
a world-without-end, a sobbing, precious mess.  
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I
think no ill. Adieu.
A great goon won and kind of dumped on me and my country. (It’s a remnant from philosophy show-and-tell, a truly exaggerated enterprise.)

I never dump back. I hope his coming losses help him become a better entrepreneur and public intellectual. Or I wish him savvier gurus. Planet Earth is Maoist hell — ringed with grassy estates where that guy or better you and I look further to get beyond our laughter. Gracious and conservatively dressed, we also choose to move comfortably, absorbed in desire to sleep with any clown in a storm, anybody great. But a lot of these crises pass. Today and in a future of interdependence I write him out of our poem.
I forget ephemerality, I forget narrative. 
I’m drunk on the environment; 

I’m a working temp, a role promised Hermes that threw him over the cliff.   
A perfect station plays Schubert for a kettle of heavenly fury,  
searing, puffy, relaxed and succinct.  
Angel, let’s run some #’s.  
To pass out when we wake is ample.   
I’m at your side placing puts  
on the periodic table, a rising market in wanting you (I do).  
I forget farewells.
Yoga is as popular as use of strength is everywhere, definitely in bed. It’s nearly in your mind such a devastating ethereal hulk in the city. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering in a natural voice.. 
Advice to a would-be gymnast: just be simultaneous.


Could there be Thanksgiving for the dead?  
                      hold on  
I’ll put you  
on greenish “pallor enhancer.”  
Strangers breathing around us, sweating under a river of skin 
flowing out, living now for compliments engraved on secret ballots. 
Didn’t they tell you

thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof

— our brains are being stolen; after

we wander back home muttering “TV,

TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.
Talk? You hoped we might &?
Japanese are fascinated by pottery. 
Any dark ceramic with asymmetrical tenets is tacit  but could be looking up at a source of light, feeling talkative..  

maintaining maximum restraint  
to engage another’s psyche.
28: Robbing the cradle, baby: The big picture shows me my modest place. 
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —   
(Each flatterer, the other’s reigning enemy oppressed by grumpy distortion,  
fractured logic — Hex 39 — and their debarred morbidity.)  
The while you, babe — I always flatter you in long consent —  
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,   
happy, longer toil to stronger sorrows and griefs. So we never sleep, you thru me,
exactly what the cradle requests; the place rocks.
Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s really
colossal — masking your vanity becomes the tortured challenge clinging to verse. And.

To vanity, tyranny’s conditional surrenderer, 
I was thinking of god’s shoplift energy .. 
Hold on, I was handed this bag of sentences. 

And this is what I did not want to say.
I like it when prose or song digs in and flails. 
That about covers it.  
( It’s that emotional core between personal and professional.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. I got sun.  

Got to run, prose.
Flamey asides. 
A kitchen to heat pizza.  
Wake up and work.


It’s powerful to give names to feelings. 

So, Buddha tells me you’re a baby  
And I have to destroy my world to get back to yours.   
Unhappiness results from our abundance.  
In specialized contexts.
“I don’t like it, and I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with it.”
I tend to have to agree with you.
[adverb here] I can’t face facts. I invented the elbow railing
thru intimation, insinuation, innuendo. 
It was something I ate but stronger in overlap.
Never believe quite a theory, never say it’s conjecture.
It costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, faint of.
We’re fidgeting, minding our semiotic manners, 
lit by mid-lunch clarity, sporting and Datonian —  
we’re within an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...   
breezeways to enter then exit formlets   
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —    
Skilled decor, then, de-simplified or notional mime  
in contretemps between science and who knew?   
ironic technologies with no precedent —   
a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis   
and hermetic syntax.    
Nice mouth front. Amuse our ears and eyes: why so few   
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little)   
— it seems an absurd referent and then less   
about off-rhyme. 
137: Love is a blind fool among the true and false. You never see what they see. You’re wide awake thinking this through until a subfocus gets lost. You can’t see, you grow accustomed, so to speak, directly oblique : but pointedly there’s no one name escalated or united w/ the width of what beauty is! And where it lies!

Bon équilibre, someone else won’t choke (and in a common language at that), one a 2nd person, your “someone else,” comprehends. What do you say? Why of falsehood, tell me, speak to the wide world where several are over-partial to my judgment. Why should my heart do anything?

Yet I give up my weak words thinking they seem right, hack at reasons to try for more with the grit of fairer and fouler understatement, neither the worst or best.

