I’m leafing through your agility pouring out seeds, turning over seedlings — 

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also 
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m living on borrowed-germs. 
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a truce.. 

Blinded by periodic breakthroughs, making up a to do list!
Tho a pragmatics circumvents my will to mend things — 
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..
154: Once asleep I’m sick of love, disarming love; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of yours.

I’m sick and so I take a vow to a life of heart-inflaming desire — never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate maiden hand abstractions.. (tripping
..each true heart taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we can grow

our mind and body worship by your side, worship un-quenched, a general practice that warms us before perpetuating our healthful belief system. Or

do we prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats our hearts for the cure?
There’s something I haven’t told you, I  
am passionate about what’s right in front of me. Durante degli Alighieri.  
We’re in scandalous terrain prone on a couch eating donuts —  
that, anything like that could send us home, hungrier,  
shoulder to shoulder, our emotions subsided into idiot access  
and the purity of night blindness. It’s  
a glow in seconds before another avalanche, fun and explosive. Wow.  
Or like a buddha machine in no-now. Then  
a chosen toothbrush has been abandoned. I’m forgetting about it.  
I’ll be moving out soon. Moving thru a lefty runoff.  
I won’t be funny or try, relax or specify the ...  
I only know self-reconciliation doing this puzzle, this I finished yesterday.  
But I’m always coming back, no angst, to it! 
familiarly strange and pleasant, yet  
I’ve lost myself in its new geography.. Thanks.
Naval voices wake me up.  
It’s too embarrassing   
pulsing in a deep mirror,  
light rain to snow performing butoh.  
(Ethical and mammalian boundaries pertain.) 
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to behold 
but with the same vulgar, adolescent cri de coeur.  
(Good night, wallet.)


Landscape: Blimey. Local accents are a focus. Over the summer construction advances. 
Uncivil also true, summer advances over the construction.  
Everybody, everything goes!  
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are incised and joined.
Uma Thurman’s son.. me..
Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer
All the time, staggering!
Reprobates — with a kill-agenda — are tickled into corruption. 
Here is the place you and I may detect the language driver, untidy and young, deliberate despite the foundational rule of no rule     
And speaking up without permission. In other words,    
Sin gets somewhere then stops. The wind withers our good looks.    
In the mentalist version we grow inner living language over — to pillory hindsight.
Juniper my ass.
The juniper stands alone, the mixologist often says, when prayer behooves those who talk but no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 
39: Sing how in your absence, thoughts on love hint of sour leisure and torment. To live in deception seemed brilliant manners far back, before today. Thought of that now is oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.
One difference as you sing — you are the better part of me who changes — I’ll praise you then praising me.

Even divided we’re the same. We live to entertain others thinking back to our love. Still there’s the separation. I dream w/ you alone.. as you sing.
Add your touch and everyone you touch, everything you see, surplus sounds and less dustup as you walk or straddle any surface, fielding all pangs as well as faculties for balance, angle of toes and feet, tastes and smells, obscure motions, textures, feelings from everything so far. Bring that..
Your snobbishness killed us. 
No monks wrote the inscription for our ashes. It reads: Just because we’re not there to floodlight what we know on swimming exhausted doesn’t mean we weren’t Bodhis / each physique w/ a hammer in hand. Nailing our souls together takes a moment of our lives that we don’t have, don’t love, don’t hate.  
Whatever takes substance and breadth, we’re not doing it!

Auto-electrocuted. But calmed down. No more tv, due to sore thumbs. There’s a dual nature of justice going around in “resentment and forgiveness” with high notes we won’t deflate. A muggy, fantastic tenor, jittery, soundless often, active against the grain. He reaches points at which the point director is traceable and draws me in. 


Dispatched for ignoring each other,
chaos therein
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo  
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible  
July light  
and suddenly only theory  
awing in a wolf’s regime,  
There’s brush  
fire toward mosquitos — shot  
through the throat, asking too much
I’ll put it this way and be done. 
I misfiled your core principles, went 
for higher ones in baroque-neurotic sleep. 

Any higher, they’re not talking .. 
(there’s tighter discipline)  

Highly apéritif, 
morally camouflaged cold indirection 

But our metabolism really took off, along 
with raw emotions from a huge manuscript 
I’m freezing, since 
It’s none of the above. 
Sonnet 120:

En route to password assistance, astronomical infinitesimal amounts are rounded off as unsolved,
unkind problems, a hell of a time that will front-load knowledge construction — like your 

breaking a bowl brimming of unsourced light to explain & reform a transgression of spacetimes. 

True or not, my deepest sorrow certainly. Nerves of steel, hammered, ransomed.
Yes, attempts to throw one’s voice are dumb & of a wounding force 

— I suffered in the same crime — 

Humbled by my trespass & unknown risks. As first-time infringers we never mushroom, 
ignored. But we seem hellbent when two or more reach assistance, 
so we need oversight.
Solitary dark 
                          the air pushes..aside   
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  
I knew and now know I am unhappy and, like most everyone else, I’m not —   

the boat’s cortex holding out ..
All my teachers are dead.
I’m still looking.
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.’
‘Electing’ a demagogue feels like brain cancer.


