Ironic judgment.  There are a hundred butterflies in perilous art. What’s wrong with watching one or two spin like happy mediums, go crazy in the dirt, re-engineering variety and persistence?

It’s here. East Cambridge. Helium released, the admonitory tableau sponged in saliva — ecosystems thrown in reverse with hotshots on cymbals and triangles, hybrid collisions playing junk ballads within a migratory pattern. The justified, 24/7 joker is emotionally unwound, one point...  brain-body fiber pierced, two... sherbet dolloped. I’ll be right down.

Something came up. Anthropomorphism. 
And what’s not mentioned expanded underground. 
This is as lightning gains on fog. Lightning ‘understands’  
 
it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no product.   
 
If I don’t buy this, I’m the product.  
 
How is it fire tears up fluid in sparks fog glows around  
 
and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed and remedial —  
 
I have the same trouble when I shop for oils on sale —  
 
past any retail and expanse of the seven seas.

153: & so. I guess I’m ready, proceeding off 

those grounds by which I prove: 

1. Love god heart inflaming new fire. Let’s call this unwise yet wise  
whilst love-kindling — well... a coincidence I love golf & went to golf school.  
2. New heat this time, your eyes — no cure,
it’s the beginning for me if  my swing improves in this seething, lively fire. 

3. I’m up for a trial bath in your eyes. 

Heated steam inside each word I borrow or find brand new, withal.
All syllables endure in a ‘Cupid’ fountain of steam & desire,
inflaming us & others in love, withal. 

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

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

So #3 many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after we couldn’t wait. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their others halfway, borrowing a face, again and again slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had after a few hours, letting it die down.

A religion of dance sharpening endurance, risking focus..
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, ones who advocate for peace. Their reputations recede but the fact of early apprehension holds sway before guns were worn.

Where’s the doctorate for making up yarns to drive your lunatic ideas around
modulating what the self comprises .. a prime membership in tin futures.
That membership often renewable according to replicas. While ..
I’m neutral re: driving recklessly, in a sequences w/out quietus —
both types of daring and highway reconstruction for the semi fortunate.

They say med school if you ever go is mostly laid out, o minion. And it’s smart
of you. That means you partake in indecision part way (cool, yet cruel).

My area is interpretive search. 

It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote.  
I’ll assume you suspect the people’s elbow knows. It’s in the forearm of interpreting literature.  

Written or not, nothing is forgotten.

I’ve been on a nihilism binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a structuralist’s degree. 
I won’t cry when it becomes everything without a message.  
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..   
 
There’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door from nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.

Were John Donne awake, he writes: We have to know more about the nose and its choice utility in poetry. Old 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 mid-alphabet English pronounceable — M and/orN. 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 throughout the nose.

126: Don’t talk with your mouth full, growing boy. Process self-disrupts into phrases and withering substitutes, fickle process components and the stiff, gnomic atmospheres to bring accoutrement to terms, wanting, yes, waning to grow! Hold on, hold your lovers for minutes in pleasure, or more! And go on, keep to your purpose, even in power, lovelier.

Tarantulas of steel squeeze under the trap door, isolated by an obsession coming on to us, coming right in. There we go, holist.  
Theory-and-error-correction suited your attention..    
Theory is the place we may detect a problem set you’ve already gone over, untidy and young, accomplished and loathed despite a foundational rule of no principles without permission.      
  
The tarantulas swell and expire in wrinkled light over and done —  burbling with their own kill-agenda tickled into indecision, aching even now to blather.

Through quantum microscopes
it’s not winter but it is dark and may snow.

This century’s waste already stands tall, but this A.M. sun rays clumped like snow unsnapping linen clasps to white headbands. 

White on white. 
In bridal light one sees seraphic whites. 
A small number appear.  
 
Their sloganeering is back. Is is. Join today.   
 
The music’s rot, handcuffing only a few.

Outside, I’m late, 

Impetuous, costive, unflappably happy, brusque.  


I floated here; my toys are asleep. I voted for change.  

Injecting their blood was redundant and crazy but I won’t go off schedule.  
 


Time now to stir toy racks with a respondent gavel. Then back to the bench.  

Judgment, a big puzzlement for suspects in natural selection.
Only the jury rises.

I will never betray metaphysics oxidizing beauty goals.

The main thing is to tell a story. It is almost very important.
— Frank O’Hara — et al.
Composing like this focuses on writers, how they are unionized and surrounded. Focus is prewriting.

My name is Marie.

Pointless breeding:  
Almost everybody is resolved, the environment is loaded w/ 3  
seasons at a painting crossroads —   
Filming = [is] composing. 
Calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with a control group that can’t be erased. That’s what I hear. I keep fighting the urge to pack an appliance for some occipital brushfire, active, I recall, against the jittery ‘human grain’ inside my fasting body.

Who will win you, act as you have me ... when we take up past lives, 
 

linger over fruit, a blackjack of planes  
 

and volumes of ourselves in the polish of systems gaming  
from which we now resign, in grace (3 cherries).   
 


A wild bet is the oldest touch in the darkest town  
 

[a friend’s lyrics] — buckets on red, someone’s lucky color  

in a city of red lights and streets, carnival streets losing identity 

with cabernet in bottles, women and men in  

off the streets, profiteers in cafes of Reno, I imagine!  

Let’s toast everyone holding a perfect suit  
 

in focus, carnival glass, reddish goblets letting the workday  
 

work away. Afterward, we leave home forever and go to college   
 

and get involved being there to face the sky.  
Tell me, poem friend.

Sonnet 7:

Outgoing at noon, attending on what? I’m not going out. I’m mouthing off about getting on with or without you. Just look how my sight’s scripted by high pitched infantile alienation, falling over you. Again. It’s not too late! New optimism apparently pays serving your burning head. Another way we’re both blackmailed over there is nothing low, nothing sacred.

With good optics petro and related interests can get serious. Bosons exhale thru rainy nightfall. I reason their surrogate likenesses (x) are more set and more recently struck down. 
Razed. Rain’s over, prancing on the lawn, rain in light draining oil.

Nasal voices wake you up.
pulsing in a deep mirror,
light rain performing heavy Norman orator.

(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.)

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

tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette,
— the Demon Puff in plumage / dealing language.

This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.

After glamour there’s 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?”
In every time and place of our choosing: Act gathered.

— you mentioned erring out

For tax purposes as accountants for love will suggest —
Kudos for some of their thanks!
Your iron determination to play your own tax guy is magnetic.

I’m solving you for new parity
W/ the scum of the peninsula.

Parallel universes? Depends — an authentic adult language includes dance, charades, 
Mores are raised —  
Bullets and lists shape one phase,  
A look back over who we are after we agree — not that I care.

80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology spends praise on a revitalizing soundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when I write this. Empiricists use shallowest fare and map it into the literature. When I write of you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled, worst, tongue tied while I try a couple of poses — ha — there are great, pure benefits spent by proud, broad-minded sailors afloat, grasping for governance, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they’re in an infinite series within the history of fame and gossip. (Or from another angle they are a series of the goodly proud, wracked by history.) You who.

Not hurried but pacing each step, I cross the hall with the heat transfer .... 
We DOLLY into a MEDIUM soft shapeless mass of subjects and no distance. No, forget it, that’s too risky. Not quite mathematical. 
 