And you know, that’s what’s wrong then. Over-partial over you I too can’t see what the world sees..
I swear while we teeter and travel further  
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts 
All our props are just to get in.  
Or I was wondering about invention of the smoking planets, sympathizing  
With a numbers crafter also the director — one of them that never fought to smoke.  
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative section to sing:  
Spencerian, bodily stranded leaving warfare to the professionals.
The normal exec in a large academic corporation by the highway will grow up, in a flash forward, and work for Strategy Foundation, a company that parses guilty pleasures around the world. She or he doesn’t dream now — 
not any more. One’s become an energy therapist, and keeps rabbits. You see doctors learn how to say what no pet defender wants to hear. “You sure of that? You sure those were your rabbits?”
core harmonic structure: call back when you want


A hobby becomes the color of dreams, silent addiction, abundance in the heart.
Does it hold the same seasonal affect looking for recompense?
I know what I need, blindfolded.

Concept this.
Your seeing life is the intervals it contains minus your presence.
Photons are torpedoes. ‘I’m home..’ 
Maybe set to Nome?  
I say to the ATM in the lobby,  
take my cash, push me like a button thru the roof —  
Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows  
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
Here I am as genealogies of photon futurists file off.  
Rebuilding one is a verb tied to esthetics that numb.   
I’m the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam channel  
-ing of normality, sleep, hope, compost telepathy that bear repeating.  
Can we turn to steel?
Hours of frizzle.
I’m a fashion historian.
Can waving time like a moony branch  
supersede some language capacities,  
a piece of research asks. 2nd, why open 
atoms under quiver on the tip of your tongue at the edge to sleep?
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost.   
I know the frame craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch & new & old lines get confused, showing their rebirth.  
Fuse the way  
Continue. My argument.
Beyond us, them, 4% atoms, tiny
wriggling strings; hidden, 22% of the tug —

dark and unknown prostrations
fixed on voices, a first luscious, noiseless bond.

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

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

open, moving, waiting, transferring
but hardly blasphemy. Not that I care.

An irrational lyric? You and I can’t transfer that,
touching on our dual roles as we reradiate consensus.
We are a color of cunnilingus. I noticed, tho, you and I applied for
pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called
Nothing Is More or Less than Arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order of gel users. We were once handsome, having left a lavish male-female hush from fingers to mouth: in epic hock to our hips. 

Our temperature raises the magnitude of repetitions into a shriveled cunnilingus in the after-life or its meandering dissolution.
An open question. What criteria do you  
adopt in choosing poems and books of poems to read? 
Give me a textual praxis as if in and around a mansion gone wild.  
Admittedly, wild is a black hole.


You read for some at sea sex is immediate, overwhelming, terse and decisive — A thousand and one friends back in the city in a boil .. polka boats like dots, you said.  This is a loose translation, drawing on elements of your life. You planted yourself here. 
You. You. How was it to record the soundtrack for an unscripted sailing promo? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with data trees leading to nebulous, chaotic deculturalization?
I need antic intellectualism. Lead-free prose. 
Four husbands.  
Simplistic, Manichaean juxtaposition.  
A solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.).   
Jousting snacks.  
New verbs like avenue, firebug, Stradivari.
The sun is gray. Divided, confused. A hairpin curve.
The system is not perfect. It’s everybody’s  
fulfillment welcomed with unlocked pleasure.  A manual ok.
We set the controls; active ingredients are  
not now, don’t. First thing in the morning.  
18: Allergic to verse? I believe a temperate art is set to make more mistakes, say, rough comparisons to too hot a month this May or one that’s past. Say, all summer you are more than nature’s change in course, growing (untrimmed) — owning the day for every moment — and knowing when to shine, to seethe.

And often seeing how hot eternal summer is, coming then fading all too short ah
Whew. We see you in fair poetry and art
from fair as far and long as men can breathe.
Letter to homosexuality, 
Standing — rain along with others’ happiness neutrinos can’t stand scattering. Next the sun we say shines, it’s nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual of our meaning it and not tempted. It’s still my life, we say. 
Use your pointer, since some of you and me show up here, and more ‘you’ve been away,’ retreating to emancipating solitude, keeping / adding up time, sporting by degrees the related changes you wait to see sitting in the only passenger seat, chihuahua staring, neh?
In relation to conflicts over scale, Habermas and the rest of us want to inspect what others say,  
but a few lies are fearful, shiny architecture of real matter.  

As if Rawls informs us on plural paths, where the tolls are o, etc.  