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

in a boat house.. eyes drift as if 

undressing underwater. I visualize why snails 

build their houses. They stand around and tank, 
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.
My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares) —   
Once in labor we chose our birth parents; this is a profile of some.  
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s visuals of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo — 
Another wish never fulfilled, you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with choices and abundance.
Mainly specific 
pieces of pieces —  
Most out in space are pulling apart. Often this is how the latter day sing  
as we come to our senses   
with a charming itch gerrymandered in ambiguity. Pull. Puller.  
W e’re pushing in genetic nutrients prompted by the assembly
surrounding nothingness.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. Miss you.. There you are! What’s the matter?

To explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework..  there is the physical sound of a frame along with the framework. What’s matter..

Nonetheless we’re adoring you reflecting our status wanting a moral politics where leverage follows its bliss

(returning to duty)..
Sonnet 119: Software permeates adolescent philosophy. This madder hell points to asphalt perimeters, why error messages inspect structures (applying fears to hopes) :
building up un-manacled distraction so amor in the head is amazing, far greater madder fever! :
Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate — evil still made better — for amnesia’s fixed width, blessed never, rebuked to our heart’s content! :
And ruined we kept losing, true, losing you .. spent, shaken tame.
t fish cool down before kissing.
Discover why fish have made Puntacana Resort their 2nd home.

10 unique destinies sharing an ideal spun for decades, elegance without pretense, embracing and enhancing fish.

A chance to remember for a moment a fish held with the lamp switched off.

A little.

Life is death if you don’t have a little fish now and then.

Like that exotic-looking new fish who showed up at class one day, Ed, a reader-responder, a bit of a dichotomy wrapped in newspaper. Ed dressed in black. Thinking it legal, he wrote once upon a fish.
Cupid fell into olive swelter in unnamed aromas 
that led his dogs to you, making clear    
Cupid in a blouse, Cupid’s blank stare =  
a blast furnace getting head.   
Cupid pulls the curtains to reveal a street, permitted 
yards outside where people pass by in walk-on parts.   
One doesn’t know any more  
if there are good times or bad ahead of war.
Data take charge within the hour.


Time runs out. Taxonomies
still unexplained as weather permits. Black
ops at certain altitudes, these are the hot facts; I’ve
or we feared the threatened anti-humanists w/ covert specialties
at the tip — just the tip;

I also squandered ellipses that add up
to my mostly forgetting I stood here with nothing to give
Taking flak, but unwilling to signal afar, this gong or that, neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object in future time. A leatherneck develops his own future humanism. I’ll grab my cover and scramble over here to math skills, since my brain runs on the new comedy network promoting my partner’s satisfaction as we pivot from jokes and brokering to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria. 
Our sketch begins.
After glamour there’s revisionist power, a legacy inside us. Wo- 
lfed down improv crap — we’re pre-wired or is there a fee? 
Radiance now is in a lather. Remember deliverance?  
“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?” Everything works. 
In any time and place of our choosing: Act gathered, there.  
True love brings on a physician practiced in the arts of relapse.
Ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe grains.. What are spurious resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and a jillion bloodlines. 
Um.. there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘orders’ you put in reckless hands. 
Don’t forget your silent partners ripening for future sleep-overs in green, un-despairing usage summaries... 

Brilliant. Breathing new life, we have hundreds w/ crazy coats of arms. Look at you.
5: No remembrance. Of confounding beauty. Of the lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Of course I never rested as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on women and men whom I led on. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofa sectionals — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but now yes I’ll love you better frosty and lusty!  

— I’d say I’m a pervert approaching you often as summer’s pointillist distilling pulverized, liquid dots — a framed prisoner doing time, 

pent in never-resting time that still lives.
(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
That’s the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate my clemency.   
What kind of government overthrow takes parliament  
maneuvers more lightly?
The future in tatters weighs in as an erotic shortcut, “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer) 
All thus was mirrored in meantimes. Staring into light wrongly revealed I’m pretending to be yours at your asinine behest. Remember it’s wrong — I am not pet swapped, I never intimidate a telescope in conflict. As a consequence doors open & I’m auto-electrocuted.
Donors take over America locks, stocks and barrels (for the Dems).


Taking flak, but unwilling to signal afar, this gong or that, neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object in future time. A leatherneck develops his own future humanism. I’ll grab my cover and scramble over here to math skills, since my brain runs on the new comedy network promoting my partner’s satisfaction as we pivot from jokes and brokering to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria. 
Our sketch begins.
Act gathered. 
There’s personal glamor that can only end in a draw sustained by two  getting up, stretching for an hour.  
After glamor there’s power. The virus is already inside us.
I’m worshiping 
a whole number while a crew of higher energy  
blew town along .. it’s no matter, since  
the full crew might be regular guys who could potentially flip out  
again until they’re replaced.   
How I think of you.   
Some water [Pause.] please.
Rationed compliments ensue in secret, bloat under rush-formatted steam unfeasible to undo, 
A process where accounting disappears like functions of context (procedures) —   
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to causing amoral schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Travel well.
47: Good turns, one after another, I turn to your looks I file between heart and bitch comedy. 
Either way you could have reset the remote — 
So let’s share it. Your saved videos and my worship of you have almost expired.. except your looks drive me nuts.. I’m still in love.. famished at the banquet of love (where we sleep). 

Awake, we can’t move further than our thoughts in pictures and visuals.. pressing reset buttons.. and I still have my sight set on you. God damn this remote, I can’t change myself, my eyes are awake, my heart’s .. 