Scary Movie is supposed to guide you to truth like any date flick. A private-public bond like Atchison and Topeka.  

“My regrets.” Switching phones, I look up to the Great Plains waiting to show me somewhere. Thinking is enormous but I practice until my location splits other but not all places in the multiverse.  
 
I’m sick of inevitable things.

Full version.

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

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness.
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught.
I have more prominent rooms for you.
(Our addendum is in the mouth.)

The ideal Cupid fell out of place in a man’s body


but stayed in the picture. Voice changes and all.

2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive, eager to do what we were afraid to be?

Give up leverage in a more collaborative framework. 
Sure, I’ll leverage our last minute or two, let’s say you’re deeply missing me.  
There you go! but how long have we planted post mortems without precursors, without conventional frames for gender balance? without knowhow not to terminate? 
 
Maybe it’s a mistake, collaborating on curious travel so close to a fault line... I grant you that; 


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

It’s impolitic to separate performance from text; both have woodies. Have you thought of writing?

Sonnet 3:  Now is the time. 
Image & posterity aren’t everything. But they call you back. Same for dying. Stop Pisces & piscean disdain. Face to face 
Mark self-love as no fond option. Unearned. Yet thru windows seeming nearly your 
Own age April will renew another golden time that forms 
Single light flows, now “Could you be more specific, viewer?” 
Fair, prime, calling you back, repairing for you 
Your face, ear, all forms of yours remembered.

Docile or not, 
Look away. 
Blatantly un-shipshape seems the new daring..  
I have no idea —  
The bemused, deliberate downgrading of the presidency  
More than fair warning. Undoing the effect, 
We should seek co-equals now (particle-wave  
Duality), an engaged handshake, clear speech  
To think with the whole body electorate. 
So we learn that or relearn it.

Conditions look rigged, shut down — like wanting you (I do) —

For pickerel eggs eat each other


Not out of calculation, it began with barcode

Moms defending their young


While floating on new dimensional bedding


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


Sliders remain, still the eggs’ plans change. Like taking some time off
Flying the squarest airlines.

Libido and new ways to be policed are on a vain man’s brain (one with any pulse); the 1st few words take on destabilizing character. I’m trying to clean this [snip] to leave enough ‘intent’ to keep me happy after I’m finished he’s finished. This is an exemplary yet limited procedure, so I’m framing it fun work, restructure creating more choppy patterns to abandon ...

I’m new to this housewarming.
That’s why we have two arrays for time & harmony.
Can waving time like a ‘crown’ of contradictions
supersede nature,
a piece of research asks: Why open
not quite a theory? it’s string conjecture.
Intimation, insinuation, innuendo.
Then it became something I ate.

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

I am a visual person. Always have as I see you admired you. Liked you.
A month ago I took no umbrage, bloated out of proportion,
umbrage hurled as a term in frustration. But now.
Pedagogic non being, lonely, un-filmed pretexts & Goethe’s juvenilia.
Good instincts aside, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds
Or inflexible spite. I see what no means.

101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses re-cooled — mindful silence long overdue.
The senses I reference are in primary season.

And I’m back teaching, reading and lifting texts, you in the foreground with outlived memories. (The conductor knows everything because he needs nothing.)

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in the twin columns.

Think of our courts and cunning missing bail. 
Everything you expect waiting now in wistful   
 
landscapes, hum-vacuumed.  
What’s the worst that can happen?  
Um, ok, yes, I bet. Open the curtains.  
De-peopled points trip up not speaking for months  
(critical moments you thought),  
 
finding my direction as I thought of you —  
So it never happened.

Before apologizing, pre-winter is fantastic, like summer for wanton beginners, a civilizing pleasure messing up eternal categories, removed by you. Your absence offers waiting rooms (decoherence), libations & it supports how I feel from within. & speaking of the pure land, it’s freezing. Barely recognize the place.

I forget what really and concretely mean to nature.
My tensile values are so skewed I forget William Blake.
I forget historicism.
I forget the Kennedys and Dead Kennedys.
It’s the same when I’m wearing fangs.
I can’t stop. It’s my job.

I worked in the markets during the Enlightenment.
I ran from information, bracing for a selloff.
Consequences, real overhead

And apportionment limits next. Back in a moment.

Let’s now prescribe an observance of justice
for each game, for any obvious bravery.

Let’s is an imperative like make a muscle when referring to someone at hand.
Sources of bravado were not sad. Separation from sources is.

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

meaning frame and ligaments hold feeling in, no source.
Feeling is not sad. One votes sadly.

Through quantum microscopes
it’s not winter but it is dark and may snow.

This century’s waste already stands tall, but this A.M. sun rays clumped like snow unsnapping linen clasps to white headbands. 

White on white. 
In bridal light one sees seraphic whites. 
A small number appear   
 
Their sloganeering is back. Is is. Join today.   
 
The music darts up, up, handcuffing only a few.

96: This is weird. A focus group on the groom’s side picked us both, agreeing
w/ newer esteemed candidates, lower right, along w/ your lips moving
up and down like a lamb in wolf reports, more or less:

The other groom was led away in the vicinity of his fingers ...

Here’s the stumper.

Whatever base of an ism, the urge to love is put down to error and wanton anthropology.

We open our front door and see what the state’s strength translates to. The shortest path ignited by havoc, honest and exhausted gazers. And geezers. From it’s-not-the-same-now to the science of celebrating their betrayal. Sort of addictive.
And anthropology won.

I write on my nature in my head. Let’s hold a séance! 
I snare us Joy to starve a fever. (Is it raining out?  
At a range in speeds and locales.) 
Many rooms, each story (usually) with clay-toned physiques  
fighting the relative fight waving, receding to one another  
 
— everybody under an influence indoors and out, which is filthy. A foot of snow from the window. Laps of water filled with light snow, rotating in reverse as if catching on how to purify their offspring & manage fever in lurches of nibbling torque adjusting the day into days.

114: I say.

I say drink up.
My eye says thanks there’s so much.
*

Haiku-ing to Delmore Schwartz repeatedly gives me monsters. Monsters giving head.
We or most of us have a destiny within flattery, after all. But it’s after-hours
To vocalize what my eyes sink into. I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.

I’m a woman. Or you. We have all the training we need listening to Jim Carroll — oral chemistry, the beginning of rage, this is my body. Almost the same as hopeless, the only oasis was just passed. I was more at home with early stage fright than deconstraining tastes at war with passivity. 

Then you and I had an urge and we felt gorgeous wearing engineers’ hairnets over the situation.

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

B-wise, most verifiable creativity
is not wasted in remorse.
What I owe: I know
almost and almost lost,
unfinished, in everything. For the c’s
I moved along a scratchy plain, co-interpretation
as if there were a reader response to dandelions, peony, clover:
checkboxes for snags of fern, fir,
and the only unchecked box nodded, Oh yes —
It’s always your closeness:

and I see your form
as we fill in the remains of the questionnaire
putting your back into it.”

How can we be considered modern w/ Trumps around?

I reincarnate from my house in a test pattern. I picked the place up from an ex-class-marshal who never had to do much, holding out for a nest egg. A nestling.
Hushed buzzwords in the newsletter bring up null tinctures from rain or sunshine sprints, much as a will to influence is the answer sheet for getting fleeced. Not hearing from you (lost your doggerel...) fosters coercion of what evolutionary good was before it ran thru some expulsive options. 