Truly bathetic. Forgetting what you have to say has nothing to do with current biases of mine. Like so many others, I’m fixated on war, loss of democratic principles and governance procedures —  
procedures again, only this time writ extremely large. The writ carries a stark reference to the last liberal prime number among us, John Rawls, but how inarticulate and superficial to use him this way. I’m conflicted about criteria for justice, questions how these may apply to our history now ...
There’s no description, the lion took the eagle’s wings yet kept his own name. 

Then he had an idea.  
There’s a description he kept inside.  
I notice I haven’t said anything.


Any higher, they never snicker.
(There’s tighter discipline.
Then it’s said repetitive indiscretion goes too far
& some at mixed levels are more disposed
climbing into casual ritual, putting
their lives together getting & keeping down.)
For all my exes
may a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life!
As adhesive behavior, speech haha is streaked w/ extra 
sensory blather, a polite form of the hole-  
in-the-universe. Blather ornot  
                    that hole is a sometime power brimming w/ blobs trying again.   
Storylines, battle scars, vanity, 
gesso & sloppy intercourse under un-quaint and drunken conditions that surround ourdesire — counting the days  

to laugh down compliments from insurgents binding future heartbreak.
Sonnet 65: 
Cultural boundlessness in impulsive concealment.. it could be a physics meditation held outdoors since last summer. Battering all night flower action evolves stronger, steelier pretexts, jewels, many out of hand.. petals and stems sway over an impregnable riddle. 
In time we hold our own, stumbling upon a miracle sonnet holding out for continuity as it were — trademarks of both natural and technical production, mortal yet like summer honey in value or a variable of beauty either way.
I picked up in a flier my soul is a hypothesis. A fish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy his wiggly self, a gerund seeking to join cause and effect.

Since we live in new enterprises and intuitive ecologies, we begged him to learn to swim further and stick with a nearly sublime topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding a spray of the straight and narrow.
Sooner or later Chickee got uncomfortable knowing the gender question has a peculiar tripwire: in one tumble of silt and salt waves a queasiness signs on as gender is the one query no one ignores, also a quest ill-equipped to be entirely fulfilled. 
Thus, Chickee is my guy.


As ‘you learn to draw, remind yourself...’ the brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting esthetic, not fatal — Chuck or a funny bone goes for merciless. Really his movies remind me of marigold & allegiance to the ice ants swarming the ozone as I look away — The earth is not the earth, but it has strength and balance and Duma unanimity. Each winter corrupts the exterior.... poplars attaining their ultra field and stream, doing a job shunned by most, showered with tips.
To be unmarried
Where the sky went: 

A bright debate — where eager heartbeats bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out, 

Drawing youthful bounds along dark areas of propaganda 

And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a sacrament. 
Or only one of dozens as noted by a more orthodox party. 
Misogamy’s terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples 

Gain longterm advantage spreading the no plan plan.
Same thing.
Joint damage.
The grounds for guesswork develop what the regulation is. 
If we’re lucky, Euro notes rule our larger theory of commitments.  
Like pounds they bear full imagery, shiny 17th- and 18th-century ideals.   
Debts as wasted sunshine labor. 
(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand them over 
on my thigh.)   
Don’t plan on further development.

Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused. Confused as   
A rusted barge dries in the sun orange. Or   

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters.. 
Ok, this is not Danzig. Proven  
On the ground
But theory is something else.
Deadline. Make a joke!
110: What are resonators for but to effect command of offenses we’re uncertain of or we sold cheap. There’s nothing but our affection left, my best of love. Love’s confinement a desperate measure, and it’s true in reckless hands, yet for silent partners there’s depth to surface and mostly un-despairing perceptions (grinding teeth, looking on truth) of what won’t be contained between us. All of the above.
Some standards. (The norm is share and share.)
Shined asides.  
We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,  
Really a vase,  
Set it, let sunset pitch in its foam, declare  
Poetry goes thru many drafts.
Barret Watten’s Frame — “A chain link fence around a vacant lot filled with/ trash. As if a _____ were inside them .. // A beam of sunlight refracted by a prism / makes a display. // Until language is only relation — and we are / being spoken in a dream.” 
Trash is egghead poetics, here boiled down beneath a lot better trash that has a value P (portent) inside, spoken to sotto voce and to stipulate processed conditions to make up — practice making perfect sleep time.   
Transition, Day Three. Disabused of crayons to create a hint of scalability. 
First step. Leaking or semi-announcing utopic content, replacing the sleep we witnessed on the escalator.  

For credit, go to the next line.
What’s he got to talk about beside his sack of parrots?