Here, you take it.
To be a critic I went to hell with you (universal reach). 
You gave me hiccups back then, up to floor six. Now my senses are restored. An unoccupied mind long overdue.  

And I’m back in my vertigo seat, reading over and writing disciplined boilerplate, fond of mnemonics. Why worry over explanations?  
To explain is to run up against narrative: actually a proxy measurement, one affected by all other expressions of interest over time.
I’m lying about the lies I’m telling.
Teen to older person: 
cornered (not to say conned).   
Hold to your decoder status forever sparkled quo vadis,  
meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —  
Either way is a fractional  
infinite in the context / e.r.   
OK I mean  
I’m done.
Adaptability in circumstances 
is hardly effortless:  
I add, ellipses.


It would be a challenge [a koan under  
shapeless circumstances] to simplify winning a car or suffering injury  starving how?  
The future would give more. No more  
than no thanks. 
I thought of you.
Socrates is made to say, “My guess is this. The very existence of Athens, however peaceful, is a deadly threat to Sparta’s stasis. And therefore, in the long run, the condition for the continued stasis of Sparta (which means its continued existence, as they see it) is the destruction of progress in Athens (which from our perspective would constitute the destruction of Athens).”
David Deutsch, from “A Dream of Socrates,” p 249, The Beginning of Infinity
Rationed compliments ensue in secret, bloat under rush-formatted steam unfeasible to undo, 
A process where accounting disappears like functions of context (procedures) —   
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to causing amoral schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Travel well.
Combustion and dust spores filling avenues becoming identical, your honor. People take shelter in ice cream convenience stores, then bolt for the subway, running with asinine language (you can’t call it dialog). Ugly apartments. Life-draining clothes. New affections. Highly recommended. 
4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing done.
To traffic in deception take notes
.. and I’m being frank, beauty given to you
will oppose given facts of previous loveliness gone
unused — a perplexed legacy taken outside why or what’s acceptable, let alone

what to audit as profit or thrift. Ride off. I’ll lend you oats
and my saddle for your extrication from delirium ..

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

traffic with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air —
free love’s spending its shade upon you and me,
executed in so great an abuse and gloom
by our own natures, we must leave it there, undone.
Feeling comfort in disruption is one point. Together, we define entire affability arcs in ironic laughter, a series of slippery zoning disputes. Two points or more (identical in all respects).

Any abstract attitudes are buried below our gestalt-like, collective strip-down (the whole of reality) to the ashen stem cells of relatively unspeaking, as tho history was a set of realities.
Body-snatching, the third point is you and I have a multi-reality to join the others, since our lives are directionless in Rose County. Good night, ensign.

Good night to expose an accident or two that don’t matter, made tactical as we circumvent a few exchange elements, remaking spatial morality into chance agency, no vision, no dash, no longer having to know.
Spacetime. Slash pauses.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while evangelic angles of light are making a fracas taking us home.
Vaccinated, I have a merciless itch.. what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
Other instances of ourselves / Passing the “casting

of cities,” thinking past us. Way past.
A normal 2 years B-4 messing with U. Why wait?
So far I can see your light 
Tendencies shifting free of fever, ague, 

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

What comes into you, wild boys fantastic to watch! 


The door to the exchange left ajar.

Fizzy purviews haunting what hang around winning samples from The Inferno. Fizzy as a wave beating thru my eye.. Resonant, structured improvisation vibrates thru volumes of time. I’m chatting up my repressed side to save us from scrapping our early decisions. The charge is to fail to remember the exchange.
Standard touching looks terrible or descendant. 
Capacious anxiety, refusal to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done.  
You can break the law to shoulder perfection or save a life, only once. Either way is a fractional immeasurable in any context / e.r.  
Something was definitely going on.   
Lefties are feeling cornered (not to say conned) but  
it’s breathtaking administering the right wing to you.
I personally maintain a liberal, apolitical lexicon one more time, nearly. 
The place is firmly democratized, monsieur. Once at the beginning info had its own histories. Any entanglement seemed and was interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this terminology.
(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
That’s the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate my clemency.   
What kind of government overthrow takes parliament  
maneuvers more lightly?
152: Back when there was a hell, each vow
was or seemed sufficient and inclusive for a new occasion of faith.
It was easy, deemed distinguished then, too uniform now.
Once back in the day the fair-minded had more complex appetites.
When giving eyes to blindness they brainstormed over such enlightened innocence —
truths, lies never happened.
In a larger context there was the most recidivism in fashion and lit.
Dante nibbled fast, in very mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace.

There was a terrific wine list — and that made for loving twists, kindness,
drinking perfusions as he had at strangers shedding their platform shoes.
The work-together bellows decoherent forms we assemble — Random instances from a momentary lineage we’d overlook otherwise. No proof required, especially. A range of conversations whooped into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences. 
A flaming kitchen to heat pizza.  
(more below...) 
We’re imprisoned to reach our 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.
Marxist-self irony:  
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers.  Eating and breathing them too. It’s July, August.. 
And this is what it means to have a muse. No blame. 
No poet will work in a freezing apartment except when it’s far more than a place for thoughts to gather thru summer. She struggles in cold rooms for little compensation and goes beyond the joy of subverting arbiters of something loath. Something enlivened, something ripe. 
Paperwork fastened to repetitive joy, coming July, August..