Your nest or mine?

On mortality,  
 
I’m a big baby. That’s b for clarified as black-and gold pelage, married and vulnerable, exploring reiterations of my own duality. Yes, I’m a dyad.
 
I’m alive feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a triplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up meat, fish, emotionally shot ..  devoted to seamless disproportionality.

Error is a norm of understanding.
Then again — I’m hooked on figurative exposition. Maybe I’m inspired by your stockpile of halo-ed vowel-movers — long-sought cornflowers strike a paramount for this, the rockiest of calculations, burlesques of pastiche — to show off before self-effacing, tall, slim complexities and transgressive contradictions of metabolic ambition. It’s because I say so. 
This tune dialogs with you and others.

66: Simple truth, our work out here in the desert is beginning to spin. Like the blind we’re disabled by authorities who wiretap secrets weighing nothing in, no credit, no ripped off melancholy, nothing but misplaced honor with a substitution agreement containing you and the more civil you in full force, pulled from inside..  and..
 
Can we cut to the disgraceful part?  
Relax but beware, laws of cause and effect are obscured as traffic pours in and aims straight at you. And the other you. Tired with this, that other one perfects the business end (proctor-like). You and I wholly misplaced joy since sleeping on it.. applying love to our flesh alone as well as losing control of our sex skills. Simply tongue tied and tired with all this perfection, I still rudely attend you and yours, of course. And.

Sonnet 94:

We can’t go on without thinking it over.
If I had had the foreground I’d be subsiding in attrition as it were,
I’d have heaven’s grace to weed out pleasure as well as caution.
& if I had taken fewer notes I’d have less power to hurt
expressing “you,” “me” and any unclenched feelings

we had moving into our very own subjectivities
that we can’t pinpoint or supplicate, my lord, husband...

But may I live to die if fair ever turns sour
in these our summer to summer’s pitched provisos
and integers-to-be, no part to fix, no comeuppance, none.

I’d be lying if I said you and I had no adolescent fantasies.

Tossing water balloons across the typing pool ..
                      there is none now.

For you, learning about how to learn is important — playskills you need when you buckle under sportswriting. Yes, fan, you sick typist-inside.
You and I are followers, waking in hazy brightness and .. apologies for blunt geometric scrims..
Wait — I get wind in the space of a game day .. followers like us can be transformed! views down hallways into stairs cut apart and fronted with a song of our choosing and making.

One apiece.

The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.

In evolution we were told we have an i.d. crisis 
when who knows I’m doing this   
 
for our agenda? How near the teary top we crate  
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drained of weight?   
 
I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.  
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.  
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not go on about ‘ostentatious pensiveness’ for hours.

Pantoum: given a key, you lose it
— shifting attention but staying in touch.

I forget functioning ghost towns caked with tire tracks,
I draw a blank on jailhouse interiors and decades of Tonka trucks.

[...there is no outside [...] only what’s already here [what we breathe] below...it’s
Immature, impulsive...] [as above]

— I forget empirical relationships the most, the visual force of
                    a “mottled taxonomy,”

Complaints and sworn declarations...
I forget meeting you.

These images are confused as of prior understanding. 
Petunia Pig. Premiere then curtains.  
 
Childhood runs out, our taxonomies still  
unexplained as temp permits.   
 
We loved your altitude, your trafficked facts, but  
we fear anti-humanist divas like you, 
wound up in your senseless atoms packing uncertainty principles —  
just the tips loaded 
...you know what I mean standing up there, promoting pap acceptance.. you’re a diva in fact with nothing to give back, not mad enough, feeling too little.

49: Let me hold you ... no, don’t, I’m a future defect in law against your time.
If ever that time comes within my own knowledge, no, I’ll know
love is no less or more the thing it was...
                and no cause alleged.
I raise my hand now, called to, on your part
when you scarcely greet me as we pass.
That’s how with all due respect works in both our times.

Golf balls for the wounded.

We all have our own crowds because we relish lyricism mounting a central stairway. Sour notes suggest quick detours. A couple of hours have passed. There’s been vintage aversion within the railcar, around a corner sirens lift off earth. Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face.

Milling around is jammed.

Past is no guarantee of future promise.
Anywhere farther — it’s too verbal a compromise. But you and I know more, we’re up next, forging no more colors, so I’m flapping my arms in front of me, carrying a few novel ideas in my veins. 

Maybe I’m afraid of being abducted. A thoroughly unnerving bigger anywhere...

At the very top motion’s in pink, divining our fixed up eyes that get put on the map, hey, whoa, how awful, how much closer to the maker... So be ready.

Keep secrets in brackets to float free. 
Free momentarily. Here [or t]here — volatility models! according to script, vocalism in a sense. We’re beaming them and their feelings up with unknown and hidden risks — a fat surly chance shifting their weight brings in slimmer odds.   
 
All or nothing, win to lose on cue.

A fellow on horseback. What a night. No problem 
Expunging a storied narrative 
That was normal, believable 
Then 
Waking up, sticky, stuffed-up nonphysical shrugs 
Not far off, across your invitation to meet, cough.. 
Not even having hay fever as a backdrop —
Hedged enough, nothing 
Hidden, nothing, 
No chance forever.

One by one
wait for it.
More promiscuous than anything not there.
Therefore here.

79: How it may happen
On a highway, gentle police lights 
— Luxury vans flow in aid. Further uphill 
Hauling “rays of virtue” — stolen beauty, yours.
He can afford it.

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

Then thank him —
You pay him what I owe.

Late electrons hold a preferred representational system after 10 tonight. Floating too close, roofs blanketed by flyleaves. A styrofoam waterfall will declare total amnesty. 
 
The whole month is booked. Interferences in the electron field.  
One thing is that performance yesterday and the morning before. After you washed off, you understood when to pause long and leave when and where you smell a rat.  
 
You’re not alone. You want in? Try code switching with your interlocutor. You’re coming to brush dirt off while I’m looking to redress. A mindset carves out the rafters’ flute, our voices upwind. What was seen trapped at top? An old pronoun for emphasis extended from the blaze under your eyelids.

Stop waving that grape juice ... 
That was a partition ago, ever since  
The atmosphere upsurged when language is retired. His eyes & yours fill with manpower.  
Your hair’s on the brink. So is his.
 
A friend led you to him..  
He smiles with no doubts about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
 
— nothing to discredit &  
...no hell to pay!

National treasure: Crocheted titanium with a clown’s face.

One needs antic intellectualism. Lead-free prose.
Four husbands.
Simplistic, Manichaen juxtaposition.
A solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.).

Jousting snacks.
New verbs like dave, firebug, Stradivari.

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry.   
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.

Sure, I’ll leverage our last minute or two, let’s say I’m deeply missing you.  
There you go! but how long have we been planting post mortems with no conventional frame for gender balance? or how not to terminate? 
 
Maybe it’s a mistake, wiping post mortems out, collaborating on curious travel so close to a fault line... I grant you that; 

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

124: New contract. Deep linkage. Bigger venues. And no stress. Percentages stay constant. Over
here we are by accident — stuck in two dimensions in time
out of four! eating our own sweat! Pomp. Love. Hate, with no separate identity!