He’s snooty and sells antiques?


We have to know about the nose and its utility in poetry. One question, Among human organs, does the nose intuit (hold) more lyric than the eye, know more than the throat, or even our ears? The nose makes the core of mid-alphabet English pronounceable — M and/or N. And if the nose makes it pronounceable, it’s hummable, too, and that could just be the sloping tip of the nose’s lyric purpose. Hard to hum what the heart may be ‘saying’ — we can’t tell without sizing up other body functions, humming from the nose.
Speaker one. Two. Here I am on autobio. I work for myself

Tho my employer is a centipede. 

I’m sorry for such shoddy reasoning and growth. Sorry pieces 

of blue and orange foam and Plexiglas  

got glued together.. ugh.. The model boxwood 

hastily assembled last night, turning in bed. Sorry hours 

earlier I ordered radical simplifications  

to the centipede’s legs at headquarters. Sorry my most important 
role now is never undoing things. Sorry there wasn’t time to make a more polished address on our expanding global network of ex-es.
134: Dirge: Knocked up by sure bets and apparatus, unattainable vote totals involve usurer intrigue, equipage of the self-illumined or half-taught.

An inured slice of childhood domains — all to use another time.
Back in time. 
So now and then I liked primary grades more. Later, in romantic couplets, one confessed breathing, swollen within a radiant distance —

lost in bromance, wearing nothing but motives for aching to do what we were afraid of doing, of being? So he’s yours? 

I’ll sue you for disrespect, covetous of my comfort, my couplet. I lived your peach flash thru witless dialectic.

I drank your Labrador tea. And for further research I took up free, motorized speech. 

I don’t worry or pierce my ears further.
You’re on every page you go unmentioned. 
There aren’t enough shortcuts to go around ..  
My soul’s on break, thinking in a style of incompletion (Otto Dix),  
Obsequious, sharpened,   
Few motifs — the wash of light exaggerates.  
: A new music took off about here   
To encapsulate your suspicions ..  
I like it, unlikely there’s more or less.   
And some things you need to repeat.  
(I forget now what you sound like.) 
There is no absolute diva in me. 
Just Power Events, long hidden from 
stewardship & deity stand-ins 
until all of us (The What-If Losers) get to take up 
residence at the commercial registry for happiness,
slaves of commerce.


Our bodies are made for each other. 
It’s astonishing.  Did you hear back 
.. I’m changing my mind for a life you changed  
So relax thine form here.  
No cheap shots. Nope. Take the plunge..  
How I occupied your emotional life, the highest for a gaijin in Japan.  
The guardian part made this a better world with a splash.  
It’s my blood on your shirt. It’s from you.
Dirge for D.A. Levy:
Our leaders and propagandists know very well that liberal capitalism is an inegalitarian
regime, unjust, and unacceptable for the vast majority of humanity.

Grandeur is a luxurious quest and metaphysical evil.

We’re the only nation that flies into hurricanes.
We impart numeric dicta slathered with metal bands — century-old middle rock (the themeless modules) where we sleep (wavy fields of inaction) and continue playing around innuendo to stay kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me to receive you generously. 
Headwinds within and, as it were, without manners. (Good manners can scar but they also let us peons act like participants in the regulatory plutocracy.)

Either way, I know so little about sabotage and losing you so much less.
148: Denoting esthetic correspondence! it can whip you up, call you back to cunning ..  
No marvel then how love is falsehood? love’s eye can’t be true? — 
I mistake fault in my sight and fair similes for love you put in my head.  
How can the world say it’s not so,  
how can it? No ..  
I’m mistaken in my view :  blinded watching you thru tears —   
the sun itself vexing until skies clear  
— O me!
— I haven’t slept a wink — Try sleeping pills. 
Yah. Well, that’s a good idea.  
I know I’ve been deceitful, but I had my reasons. Maybe they were dumb reasons, but they were reasons.   
I never said I was the best man in the world.   
Give me a little credit — will you — credit for being a gusher...   
a ladies and gents man  
who tried to love you the only way he knew how.   
I know that speech   
— You do? — pantaloons last August...   
when Devon meets Bolt’s empyrean nephew.  
Oh, God.  
— Get out — Please try to understand.  
— No need to use bitter language. 
Attraction ignites thru deep compatibility,
a nonaristocratic game played for low stakes.

I’m not a prose-poet, this is reportage
and what I think I believe. A good guess is a hypothesis.