There is slender lovemaking on square obstacles. To stop tremors, rouged slippers are warmed like leftovers, something a lapdog repairs with, to a separate bungalow. The commissary is situated down in sub-chambers, getting there aimlessly onerous. What will they spell for lunch today?
duh.. After lovemaking, performance: the words and rhyming systems for married or unmarried. 
Once you think about it, think it over in any narrative, to execute thought is itself recursive — behind the thought beside itself.
Let’s taper our next soirée with visually inevitable things and select for keen gameness. Today a deep-seated specialist would work with genres and approximately autonomous forms and contemplate the significance of staying interdisciplinary; I see. Um, ok, yes, ma’am. I’ve misspelled some signs. 

I have not fulfilled norms set by low probability. (Politics and the dignity of appearances don’t mix.) Judgmentally I keep on an even keel, I cry when it becomes subsequent. I credit everything on the surface without a message. But now — I say, drink up.
66: Simple truth, our work out here in the desert is beginning to spin. Like the blind and needy we are called disabled by authorities who wiretap our secrets weighing nothing in, no credit, no ripped off melancholy, nothing but misplaced honor with a substitution agreement containing you and the other you in force, pulled from inside..  and..
Can we cut to the disgraceful part?  
Relax, beware, the law of cause and effect is obscured as traffic pours in and aims straight at you. And another you. Tired with this, that other you perfects the business end (doctor-like). That you helped me disable joy, just sleeping on it, applying love to our flesh alone, controlling unhappily shameful skills, miscalled simplicity. Tongue tied, I am still rudely attending you and you of course. And.
I’ll hold back. And not go down. 

This is in response to the commerce-vectors coursing through your brain drenched in pop concepts. Thinking like yours brings unique comfort to support our position in the food chain, which is always in dispute. 

I adhere to the same late-filing rules as you. We are keepers of years every night. 

I’m a novice enthusiast. And.
Art is theft all right. Years from now. 
Th en, inscrutably I’ll never break down and cry.

Beginning to see the picture. Beyond some blanks
you can follow love making progress to endlessness:
Our love (a winner .. have a look!) is a time share in calligraphy.
Joining you, me — my hand learns & flows with others’ sleight of hand — committed to your tongue tho, delivered from your brain,
nursed on your beauty’s signature.
Now we have equities;
our story has legs.


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 —’”
We think on our feet like animals brushing up on ideas...
Condition blue. 
Ten or so 
ululations kick it off, running 
over one ocean. 

Ripping in mean 
swimmer’s blue, 
in a competing mesne, 
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta 
more down surf, startling 
That swells 
the back light among us.
When struck a lightning rod emits a ballet of dust and after that a solution, a chemical substance that recuses itself and turns over in our thoughts as a cognitive coloration, a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. What is who is loved.
A parrot’s vocal cords give way to multiple hunches. You’re really that tall? There is no wrong answer. Your current salesman voice sports a staggering pedigree, too late to make it sparse.

Even your restraint is watered down pat. You’re too qualified and thrifty to feel anything suspended — Mayday!
You and Boy Marisol, I told you both I agree. Enjoy your revisionist’s timeshare, the afterlife to the future, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.
77: Blank careers show mind games refereed in stealth. When you’re on my mind I look to a future far from realia (real ‘work’!) or at minimum, I feel enriched, taking profit as clear progress toward eternity. Vacant. Precious minutes wasted, often both urbane and in bad taste, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
They circulate the flowers — up to now they have many words for it

but it’s fielding skepticism that’s making money harder to borrow. Clenching-tight,
abandoning death with approximate language, Yamaguchi says.
Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale, immaculate.
The sky has its style, subject for close attention. They said.

Paying attention is the field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends.

But it does not impinge on the field.
I can put a very ultimate prayer this way.  
We need to work on a new trial and platform. I recommend blending in with ex-lyricists and anyone non music industry.  
So I put your name on and in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I?  
The pinnacle of the spine plots murder while we stay neutral, high and low, austere yet foreseeable. 
And the evaluations are in.  
You are part of what we hold.  
It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before more uplift.

petrified by merger talkathons —


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?
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.
...pleasure before horticulture, that your vox?
For the poet today / art administrator, hissy fits of modesty are supposed to impress, yet they seem too easily swept up or vacuumed from the floor.
A year of taxes and you’re a neo-accepter of excess, but then again you’re a pragmatist (empiricist), viewing, accordingly, being particles of pink turtlehead, coneflower, Joe-Pye weed, twinleaf, wild bergamot, beardtongue, foamflower, downy yellow violet.

Omniscience is officially sanctioned conjecture. So your modesty dissipates as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a mob of arrivistes and custodians.

[for John W]
To a friend in good faith:

Pausing to look at poems, two tomes.
That’s how you toned it down.

In faith I’m divided / confused. I signed 
up. The acoustics can’t be imitated much,
without prior disclosure. Fielding skepticism
makes your fame hard to harrow.
Also a drumbeat for every dataset — top finds, semantic frames
& bons mots, good & loud so the workspace hears them 
& feels them in phases throughout your paschal hush.
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, I’m going on all nerves stolen from you.
Toward an ecology of reading and writing tho only six hours have gone by.
Of course to go thru the I-novelization is sticky. The I here spent school years as a stealth pathologist dealing ‘live data.’