We worked on this. We saw five drafts. Weeds among weeds, flowers based on flowers. The 20-60 split seems generous given crimes of heretics in gl(r)owing heat. (Funny, I may call you on your mobile device or redeem coupons of yours I gathered into waves and particles of origami.) No, not enthralled I dream with you, splitting the 20 left over.

There are no pleasure substitutes, after all. 
The defrayed honeymoon can last, and it’s normative, blushing with its song of guts and neurons spinning bottles —   

There’s no hurry.  
 
After a honeymoon deflections accrue to go on.

I flash to a new place. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by an against type chamber piece somberly floating in fun here and there, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power. Unless there is nowhere else.

The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
a saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

coming then coming clean, another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[talk of paranoia...]

Never dine — a term of
solitude.
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

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

How the cosmos is unexplained, one and two. First, taxonomies are set in weathered deco, dimly lit by the affiliated overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university on tiptoes. 

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound diversions to gain advantage for incriminating tonal ideals. They march with different cause-ists and solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, humanists, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority and they take the bullets; why? 

“Bliss.” We were looking it up. 
A battle between two distinctions  
 
among words bringing up a few others,  
times two more of those brain-states from Asia.  
A marsh is now interesting  
(vitae) for the sea. For the eye, nothing but applesauce then shellac,  
a varnish the sea brought in without consent, leader of the pack  
of subject matter. Not of varnish, bliss.

19: Innocence evokes nighttime devouring day, burning like a lion’s hummingbird if lions can play w/ fire — or w/ a phoenix plucking keen teeth from a tiger’s jaw if you allow. Taping together both your hands.
And grease-pencil trompe l’oeil anywhere. Please.
Innocence is guilt among a heinous group. The sorry on earth devouring their own brood, against beauty’s pattern but succeeding.

Young, untainted and long lived, you’ve gone wrong. I forbid it but I hope you’re happy.

Don’t we have an elevator to take (to greet you)? 
 
Gavel to gavel hours turning the page. Hours. 
What we do converts personality to stunt-craft.  
What we have to act out is open discourse W. B. Yeats calls the bestial floor. Please,  
 
have your way, fleets of stars, your options. Have your composite gods who do it for the masses.  
 
(This soon after your last breath, is it safe to pun O Yeats?) (Maybe not.  
I’ll frighten no one to be temperate.) Some of us are too disgraced to save  
the day.  Tho not all of us will friend you now or any time.   
 
Now there is no instance of friendship at different times.
It’s natural, a picnic in the wilderness.   
 
The wilds... on all fours, all floors.

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting, wasting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..

It’s back! A bright spot on the game horizon, we’re beginning to see a need for a brown or grey blanket authority or foundation to issue antinomian licenses. A nondemocratic institution that constitutes only one of a set to which no democratic or parliamentarian voice matters, no second thoughts, no heuristics, and in which nothing un-elfin or hurtful belongs or stays put, holding itself to the test doctrine of multiple shots at Todd’s Miniature Golf.

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

Opening windows, pissing.
Perfect! Beautiful...
When the soup lady arrives, something inside of you snaps. A crack-up.
Exactly, exactly. It’s all gotten to you... poverty, deprivation,
peeing in the streets. So you reach into your bag... and you grab a
knife! You take the knife, and you lunge at the soup but immediately
fall into a numb coma. You are dumb, so you cannot speak, you grunt a little.
Okay? Try it. Good.

You’re confused? I have my poem now.

I reincarnate myself along with my house off a test pattern. I picked the place up from an ex-class-marshal, one who never had to do much, holding out for one’s nest egg. A nestling. Hushed buzzwords in the newsletter bring up null tinctures from rain or sunshine sprints, much as a will to influence is the answer sheet for getting fleeced. Not hearing from you (I’m lost in your doggerel...) fosters coercion of time divided by distance, what evolutionary good was before it ran through expulsive options over this place. This. Its. It.

Your nest or mine?

53: A substance note:
Suspend suspension of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

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

You appear in every august shape we know.

There’s salience to nodding agreement thought- 
fully, since you get your ideas from media  
studies, yet geometric brainstorming staring blankly 
like realism is easier-to-sleep-w/-&-pulsate  
-to  
 
Instincts tho are buried under cement,  
sunk talking to each other, eh?  
Hard to get out from the extrapolation —  
(I removed its tongue)

How the cosmos is unexplained, parts one and two. In the first, taxonomies are set in weathered deco, dimly lit by the affiliated overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university with nothing to give back. 

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound diversions to gain advantage for incriminating thoughts. They march with different cause-ists and solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, humanists, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority and they take the bullets; why? 

Libido, the big reach of the brain and new ways to be policed are on a vain man’s mind (one with any pulse); the 1st few words take on destabilizing character. I’m trying to clean this [snip] to leave enough ‘intent’ to keep me happy after I’m finished he’s finished. This is an exemplary yet limited transmission, so I’m framing it fun work, cuts straight through its own restructure creating more choppy patterns to abandon ...

Sunshine recycles namesakes.

As we say only moments from now,
A proposition (like this) is political and politically cheap.
Filled with vacant abilities.

These guys (pols) are easy with a wry edge, their depth of conversation touches
On hyperkinesis, T notes
And cook dating!

Study the past if you divine Zorro’s frailty. I watch myself in performance in a new piece on you — and thru you I’m cutting you off. Late breaking history. Can’t you feel incandescent gasses coming on? We have no perverse incentive acting mindless taking chances, since we have already gone over gonzo utility in hammock talk, too often raising a toast to the madness (but also the closeness) that’s most missing in straight men (and how irritated they get when they hear it!) and how it makes us rage over the late poetry of Rene Ricard.

The you I 
tableau-sponged, speckled, remotely 
burst. Mangrove gripped in saliva.
Tableau — Anything 
reasonable, impure, immersed in freedom. Swimming 
synchronized. Induced but so what? 
I left you out.

74: I agree with / to your bail. Security should have conducted a more scholarly pat down.

We are under arrest but you’ve lost nothing. You’re mine.
Ten to one, better parts of our street rep show up in literature and data tracking. Faint Milano opera on one receiver as a memorial.

When you have a chance to review, I think this is due you. Layers of my spirit are made yours & any remains have no life to leap to, no death, either — carried away then having some interest in what’s going down on this wretched yet contented earth, all it contains, even this line.

Plain, even testable, clicking a pen, camera, both  
. . . land and lives on it have prefiguring functions, similarly   
 
synthetic appropriation by composition, a vigil  
and force applied putting stitches of an animal   
 
in the playground, since landhold, landscape do not become only
themselves, regardless of beauty — the river bank played by  
 
metaphors and drilled substitutions of the time of the neighborhood — more informal, 
taking everything down as dictation, substituting accidents for what they do.

I want to distinguish my common prayer of grabbing knives and spoons v. the naive intuition that expresses it.


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

Poison, anecdotes are a way of life. He had meant antidotes, one’s composer in this case, not the narrator. One withdrew. Both just seem wound up terribly in the same horology. One in the study, the other in the art.
The one here has to deposit deleted utterances in surface structure to get back to poisson.

Then in time we can be on and in our way.

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

We reupholster & improve levels of comfort across consciousness / the explicator in me & you. A theory laden balance.
That balance wheels with our fooling ourselves over variants from the vicinity, our heads tilted 
vertically to catch sun. Elegant in a common way. We fly only square airlines.