A good education leads to the Grand Hotel
above the empty lot cleared by Balthus.
To a nudist,
It’s contradictory to insist on any spoils from letting ourselves go ... over that money issue. I had a piece in there as well. My prose seemed resonant with your “rainwear fetish,” which I almost forgot I shared. (But not with you.)


Our thoughts at this point raise magnitudes of meandering graphics, 
having left a lavish record of the male hush-from-hand-to-toes-to-mouth.  
I enjoyed it when our innocence sawed into us,  
even though sheeted in asterisks. 
Morphology covers all bets. Scars are luxury goods. 
Drapery, French, Italian, English varieties, completes these sentiments. Yet never over stays.  
What’s next? I am a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after climate changes. Before that,  
to find Fra Angelico innocuous you’re as blind and innocent as any promise keeper.   
A stupid promise keeper that housebreaks within almost any sentence ..  
.. that’s a bad idea of particularity. Unlike unemployment among household heads, subsequent foreclosures = the largest causes of forcing children into poverty. Which is a true sentence that feels incomplete.
Writers are still proletarian at the start; each a lone entity in a world dominated by luxury and power groups. 

Conflicted about big money, I’ll pick up anything. There’s been a request I read corporate art management aiming to commandeer the pipeline, production to sales. It’s fairly obvious when you look at other art industries, video production, digital media, music — marketing small press poetics, like the book industry writ large, integrates with managerial acumen, a chunk of aesthetic / academic taste and decision making falling under the control of entrepreneurial influence: NEA, Poetry, Poetry Foundation, down to narrative and expository copy.
138: I admit I’m old. 
I knew what I needed, feeling flattered you think me young!  
I knew which falsehood is made of truth,  
how pre-December persists in others, even you..  
It’s known you lie, not to mention your suppressed subtleties, marketing  
pizzaz up and running —  
“love’s best...in seeming trust”  
— even in the new year you follow love’s good habits 
sweetly, obviously culled..  
(away... our days are past the best...meh... )  
Invitation only.
In order to take on a galactic stare,  
Occasional intoxicants  
Every 10 yrs —  
                      A decade goes and still you are unattainable!  
Say you’ll be back. A vertigo blast of cold air 
With a whiff of wet exertion 
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.
It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?  
You’re at the door  
As I thought of you.  
Now an urgent delay for  


Follow instructions.

We got in surrendering our fingerprints

humming to each making a windfall. We

toast anyone else entering first grade

w/in one’s center, letting an adult fortnight slide.
Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary. Form follows structure.
In a way paisley just feels like games.. Nothing for keeps.
2 spiral arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions)
a few hours forward.

Paisley’s inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer dimensional rhetoric —

Can waving time like a moony branch
supersede nature,

a piece of research asks. Why open
atoms under quivers at the edge to sleep?
A re-edit: seeking more bliss starts out, lowering our heads, writing.  
We use an alphabet and keep its letters close at all times.  
It’s an alphabet constrained by symbolic discourse frames 
helping us follow instructions about grids, metronomes and taking notes.  
Like knolls perching like two breasts.

Like when we write with our alphabet, only the tops of letters are visible 
along with fresh upgrades to letters for diluting colloquial physics.  
Water reddens. A steel door stays open. Here are the last phonemes of bliss. 
We best defer to these latest fonts to differentiate ourselves.  
Almost like deep blues and silvers in biological shades to form vowels,  
but consonants have taken their hiatus with hardened types,  
seen thru the dry warmth of heated mirrors.
129: That slap in the face harder to explain now,
laid to make the taker mad — a waste..
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropic action — 
A cruel lemon sliver caught in my savage nose, past reason,  
Romeo and Eurydice. A joy proposed behind a dream. Just a wedge. 
Semantics in space. Pleasant yet odd.

The Stanford-Benet mentions a handbook (or its conception) for encapsulating syntax to denote space-time, uniting archetypes found in even more complex disproportions that achieve higher cognitive value than meaning itself. 
What have they done?
Progress / nothing: China funds high speed railroads in Africa.
Americans for Prosperity funds and wins campaigns banning high speed rail and busses in TN, AR, AZ, MI.
Dear foundationalist,

You’re expelled for a month, next week.. experimenting with yourself..
leaving a sneezing grid with rectangular doors open. Look at those violent sprinkles & irresolution...
So I’ll drive you home & you talk ..in passing, I would like to see or set up dozens of availabilities to find the dissolved thread to ‘our systems metaphysics’ & pick up that needle of yours & your as it were point.

From here, for insurance purposes we drive past cameras and thru parched hills in accident scenes.
— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.