Classical poetry society for avant academics is like high school. I’d say a vocational school where four or five kids can call the shots, socially. Current poetry society has its parallels. Our society I call an avant vocational school has four or so top ‘kids’ but, unlike in my high school, the kids never graduate. The same kids have been in control for 30 — 40 years.
Until done,  
factor in visual plug-ins for calisthenics, just a load off the mirror.   
Artisanal resonance turns into reflections out of which you can finger-point to the horizon,  
magnified and now askew, flaking off. So note what happens. 
Yeah? A soar sport. 
Soar and insert the bonus and exchange — what do you know!  
Tongues, 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 another solar system.
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.


The work-together-bellows form we assemble — Random events from a momentary lineage we’d overlook otherwise. No proof required, especially. A range of conversations whooped into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences. 
A flaming kitchen to heat pizza.  
(more below...) 
We’re imprisoned to reach our 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.  
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. 
It’s snowing, nothing personal.
Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders
descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)

hustling all the time, awesome!
Guards stood tall in part over parcels. Now they tell me to take off my belt. Your belt.
My impression is each motion serves a purpose. A higher light according to utopians hoisted into the sky headed toward realpolitik under their parents’ glare. Guards collapsing into supernumerary states of hemi-fusion, miniscule adjustments in scales opposite a line-up of our bodies. (2 or more.) Every dancer stops for a mote, a moment, feels better they tell me.
Then we yield to the rush of new people stage center, taking on our subject matter w/ a firey purview to clear away no differences worth repeating.
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. 
Cruelty goes by a few metaphors. Not loving you down the road.. going against myself.. getting soaked in a Mars invasion.

Heavenly and new, classic and easy, unforgettable facts that are fiction to our surrounding revenge for taking off, fawning over / upon you, buttoned up and respectful in everyday nudity. For nudity is earned, commanded by your eyes. It’s always a swing reunion in the etiquette of cosmic expanse, a whole new side of staying special and hollow at center, a vacuum in motion on wheels.
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.
Self-barter, a potential volt in a then-this-is-now domain...
Just praying.


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.
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.
Lilac is a devoted zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it. 
So a redraft prompts special inquiry, tho tentative, after all meaning of structure. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you’ve been on deck long enough, you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. Data diving. I’m happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and objurgating..
48: One only care, a trifle..

Save where you aren’t / tho I feel you are. Careful..

Tho a treasure you are left prey
Of tomorrow’s falsehoods before the fun starts.
But your thirst all for it, all arms.
I feel you over my chest, my dear care, you and I playing a best-of-vulgar, thievish
Long shot in a pleasure ritual for the true prize outlasting how we come and part.
It’s snowing, nothing personal.
Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders
descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)

hustling all the time, awesome!
This is off season & with these swabs we are free to cut nothing down.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, a mad(wo)man’s or tyrant’s thoughts wash over time —
For starters: Does one test, tease, defame to extract the best from competition?

& the answer in another season whenever that is if ..
.. is it time or times?
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.  


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.
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.  
Inessential consequences of my behavior are writing.
I’ve got a pet name for my tongue. A jerk.

Surely as there’s a drumbeat in the heart of theoreticians, there are lightweight near-truths about their achieving access to felt qualities.
Jerks’re brusque. Their new job title, urgent. More house to watch ahead for sober handlers of airedales w/ no equity motives. But I’m underhanded getting to axioms we can manipulate;

no right, no wrong?

or / & like crustaceans you & I give in, to forgetfulness, according to an eclipse.

Our gabfest takes place over the fields for each of us in the multiverse
up in a weather balloon holding beef jerky.
17: We don’t want to be a second late — I’m hellbent to get you down on paper, to write the beauty of your eyes where numbers number all your graces (even as poets lie) — hidden with half the story in time to come.

Tho my paper yellows with age... by your grace you should live twice. Yet who will believe these half-true touches are living parts of you without touching proof, without your offspring stretching all the way into the night, keenly inanimate now tho alive all that time.

You say no way, I only half like it, bleh! / This poet lies
...lies, but no less truth than earthly tongues filled with living rights to an antique song...
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).


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.
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?
I don’t know that much about you [hi.. ] but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling torture.
Half a day goes by and

You are [hi..] unattainable,
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, [hiccup] this is serious.
Soft fear and recurring despair, the flip end to formalism ...
Refrains in descending order of indefensibility...

(a) Poetics is democracy.
Ablative evasion throughout autocratic poetics, as in general prose, foregrounds style, motive, subjects for closer attention.

(b) Friendship is a job (like comp) and, more elevated, craft (signing). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory that kicks a singing agency when the agent is down. Don’t get me wrong I hold free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend (that’s down). What’s it? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, much later.
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 my 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.”
Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio” 
I am touched by everyone now alive,  
softest jazz, lower right, his lips moving up, down,  
talking design shit.
His father’s image contains everything he knows. How can a bantam weight =  
feigner? his dad asked in freeze frame over the mirror phone.   
(Dad’s next book is staring out the window, saved-up.)  
Amusing I suppose. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis  
in a compulsive battle over the ultimate smiley face —  
it’s not just who grinned first (dad) that counts, but also where  
and how. This’s my tongue giving his lips (the son’s) a brush up  
realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”
What can be done to language? I register nothing. 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 cover it with worn Keds and Swiss Army knives. 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.” After dying, the process is plugged to death, a ‘never,’ as in never never.