Hands are everything.
That was past conjecture; ever since  
The evidence upsurges when language retires.
His eyes & yours fill with manpower.  
Your brain stores all kinds of pleasure. & his the same.
 
A genome led you to him..  
He smiles with no doubts about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
  — nothing to discredit &  
...no hell to pay! ... the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.

9: No form of you
Feels anything but unused, average.. a spent, destructive sort of guilt, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed by issueless fears in political experience / current status / win-loss =

Hey here I am! Staying single you and I may change our minds!
I almost forgot to.
Could we? ah! you and I are loved by many. I’ll commit in sleep ...
We are gracious, watched over and settled into a kindly almost unthrifty shifting
Still, but enjoying practice still, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...
Your private voice as wet as children’s eyes. Look.

I wake [Ah!] — My own voice hoarsens
A life desire talking with you,
But no form of you.

The sun is gray. Divided and watched thru a sex microscope. 
This cluster of fuzz is not perfect, an everybody  
in conscious movement with that living unlocked smell.  
I set the controls; active ingredients are  
not now, don’t. First thing in the morning.   
 
Noonish.

A warm light is produced by heated argument. 
Heat the cosmos can hear. The blazing trajectory halts in downtown or Washington on-to-nowhere, a very mean arc to bridge, all right — erratically stencilled with tweezers-length trapezoids at its austere outer rings.  
 
Taxonomy, to get back to the cosmos, stands tiptoe atop shoulders of ascending ideas, forgetting the battered raw laborers below lined up on broken mosaics, necks pounding from overtime  
 
like ex-royals.

As you had to know, I drive a Steinbeck but dream in a Camus. 
I heard my cat meow ten times and then more, ‘license and registration ..’ 

Social progress is depressed, a big abnormal mess, a product of one’s time. It wins all the half-eaten take-out left on the table. 40% made of obdurate hardly-ever voters like you and me. And how long can one live folding up conversation, conjecture perpetually minimalist verging on filth and circumstance? Who isn’t one?

I see your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark it happens fast.  
 
We wanted to go to  
This point, stabilizing the office — over the ocean  
W/out water — ‘or personal contact.’

The if-movement (aspiration) can be thought 
a saga you (like any of us) can pump off & on — so on    
 
-coming then coming clean is another part of closeness.  
Later, new police!  [talk of paranoia...] 
I flash forward to some new policing. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by an against-type chamber piece somberly floating in fun insight, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power.  
 
Unless there is nowhere else.

132: I’d like to bend rules for a stretch to wipe within a finger painting
where we get dressed soberly for the a.m. sky out west —
It’s so cold here. A place for mourning w/ subdued hearts, rare
minerals that become tree colors we paint grey and black back east.

Your eyes I love, and they usher us
where full stars by your complexion and grace torment me more —
more than half the sun, more than half of heaven
as your eyes become your face.

I’m drunk on uses of empathy and bounce. Or plans change. 
Universality is homesick, having lived off the nice laws of physics. But not now, it’s daybreak — 

Conditions look staggered, off-ivory — wanting the universe (I do), a profane
absurd Rubik of dawn’s color range, 
yet how far & vast connivance 
liberates the universe to put aside laws and whiffs of disuse.

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

One presumes elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained exposition to demark the unknown, much as technology funds science.

Keep secrets in brackets to float free. 
Free momentarily. Here [or t]here — volatility models! according to our genes spreading, vocalism in a sense. We’re beaming them and their feelings up with unknown and hidden risks — fat chance shifting their weight brings in slimmer odds.   
 
All or nothing, win and lose on cue.

We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to the ideal civil democratic union with permissions built on headwinds — dormant crescendos 
 
with as it were or without lyric attitude. Good manners can scar others, you see, they also let us peons act like participants in marking time as tho subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy. 
Either way, I know so little about the state and the state knows much less — you see nothing but blank holes are slaughtered by blankety remote.

My name isn’t terrestrial playwright with hunter sunglasses for nothing. 
Retreating to circuit theater is a bore, finding 
backwater exchange wears down seeing infrared.  

Meeting up, we stand around, 
crawl and cover gorged ground. A once frontier then.   
 
Then what if our adaptations wear out on the ground? What 
if our species’ reach, having pulled thru, pulled out.  

That’ll be the day to bring a guest for the ride! 

111: Before I turn into another cure of yours, yours for my sake, i.e., I assure you a corrective hand took away anything too crafty in my nature... I am more receptive to work now and long subdued from harm, far and away.. at last ah! nothing bitter, I’m your willing patient (almost). Fortunes, manners, means, everything doubly correct and subdued. Pity in that sense our infection and bad deeds, guilt, nothing else — the die cast.

We’d like to shoot back to the beginning and thank Sinatra! 
 
IT warned us of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. We’re not religious. Not by a long shot, snow in September? We took note of what you prize from the beginning and chose the pope. He is your pope. We had a few ideas in mind. We took off our pants and left for grown air, higher up.  
 
Oh, tech services... tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams —  
 
How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime the inference undercutting American literacy?  
 
Signed, the Academy 

Neither 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 until climax, numbed in shade.

Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Pet rooms to talk about (never hesitate) beating then shooting the innocent into a space fracas but our last victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee — 

A Deux Magots adaptation: 
Robots embrace the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone,   
 

a pale twist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for a moment. Free of a tendency section.  
 
An old master picked that up from them.. ..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..

We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no parochial shit.

We all have our own crowds that relish lyricism mounting a central stairway. Sour notes suggest quick detours and offsides. A couple of hours pass. There’s been vintage aversion within the pulsar, around a corner noise from sirens lifts up the galaxy. Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face.

Milling around is jammed.

I am citizen physicist to an inner antecedent for shorthand deadpan.
Drowsiness may be my great escape or I may just walk it off, forgetting evolution never optimizes what you already think. 

Your face, the trains I ride, it’s furthermore good. Even if you’re allergic and our staying casual definitely has the appearance of progress. 

(The above interlude rules us both shifting variants.)

121: A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments being &  extends
altercations to reproach non absence : I am & all men are not so bad, not vile 
if we reckon against deadline and accelerate just pleasures, and ok — 
my unfeeling mind has a point &  I see it. 
I think it good

The if-movement (aspiration) can be thought 
a saga you (like any of us) can pump off & on — so on   
 
-Coming then coming clean is another part of closeness.  
Later, new police!  [talk of paranoia...] 
I flash forward to some new policing. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by an against-type chamber piece somberly floating in fun intelligence, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power.  
 
Unless there is nowhere else.

Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll .. imagine histrionic trails.

We’ll correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventually 

Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by posturing. After dark trials.

The air is sawed off, wishy, 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 washy for its own sake.

Never dine — a term of
solitude.
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

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

Etude for an ice cube.
A sunny, boyish grin.
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.

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

Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains
deferentially. Creature brains are a precondition in reprieve.

A fellow on horseback. What a night. No problem 
Expunging a storied narrative 
That was normal, believable 
Then 
Waking up, sticky, stuffed-up nonphysical shrugs 
Not far off, across your thought to meet up, cough.. 
Not even having hay fever as a backdrop —
Hedged enough, nothing 
Hidden, nothing, 
Not a chance forever.

