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.
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.)
We invented the night birds.  
Had to. What we thought we understood  
they enjoy making ‘dumb-  
great’ from the top  
terminating in celebrity stalkers, gawking in peers’ backyards —  
Following orders so conditions inflect non-criminal immunity  
to sudden desire with intimacy.  
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 buried within 
stewardship & deity symbols 
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.