I consider head scratchers neurolinguistic balloon product managers. Once or twice removed.
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. 


Fact: eye contact is more defensive but our strategies around it are consensual. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane sense that’s forbidden. (And all we did was tie up our shirts.) This is how contingency shows up in prayer, making patterns to and from alterations sited within a figure/chicken-ground/egg round robin.  At the same time I’m forgiven I condemn and mourn meritocracy. For all men are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice geometry to respect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland for nothing.)
Concision in detailing method is a catamaran of process.

This is how morning began.

Getting there we wait in long lines for Twain. The Thai are hardly speaking. I turned to a companion and asked if he was interested in how poetry’s put together.
He thought about pure things as style surrounded by syntax. All at once.
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.
This could have been a sonnet for all lit bares within
visual poetry. I never use that word now.
In better versions through algorithm, pathos =
appropriating outsourced research.

A nonempirical approach compels argument where I’ll...

I’ll try for an overweight blunt invention
of the non willed state, or what some call civil

efficacy for streamlined intake. Soak up the view.
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...


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.
Beside Panker observation tower, from which one can see in good weather the far over Baltic to Danemark, the Forestry House Hessen Stein lies.
In former times vertikal foresters got their Ausbesserungen along with sailors for a Senkrecht. From that forest messengers with sailors on Hessen Stone glow.

Today one can eat excellently and jazz friends here come also.
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have spoils subtracting song 
— idle song converted to argument 
with little or no honor, yet sings to the ear.

Worthless to speak of darkening power, but surveys add up. 
Numbers and verse surveil life everywhere. Time and again 
you return, lending my base subjects light — you’re faster than time. 

Return! you: your fame and skill redeem our fury within what time spent, 
if not, we’ll love only vicariously, a despised waste of life in satire.
To commune sounds handsome, also calm, also a bit bendy. In the same call he reverses prerogatives — or his voice does. (I’ll table the difference. Each.) 
“Cloven, we are incorporate... ” 
His message mixed but never better aligned. Together, all across our call center (our hideout), learning the ropes, perusing scraps and parts of hope.  
No fins of infinity. Nope.   
Halloween patterns clenched exponents where attachment is rimmed.  
We have no major issues.  
No shady aftermath inter-scope.   
And to think a way out, we can blur the ground and yield authority to a bowl... really a vase. Sit and watch dogs turn smoky brown tracking vans in drizzle, tarnished from sight, playing against a stack of storm windows, within a composure for light a translator can’t reach.
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.
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. 


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.
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.
Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.
The door to the exchange left ajar

Fizzy purviews haunting what hang around samples from The Inferno. A wave beats my eye off.. Structured improvisation vibrates thru volumes of time. I’m chatting up my repressed side to save us from scrapping our early decisions. The charge is to fail to remember the (mission) exchange.
Sonnet 40:

When you read this, my injury appears prior to who prompts it.
Not you.

We were informed of your deceit in our sleep, a line from Aeschylus.

We’re playing with new features and a few we move in any direction.
But not you.

Take all my loves, my love. You steal from me and vice versa since all of us are in use.
Billions of highly intelligent beings with high degrees of morphic freedom
interest me only so far. More curious is why we approach poetry in English
primarily in terms of understanding it.

As though propositions and semantics were key to poetry’s necessities.
Not you.
Pantoum: given a key, you lose it
  — shifting your attention but staying in touch. 

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

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

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

Complaints and sworn declarations, 
I forget missing you. 
This is a.m. color I propose: Q-tips & smoke. I can pick you up, take a day off 
                   from everyone standing  
physical & prime for the stress of relays between a rat race  
                   & security IF  
you can trust an opposite sketch,
my 3-D models are you & everything else I can be w/ w/out you
Reach out touch base break the silence


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.
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 —
Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth- 
Stratagems. Siphon starters. Add the rank  
I confer on the next available beauty, living and perhaps dying with one  
Until he goes broke — summarily I’m screwed of what beauty was.  
I center then on perception (for another purpose), sustaining losses out of irony.
Granted on a more personal note, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic for one more time.
The place was firmly democratized, sir. The beginning seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this. Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush nimbus-wet in devotion to their next decimal of the scenery. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when.
Sonnet 93:

Better to live more as love may near
— supposing I’m in many ways a deceived husband. So?

A coterie of enablers cooperates fully. For both of us,
a love interest is altered to look calculated.

For there can be no hatred in our eyes.
Tho, facing true love, the early light seems to
Urge us to go out, rehearsetoo much and get wasted, frowning, growing moody —
Eve’s apple was Adam? One love’s face? You and I cannot know.

What have we if our heart is in another place?

Reading back: Defense owns — there seem — accents — these: 
such on put days, our 
moving & light, puzzling in place 
of morning winter smiles .. a chorus 
Emerges which on canvas .. 
noises w/ filled silence .. 


Here’s a proposition. Start over. Compelling work toasts knowledge construction — in the plainest speak — as well as finds, explains & reforms infinitesimal times-spaces. Your optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning the work, always. 
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.
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.