114: I say.

I say drink up.
My eyes say thanks to your shirking there’s so much.
Haiku-ing to Delmore Schwartz repeatedly gives me (monsters giving) head.

We or most of us have a destiny in flattery aftermaths. But it’s after that.

About to vocalize what the eye sinks in I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.

Microscopic levitation in words got modulated. Had to be. Modulated is like coming out to predict your views, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact explanations and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold. 
Then we are off, taken off, clouds keeping our eyes immune to causation.

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..

Many of what we call instincts interact with musty legalese eventually. More  
than musty, foul as apres-euphoria.  
Tone-deaf dancing counsellors get more attention now so 

I keep hammering a poem is a cat meow ten times more.

A private-public distinction, extension 8.
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force. 

Besides giving empathy like babble
I write on my agenda, 

A vapidly growing other hand 
once I launch it — 

I got married without knowing side effects 
— wait, I forgot why I called.

To Caspar,  
 
I think you asked for this over dinner.  
Ghost buds for twenty-first century renos in a whole range of sentiment.  
No chance, astrophysicist. 
 
So you get it now, assigning you to our planet to feel cathartic  
is dimensionally impossible. You’re dull. Rather uneducated.  
You’re all shine and velocity to us, the living!  
Sap is flowing, Caspar, top gear, top speed.   
 
Grab a sawhorse.

Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a simple turn of the ignition, no big deal.. A journey over a pathless scrubland back at that bind when you and many were read by data beyond the (evolutionary) point. All in an identical manner, everyone getting one message while sugar consumption skyrockets and the new news advances in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can the news diagram its strength of skill?
That warrant was never raised, directly deducing another head scene to make me love you like the first time. That’s in my mind now, ever since love’s regimen bulked up, competing for powerful excess, more powerful perspective in every word uttered or about to be said, with all syllables performing as one compass spin between you, me and all others trained in our elite language, giving no cause to hate. True love, your worst exceeds my best. Who or what strength taught you to sway me as more worthy now to love you more?

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse w/in; pushing deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry. Some Greeks added vowels.  
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, w/o dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or snap, running off w/ fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.

What’s curious style? 
Engineered simplicity holds tho 
Taken whole:  
“Give in, dig it.”  
(There’s a new policy to block deletions.)  
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’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 lose —

Who or what is as reserved and specific as moist film (a hue off, a little cucumber)
on a blade of grass? Yah but a friendly warning for the mind, 

Pal, 
Film ‘work-arounds’ bully sarcasm to un-wit ways and means to spiraling illogically. We’re closing the book on you.

Please, not now, Santa..

..invoking bad explanations, Santa is supernatural.

Landscape: Blimey. Over the summer construction advances. 
Uncivil also true, summer advances over the construction.  
Everybody, everything goes!  
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.

I’ll tell you what awaits the prosaic in The Bible. Locusts.
Meantime the varsity crew: 

in crew house lighting eyes drift as if 

undressing underwater. I see why snails 

build a house. They stand around and tank, 
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.

My counselor affidavit registers deficiency of discovery and revolving pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with myself.) 
 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters chose Trump. Yet this is the latest case.  Everything I note here is integrated. Remember those days? Remember those databases centered on surplus insertions while John Kennedy sober on the ground kept looking up... (Reminds me when democratic ideals could get by on appearances.)

57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests as you require.  
 
Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of move ment from the inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to spend ...  
and to question my jealousy — 
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of desire diffused at any cost to render your mouth a sobbing precious world-without-end.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be sad, I think no ill. Adieu.

I’d like to thank the Academy  
and ignore X to reinforce ignorance.   
 
IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. Can I have a parochial amen? I’m not religious. Nor are you. But I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind divorcing you.  
 
Oh, tech services, tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams — How did worldviews crumble into unlimited environs and potential instrumentality to pantomime the common numerator undercutting American literacy?

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..

Until done,
Factor in visual plug-ins for artisanal calisthenics that’s a load from the mirror. 

Corporal resonance turns into a reflection out of which you can finger-point to the horizon,
Magnified and now askew, flaking off. So note what happens. Yeah? A soar sport.

Insert the bonus and exchange — what do you know!
Your tongue, clean up to your neck — radiant 
 
patterns, your drain pipe a phenomenal factoid that can end in a draw sustained by  
getting up, stretching for other solar systems.

It’s July, August.. 
And this is what it means to have a muse. Bone blame. 
A poet will work in a freezing apartment that is far more than a place for thoughts to gather thru summer. She struggles in cold rooms for little compensation (two constants) as she goes beyond the joy of subverting the arbiters of something. Something something. 
 
Paperwork fastened to repetitive joy, July, August..

Striking the bell, lightening round.. 
Take a test. Brightness gushes out, but colliders roughened by screaming take a fall. Living ballet is euphoria-through-turbulent-process and comprises your early morning critique. But do you understand the point of the test?

It’s tight. What happened? Diagramming conditions of jitters and others’ sentences, I am anonymous either way. 

Tho before the mist rolled in I felt your grace, holding on with both hands.

Sonnet 120:

En route to password assistance, astronomical infinitesimal amounts are rounded off as unsolved,
unkind problems, compelling work that front-load knowledge construction — like your 
finding a bowl of unsourced light to explain & reform a ransom amount of times-spaces. 

Sure or no, my deepest sense certainly. Nerves of steel. 
Yes, attempts to throw your voice are dumb & of a special force 

— I suffered in the same crime — 

From the unknown risks. As first-time infringers we don’t mushroom, 
Ignored. But we seem hellbent when two or more reach assistance, 
So we need oversight.

We all have squatter’s rights. 

We never forget and we do not forgive. Even tho we’re too fat to have insurance, our moms have always been supportive. Viruses are like that. The wind too. Shivers of a sigh, glistening in black, typical of nothing congealed, we made messes all over the nestling ground to suit a creative purpose, balancing running around everywhere in total regression and then explaining our gorilla masks as a prior condition.

Midnight, one o’clock. Slow as suds. 
 
Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
 
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get you done — 
 
parliament  
maneuvers. Explanation intact.

Marxist-self irony:  
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers.  
Eating and breathing them too.

Ode to the dead (maybe not yet). Then dims. 
A beautiful sentence:  
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.  
Food also knows where it belongs. Rapid in general.  
 
The stage 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, all the food pecked over, even down  
to our place, last place, last row.

Celebrity stalkers. 
 
We invented Hubble.  
What we thought we knew per brassieres 
we enjoyed making dumb-  
great from the top  
terminating in masked handlers. Peers’ backyards  
 
following orders so we reflect their mistaken identity,  
immune to sudden desire with intimacy.  
What have we got to lose?

A warm light is produced by heated argument. 
Heat the cosmos can hear. The blazing trajectory halts in NYC or Washington on-to-nowhere, a very mean arc to bridge, all right — erratically stencilled with tweezers-length trapezoids at its austere outer rings that are comparing infinite sets.  
 
Taxonomy, to get back to the cosmos, stands tiptoe atop shoulders of ascending ideas, forgetting the battered raw laborers below lined up on broken mosaics, necks pounding from overtime  
 
like ex-royals.

69: Kind eyes are deeds,  
parts of you the world sees  
and views with a voice of souls watching, you now 
crowned in tawny daybreak synthetic light,  
measured accents on seraphic white.  
 