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. 
There emerge big panels observing basketball’s behavior.

No more can be threatened during silence at halftime (the sleep aisle). Fever, ague, intemperance, neurasthenia, the flu, the common cold, all would be otherwise more alarming.
So the panels keep watch and discover galvanizing their technologies turns overall survival into phenomenal physicality conforming to laws of odds, enhancing their final four values.
147: The float seems to learn amour’s fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with wares,” 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the radiant as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no captions.”  
Mad, a lover’s discourse throughout anticipated that base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave me now when there’s one move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please. 
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension
of disbelief. There’s a flipping out dance scene like martial arts, sparkling pen-

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming topmost
dicing / re-arranging rhythms pushed to extremes,
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
Here’s another centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut in plurals like progressions.
Iconoclasts count on progressions in a series, along with any allure of falling cornices
(they did).
Literally nothing was granted.
But it’s a poem.
Now months later, it’s good news
Also, since you wait to listen, not empower others.

Everything belongs hiding in plain sight, fallen unhinged, no limits. Not a one is
the point... an ornamental one; our brain / body fiber pierced 24/7, point two...

Terpsichore is still ascetic, improvisatory, sherbet hued like Erato, a voice of suspicion, hisses.
Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing. 
To traffic in deception, film your writing, take notes.


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.
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.
— since we have a method for choosing paroxysms, don’t expect me after all.  
Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform the boss  
You’re not serious, never are.  
You were turning state’s evidence holding on to meet  
                     even newer phenomena. (The ‘stolen parts’  
To run over.) Any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved)  
Or root causes won’t since you & I separate thru flexible equations.  
Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.
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.
I’m reading theses in time and opinion.  
An interpretive opera with and about hoofers. Local accents are a focus
I listen for: Ya, 
It’s a question of escalating to inhabit received logic.  
I’m retracing what I think I see, why ya, I’m 
Concentrating on a few song colors, naming touching sounds.  
Oblique preeminent sounds patrolled in symmetry like a natural body
Like yours. Pushing the most obvious among broken arts,  
Self-defiance from normal states of meagre influence. 
Ha baby.
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. 
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.


Can we construct the weather to circle bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?
Yes, I think we can. Those seven now under the weather thrill to sleep, resembling one another trembling.

Pine assembled.
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.
— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.
Crime: The noun to which much is given. 
Can you spot the q and a between shorelines?  
While in the time and motion garden, a parallel door banged thru the night.  
I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground, our encampment after  
Ridiculous, I guess.. juxtaposed, dative..  
Anglophone atonal fuzzy. It’s so. We know it when we hear it,  
73: One will die; one will see all sunsets fade to ashes of black. 
But I’m leaving the night choir behind. Awake making love with you at day’s end where yellow leaves still shake blowing past bare boughs and dusk, glowing, seeming content, consumed, consuming to expire.   
Death is a nominal fallacy like twilight now: To love you as if that’s true... and stronger — that’s my late take away. I don’t understand cold fire this time of year even in the west, where the sweet birds sing, by and by sang back, etc. 
I’m new to housecleaning compared to you.
That’s how we have 2 arrays for work time & harmony
when we’re doing it.

The ass comment — I meant juniper
within a philosophy (of moving spatial dimensions)
a few miles per hour forward;

heated inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer dimensional rhetoric to here with you.
Our capital is redeemable, since our must-haves change directions and they’ll barely pertain, and why should they? What’s on our minds will be low on the must list, even lower than that. Off list.
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.
You read that 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 bob as tho 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 soundtracks for an unscripted sailing promo? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with data trees leading to nebulous, chaotic deculturalization?


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 and improve our math skills for our window cleaners’ sexual satisfaction as they pivot from top panes to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria.
[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. 
Does feminism call for tricksters?)
To paraphrase ... you can’t predict 
How or even what you’ll be taking from your background experience;  there are too many of you.  
Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to having sex.
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both puerile in the present tense,
the deep pitch shows up invisibly,
unspeakably, as libido constitutes foreknowledge, glistening aimlessly.

Bruise will stop by later. 
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.
I am is still here, the body’s purring could not be put off. (One dissipates the other.) And one sorority reviews egg whites in their spare, bubbly zeal to outpace an apparatus (not properly issued to commentary). 
Wrong. Constantly wrong was correct once. (Seriously? But what’s with identity.)
[can’t stop it...through 
language [going in] [out...] cheesy time lapses in which [animating backward] speech & narrative continuity become incrementally  
transformed into deep structure affixing Old Norse phonemes to nonobserving verbs.   
Now my head is cleared.   
Still if we had grounds I’d subside higher up having you weed out caution.   
I call this you leaving me. 
(abstinence aside...
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 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. 
core harmonic structure: call back when you want


“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.
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.
Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting. 
We’re 1/2-
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their excruciating loneliness
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..
We innovate through suppression.
Blushing is breaking news. 
One time I was inconsonant. Or.. 

I was found holding a grand lodge of doing-splits glossary.
— why 

Does a face arrest? 
You had on your fabulous eyeliner from long ago. Cunning
Thing is everybody had it goes without saying a probability before 
The news 

And all of us now are blown up by
Errors of replication.
130: If my love is rare, modesty is unimpressive.
Yet I do think my love rare — nothing like false equivalents on the ground. Nothing like the sounds growing in my head — I almost see the words from your coral red lips, smelling them, eating and breathing them, too.

I love to hear you speak.

I speak of your hair, your breast, my master, not a god! your eyes, more delight, no such comparisons come to mind, ergo, nothing like the sun.

Nothing like perfumes of yours, either — I love breathing your scent off your cheeks. And yet thru modest words our love vibrates more like music more than speech.
Poésie still kneads morals.
Authors, old timers, freely consume their own slapstick
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max, along
with requisite ethical structure to examine one’s taste level.

Now you know what to expect.

You can’t put limits on free-lance exuberant leisure
within a theoretical commune of vengeance..
Smart money on the one stiff up against the writing board.
The staff on ethics sit this out, blood-soaked inside, shaking.

O sure.
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.
Hours of frizzle.
I’m a fashion historian.


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.
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 heirloom 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?”
What now?
[I’m sorry]
You stuck or
Often a partner in comp can be deliberately passive-aggressive like any Pilgrim. I’m kidding for scatter.

In this one my partner is disguised as a scatterer that spies on me and others. There he goes —
stomping across borders. That is his

moonlight with the look of lard. It’s indispensable smearing a glow

down over Earth changing into flummoxed packets of energy, wearing maroon cords.
106: In love, a practice of counterclockwise is nothing at all, only sustained focus, innovation of hand, foot, lips, of eye, of brow, nowhere expressing your fairest beauty ...

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

I can’t waste time — we’re tethered here.

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

exhaling descriptions
w/ eyes to wonder on the full worth of your beauty in making beauty.
Our place: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. More atextual sources as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the feed in balance for two (or three or as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After new government, wiry empirical jolts, ambiences that comprise enmeshments within a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed in poetics; appliance hint: bring a metronome. 
Progress / regress: 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.


How can I neck with you warming
up tomtom heartbeats, migrating
to youthful boundaries by hand
to hand in a laughing manner?

Trick question.
That’s how comedy for squares works.
If it’s a question today,
Tomorrow, what’s the square transition?

It was great being with you.
Or was it just me?
Like manners of ambiguity?
To buy her lipstick.


You seem spacey in snow

When you make angels.

Hiding for two hours snowing

Against the snow you’re really spaced out ...
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..
Is that how you see yourself?

— your idea of daylight
every day becoming ordinary knowledge
of parallel ebullience

                                waiting to come up
half in sleep,
steadfast in geometry to grant the horizon horizons, the whole body.
We chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties 
Superego abstractions hanging out in their unusual white corridors   

Suggesting we’re still trembling from the  

Physical act of mowing. And now  
It’s sprinkling, a brilliant backdrop adding up cruxes  
With a so called mother glossary, 2nd- 
Order noncommercial gists pitted together as cognates  
Still coming to seed and adornment,  
Half-audible ricochets hitting us as if we’re a lawn.
What’s he got to talk about beside his sack of parrots?

He’s snooty and sells antiques?


We reach back to no self and no others.
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. 
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.
You’re kissing me into the future, leaving 
Circle-K muzak, oblivious to your battered carapace.. well..  
Really, we get down to heaven  
In that bucket? I can’t see the bridge,   
Only the genetic outline that subdues us  
As we see through how we feel.
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.
I wrote this 15 minutes ago. 
That hasn’t stopped me from modeling.


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 hypothetical reach.

A good education leads to the Grand Hotel
above the empty lot cleared by Balthus.
— 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. 
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.
My position is rebirth rough-rides over what we were saying. It’s not safe to lounge at home without saying oh, wait this is done ..

I refuse if I don’t want to ...

Another matter is to structure new designs for physical combat.

I’m robust in my motives while the open field fills with sumo shapes fighting an analogous fight to operate on one another.
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.  
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.)


1st question, true or false. Is the last part ok? Technology keeps humming to Aristotelian systems extremes. The cigar and its plantations. It’s a manageable stretch from there to when you left, even while I ruled what went between us out. You hadn’t left a name, either. And yet, I stood closer, always wrong. To leverage and grow are businessspeak. To get feedback. To misunderstand.
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! You!
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?
When you got up your voice was 
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flat into dust in many dimensional motes.   
I don’t know how motes, much less how many dimensions, rush   
And flounder into mountains. I only hear   
Vibrating = Sturm und Drang.  
The nerve of eroticism controls anger / how severely narrowed minds are wed.
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.


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.
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.
The Times suggests holding a grudge to process your pettiness.
Or poetry is like poetry. For
Clinging to one tradition, poetry is like nothing
Else in entertainment; it reveres collectivity,
Tiered access & flavors of spontaneity.

I’m thinking of a most awkward color.
The ballroom looks
Tiled back & forth mistily
Across immense miasma. That seems useful.

“Do we get party hats,” asked one rich in the tradition.
In another direction an ex-party manager
Advised a close reading of The American Heritage Dictionary.
The poetry label can be part of a headscarf, more than obvious:
Wild-eyed, one of the top tens, one makes a preparation response
Framed like all the others’.
129: That slap in the face harder to explain now,
laid to make the taker mad — a waste..
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropic reaction — 
A cruel lemon sliver caught in my savage nose, past reason,  
Romeo and Eurydice. A joy proposed behind a dream. Just a wedge.