Both our hearts can mend, thus we loiter intently.  
We smile, neither laugh. We’re extending our
praise looking into bare truth farther than the eye shows  
 
And finding our love in the outward beauty of your mind.

We unholster & dance across the room / a lumberjack in me & you. A cobra balance in our DNA.
The color wheel for our genes is graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley 
faces. We speak in our mother tongue of fine ethos and interiors, to no product hewn.

I have the same problem buying oil.

I see your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark it happens fast.  
 
We wanted to go to  
This point, stabilizing the home office — over the ocean  
W/out oil in the water — ‘or personal contact.’

What can be done to language? Never again? 
 
Boredom is poor experiment, our knobby supervisor said. And that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And 3rd cousin to dream. Knower and known are clean osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind the suitably flared reptile frontier.  
 
Time I guess to air-lift foolish eagerness and uncover it. I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to any concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,”  
Btw, “never death.” A 2nd cousin just blew past that. I never never... Yet I consider myself a neurolinguistic product manager. Once removed.

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.

Song: It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish our common introit of grabbing knives and spoons v. the naive intuition that expresses it.


Missing you is hard to implement & doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds here that look like versions of wicked cunning & mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle — set against fetishes & hiked vibes. It also helps us rolling in bed side to side.

As you had to know, I drive a Steinbeck but dream in a Camus. 

I’m a woman. Or you. We have all the training we need listening to Jim Carroll — oral chemistry, the beginning of rage, this is my body. Almost the same as hopeless, the only oasis was just passed. I was more at home with early stage fright than deconstraining tastes at war with passivity. 

Then you and I had an urge and we felt gorgeous wearing an engineer’s hairnet over the situation.

72: When love is missing shame is worth nothing. . nihilism.
You devise virtuous lies (dear love) .. I picked that up, false, smug and cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name may be buried where my body is. .
the body you should love... .
.
I’ve just noticed you haven’t recited anything, Gabby. .
Let’s rewrite your true love untrue. Make it count. .
In this I fear sarcasm.

I’m having a pitch dark 
brainstorm so obvious 
why stop  
 
Only, let’s call it implanted intelligence,
O baby  
all the way unnhh..   
 
O yesses encompass in advance  
shimmer  
— crash. Al-  
 
So let me see..  
dreams put us on a live map  
that maps us into their program.

A portrait should be backdrop in this. This one of you in the back. Undressed — except for slacks — bordering on 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 on one side — tempted by re-mechanized perils, untested, untried, nothing better rubs me back within its reach. It = your grasp, my central aggregate.

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 young.

Quick, migraine control, 
the patter of little consonants  
like chemistry on a sensitive night —  
in it but not of it,  
landing behind, unilaterally  
an emptied airplane  
hands thrills over to a dog owner,  
staff in hand, pharaoh. 

Nothing new, a feeling continues you could write until you drop ... 
a feeling from here buried below the half familiar animation 
I’d like to pull off, 
replacing half with
a hotel ensemble for stripping down, never talking. 

When it comes to speaking one on one I have to be 
charmed and not worry about what passes through me. 
(Me, of course, is an expansive subset of being charmed, a trinket I believe.)

I work here but not any more.
Cascading circumstances.
My personal limits are a chimera. Not a destination.

106: In love, the practice of counterclockwise is nothing at all, only sustained focus, innovation of hand, foot, lips, of eye, of brow, in nowhere equivalent to expressing your beauty ...

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

I’ll not waste time — we’re tethered here.

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

exhaling descriptions
w/ eyes to wonder on the full worth of your beauty making beauty.

Imposture-prone or — simpler — fictitious avant-garde strategies as well as their vulnerable practitioners and critics are celebrated in the film (Untitled), written by Jonathan Parker and Catherine di Napoli, directed by Parker. In just two columns of text NY Times critic Stephen Holden deploys a massive array of double-edged vocabulary that unsettles to the gut. (Untitled)’s protagonist, a conceptual composer with a perpetually furrowed brow, is said to be tormented with a teasingly paradoxical attitude... [a] hostile scowl. The anti-hero is so self-absorbed and ungenerous that when confronted with experimental work in other fields he is as rudely dismissive as any provincial philistine. Meanwhile, to highlight the acerbic entwinement of sexual performativity and aesthetic judgment, a cheating, gallery-owning and aesthetically ‘disingenuous’ girlfriend shines her popping eyes like a bright screwball. Holden notes other types, including a self-loathing conceptual artist whose works have self-explanatory titles like “Pushpin Stuck Into Wall.” (Untitled) goes for broadly obvious, easy targets, in other words, in a line of lampooning artist-fish in a barrel, a long satirical line that spoofs an avant-garde tradition that goes back at least as far as Marcel Duchamp’s urinal. Some would-be targets are employed for aesthetic as well as comedic affect. Avantist David Lang writes the goofy music for (Untitled) and film maker Kyle Ng constructs proto-conceptual pieces, among them, a taxidermist monkey sucking on a vacuum cleaner (Koons’s trope). Holden’s review encapsulates a chapter on current aesthetic temperaments and fomented doubletalk that run for cover under the rubrics of satirical outrage and conceptual deflation.

— 2009

I have a steady girl now. False I have rage covered. I have it 
 
everywhere. Coordinates everywhere.. False everywhere..  
faceted spin as well as mediating random elements, mostly  
fuzzy snapshots but also false variations.

My last gay bar,
crayoning hearts and drunken smiley faces,
pledging boundless love, packing up my belongings,
You be the new C.E.O.

Here it is. Rod returns as a world-famous impersonator
and hypnotist, but there’s this twist, you’ve been studying
in Europe at the Posh Hairnet Institute.
I like it. Life and death issues. I’ve been abroad.

Comatose in Vienna. Just for a while. Foolproof.

It’s a continental, world weary sleep binge. You’re a trance inducer. That’s it.

I like it.

Our thoughts raise poobahs of meandering dissolution, 
leaving a lavish record of the male hush-from-hand-to-fingers-to-mouth.  
I enjoyed it when my innocence sawed into us,  
even though sheeted in asterisks.  
 
Later we got dressed for golf, and congregated with our faces among peers.

60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, god feeds on us ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

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

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

When? as soon as today.

British require eccentricity as a lovely part of identity.
Americans excel in artificial eccentricity focused on being.

No pills or angst, no
Great surprises — Much of what counts 
 
Is reckless footage  
That seizes our space — 
Look, it’s easy. 
The beak of the finch  
 
Then the whole aching finch hop  
Where it gets planted, in reserve.. no despairing 
Public sentience for nature.. some disgust (in particles) —

Can I call you privately into the moment — 
Hadn’t surfeit and raised eyebrows happened months ago? 

We met in a torn design aka unstable. Pointilized face lifts, for instance.  
Micro repairmen drones no one talks to about anyone.  
 
But tell me how the chief executive is special?  
All words are of the dharma —  
 
Here we have — the uncomfortable feel  
of the adolescent talking head’s manner of speech, little hands,  
grist for a toy presidency and its symbolic defensive narcissism. 
Ill-groomed for the fall, it’s nothing’s personal.

Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping neutrality (plain v hard) w/in the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions of different possibilities blow town including the best halo effects and feelings. They’ll come back in the wash. 

It’s nice finally to put a class of face to the physical world’s humiliating covered breathing. Geometry is of and true to nature throughout. Today, every day open censorship is going to be there, filtered, unfiltered as long as it takes.

8: Music to hear? Truth is we’re sad and feathery.

Shorthand abstractions where unions married delight in joy
like this mutual ordering to our touching and holding the moment,
surrounding it with ‘speechless songs’ of taking off for the unknown, spinning, spun,

upset, out of control yet

that’s how we fasten music we hear to move around objects.

100% our touch.

To reverse devolution we’ll rush back 
to hear more about causality proportionate 
to a principle that cannot be considered in words  
like suspension of liberties and financial slaughter.

I could laugh. 
 
Promoted to intimacy  
is tormenting therefore and sinking in, remotely  
parallel to kissing your mouth (...trying it). 
The rest is see-through like the coast  
where I show you  
 
an authentic lot with a kite  
on a decal of shade trees.

Violence resolutions have been approved, schematicized for good and  remuted as gossip to evade a “mating strategy” to partner our  heirs’ viewing planks. O Headwaiters..

Victory revamps emotional sourcing —  
it gifts us apprehension w/ an anabolic edge at a distant  
abstraction of life’s breath, which low tide  
makes explicit..   
 
while our pulse rates go up in brilliance 
defending prior conditions in / out  
awaiting a new collapse.

Will you call upstairs and talk?

The bosses don’t talk, they’re hot for a killing — They said that?

What?

— Here it comes...

I’m so sorry.
I murder this time some homeless girl? Are you nuts?
She was just there. Sweetie, it was an accident. She falls on the knife.

Then what?

— There’s a media trial.

Another trial?

There hasn’t been a trial since — they wanted a death upstairs.

Atom = the first head turns in which a detail is explicative in several ways at once. 

Clockwise = second head turn: two or more meanings re-solved into one experiment; foul results = no explanation.


Counterclockwise = third turn, in which there are two or more reconnected experiments.


A pulse of light of the right duration = fourth turn, alternative explanations but none good enough for clarifying experimenters’ state of confusion.



Superposition = fifth, lucky confusion: the experimenter is enamored of her idea in the eventful processes of argument and experiment. 



A row of 10 = sixth, universal yet irrelevantly ‘sweet’ shades of experiment, this time many experimenters join in minting explanations, making’em up. 



Measure = seventh, and it’s official. Unbending full argument and testing of dogmas and contradictions, transforming ungated minds turning heads toward amplified democracy. Dirty outdoorsmen, sailors, all on board.

Sonnet 10: We lodge now (in the presence of physics-oblivion) 
a headless pedagogue hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option centered more per theorem.  
 
Panning back fast to grant your audience more of yourself, your love to bear, your beauty grew  
beloved of many but tampering w/ thought experiments.. you love no one? Not him.  
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =  
hating yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts, so few 
sticking to what’s un-enclosed in nominal trivia to locate fresh paradox.   
 
For you change your mind repeatedly enslaving romantic poetry so you can be taught  
(for shame a conspiracy loved by such an impassive number, so many..) ..

Foundational bias underpins the closed argument for or against not being sure.
A signature concern is the cosmos’ experience. The bigger the better. It’s peculiarly nepotistic, another point, so many writers simultaneously figure out these expectations within multiple, extra literary contexts, politics, cultural construction for personae, nonprofit and corporate performance theory and the like.

Before they arrived, there’s flamenco. 
Water worship exquisitely handcrafted  
meditative retributions..  
They are the arrivistes — 
Their hollow inside was mixed up, the early polling said —   
 
Your mop of fore-hair overlapping symbols way out in the ocean.  
Your ocean. Your flamenco in transition.  
Our faith and consequences.

There’s the royal we (a pain) in game theory to pla 
Y. This may be an insight 
Bringing us closer to following your advice. 
Now you’re giving me the finger. Technically, we’re not there yet.

Frame: Socialist by nature, 
Not sure discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income  
 
Consultancy, honing the reader into two dimensions on the surface, cashing in.  
 
Looking around emptiness, embrace it for goodness sakes  

Yet reading the usual way subverts those expectations.  
We’re dealing particles of thought, pastiche  

To paying homage running across a subject, 
Finding how axioms move discourse far from oversight.

My name is Marie.

Pointless breeding:  
Almost everybody is resolved, the environment is loaded w/ 3  
seasons at a painting crossroads —   
Filming = [is] composing. 
Calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with a control group that can’t be erased. That’s what I hear. I keep fighting the urge to pack an appliance for some occipital brushfire, active against the jittery ‘human grain’ inside my fasting body.

33: I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that, only maybe
— maybe I’ve got a thought altering ‘mentalist’ landscape up my sleeve.

My love is the sun in the morning .. You have a roundish face, green eyes and a slender yet blunt nose that hardens your otherwise sad, unrecognizable features and sovereign eyes.

When I read about alchemy and ‘splendor’ I keep wiping tears from my neck, but I never read the sun in the morning as love before I met you.

Fire, ready, aim.
My product is a li’l soggy.

I was pumping gas 
& going to say  
metabolically we’re all for one in suspension  
of disbelief  
 
sparkling pen  
 

-umbrae, barnstorming on top  
 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes,  
 
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.

Are you healthy enough for perfection in a gridded environment? This new thing?
A stencil of our dialog frames many others while class struggle gets more and more slippery. 

Or peach-dreamy, subverting history, waking up today waxing satirical in a trance, as the poster said, ‘democracy’ encircled. 

Those pressed under convey a stronger gesture triumph.

Midmorning dining, rambling 
like deer in bed, shiny  
and more faultless in smoke, we know how —  
No jitters, the heart rapped  
into flames from passive groans  
uttered to affirm fajita in snatches ..  
opera .. and shush.

Fading ailment.. had a ring.  
Ten or so 
gulls’ kick it off, running  
over trout.  
 
Tearing in mean  
swimmer’s blue,  
in a numerary remainder,  
inseparable in another, a magenta  
more down current, startling  
‘partisan’ swaps  
That swell 
out of lake matter.

Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll .. imagine caress trails.

We’ll correct everything near the top of the grade filling in ahead with capacitance-assistants, eventually 

Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by good, socially secure posturing. After dark trials.

108: Admit you miss smoking, boy brain. 
 

You miss that first drag. Have you heard, smoking
 
& taking other lovers you become bilingual. 
 
The smoke tows you & him in stride, in spirit  
Among the underemployed into hyper décor —  
 
Your glass half full. Your hair’s on the brink.  
Your eyes fill with fresh manpower.  
 
Counting no old thing old, sip up, 
Stay informal in no time,  
Stay new so to speak..  
I’m yours, I merit you’re mine — 
 
What now to register?  
Stop waving that grape drink.

Nor one’d presume elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained exposition to de-mark the unknown. Much as technology funds science, randomness attaches to most regularities.

Should we have 
a message?  
 
We’re talking to what must  
be figurative breakpoints listed under fate and fate’s consignments. Example.   
 
Just kidding. Since the launch of modernist housing  
empty messages remember nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
 
Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame and no literal disapproval.  
Granted, we have  
a message strategy.  
 
A politic paranoia recommended for laying back, cool and stable in an emotional tri-level.