but I have to smile 
                      The emptiness that was 
one fine day... 
                      A uranium-brimmed scree 
insubstantial, to dawn ‘disappeared’ 
into a leg o’mutton of oblivion :

Noir is for life. 
In America, of all places!

Check list. 
A shrine of axioms supposes its completion, honing everyone to the surface.  
Late afternoon to another. 
 
Look over the bill. Check it out. Don’t expect much  
unless you’re read in on the scheme. 
 
* 
His language hits a conference-gong, theological as Lyotard would have it. The argument is plainly empirical. A concept moves thru the mind, “not ‘innovative’ .. but something unheard of” 

— Tony Brinkley

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

Reciting new slang exponents to snag and support 
Two syllables of love while we scout flyweights in the recursive landscape.

*

Prayer behooves you, it often says. Prayer for those who talk shite no longer pray. I hope all are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 

Sonnet 6:

We radicalize to what we know best.
Beauty is a 10 and like usury always a gamble.
My tongue in your ear refiguring 2 pair,
distillation, defacement. A fair hand, a treasure 10 to one.
Happy to pay or loan you the rest, and glad
you’re a willing fan, departing before

the winter leaves by the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.

The sun is glossy beige. Divided, confused, I
signed up for a summer of love. The desserts are
sweet, their force takes me out of bounds
for more interludes on the double.
I’m not perfect, I’m on an every
day regimen with that living unlocked smell.
I set the controls — active ingredients are
soon not now, don’t. First thing prithee
Noonish. I have a profane vocabulary;
I’ve been blocking myself but it’s over. I’m directional.
My head weighs 10 pounds.
Hold my earrings.

Denis, once the Menace, grew a pair last summer. I now have a boyfriend. Yearning for corruption, we’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having no chapter delineations, just coffee breaks.

Without speech sex is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
So few words on process.

If you swallow your ego luxury is great. I say no with my eyes shut.
No meditation spanning the surface of the woods, no
massage. No smell of bullet points, no pine. So there’s nothing to resent.

How does it resume?

Nothing is such in all cases. The secret of this brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good grooming drives you all over. Recent example, no longer victims,  you and I grabbed the moment, left and right, as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse — a moment to stare out the window, a lamp over our shoulders to herald the swindle in wind farming.

Doggie style is mirrored information. It is.

An emanation is a specter brought up a peg. Just to clear things up for us, you or me. 
I’ve moved to a new couplet.  
 
Enticement entails the fewest specters impossible to imagine. 

So I’m passive but I don’t believe in spooks. Here’s the outline.   
 
A few strings were pulled to get me in this new factual place with wraiths I would never have chosen myself.  
 
I’m here. 
Shall times’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid  
maintaining a competitive smile for a maxillary edge you own only if you go overboard.   
 
No, I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that.

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

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.

Yes chaos no.
We’re in charge, we’ll stay here. And while anyone can stumble and a few slip into reduced circumstances, the failure to consummate redeeming fellowships is no problem. Repeat deferment is strategic, and there’s a sequel. We keep the sweetest for now, that is, we’ll keep the best of what life is, the youngest males, females, un-perched, close to our pulse. We can poke them tenderly like endangered pups. And — sure — there’s still an itch — we can’t sublimate — needing dog breath, dog fluids, and more infusions of cash. Savings, inheritance and loans which paid for all this look more ghoulish under the froth of our rulers’ new austerity sustaining old excuses.

Matters of faith:
Mind and body worship is vicarious before conforming to system leaks.
I’m too ugly to be molested. It’s true.

I kissed a cat. Once.

Once out of what? out of dying belief
I wrote on otherness when down (“I’ve stopped looking”) otherness came.

A sober-garish run on sentence
Lay before my head cold rumbling..

My body in the language of dunes and trash
— soba colors with melons and blues.

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


Of aqua and orange foam and glass.

Even more I like meeting mates’ life-changing kisses —
Kisses like odes on progress.
Hoarse for weeks.

This original copy has been duplicated.
The rest is history, throwing leaflets.

Craning one’s mien goes on outside e.r.’s as events pass — comments from nondoctors, random lines off tv — lies and freedoms in this vein take off at many a critical point. It’s interpersonal, e.r. managers hold. But not now. It’s conditions like these making it impossible to write enflamed birdsong and comb back your hair at the same time.. Can you do that?  
  
Light with a spooky edge..     
  
to sound off like your own critic.

“Stages of violence yearn for a whereabouts.
Conditions look dispersed — beeping you (did I?),
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate you to oppose other facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.

Here’s an envelope of moods. Statement enclosed.   
I’ve highlighted failures in the box where you select tall, athletic-like aromas.   
  
Speaking of like, make your counter statement gripping shadows on a glacier.  
I own these two-way ideas, to scale.   
They keep adding up. And I have no modesty issues, none detected, fewer and fewer policy goals.   
  
Soon we’ll relax our balance, no matter (no anti-matter) that once seemed clear enough, but not now, here we are...    
  
like two gypsy-turvy vapors and more untitled moods.

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.

76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can varsity spend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost.   
I know the frame craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way  
they
Continue. My argument.

You on the chair, others. No denying denial 
— you could do more  
with baseball bereft of ritual.

Fans’ voices in yourselves are central, soloists 

outside public domain, no honestly earned run status
yet privately shocked at your own fire 
& swing.

My best friend is my most erotic partner. It’s a simple corporation. 
But our success or its lack has nothing to do w/ simplicity.  
His music brokerage remains in aerospace 
w/in no sound  
where there is none  
other than our hearing.   
 
No other devices for hours.  
 
The more I say it the more open and closer the roar.

What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation? As an atheist or decision theorist?

Song for arrested insects living well: In the beginning stages
Blushing with breaking news 
One time I was inconsonant. Or.. otherwise

I was found holding a lodge of doing-splits glossary 
Over extreme wakefulness — why 

Does a face arrest? 
You had on your fabulous eyeliner from a while ago. Cunning 
Everybody had it goes without saying a probability before 
Good news of patria

And all of us now are blown up by 
Getting wind of Ghislanzoni.

The other day I walked into a bar, the old place, saw endless tunnels, gadgets and immortal lighting that interconnected w/ music underfoot. My fingers boarded the apologetic apparatus, some of it; there it was thudding over walls... Every eye rolled, doors slammed. After worship, there’s little but taut necks guided by the star beats. Yesterday was bright as today. 

Don’t argue with the shipments.

On the b side, classics are for romantics like the Raveonettes.

I digress: y+z (1-x) is a blind patch of petit point. Kissing is sick. It’s bad for you but wasn’t as destructive as the filching of imitation.
Anyway, kissing over where you are is so blatantly filled with what it spreads everywhere completely negating its purpose.

So why does it get processed in our eyes down through history?
Maybe I’m a critic who’s decided to blab about all the wealth we have coming.

I added frontal motion to the story about your looks that intimidate, m’lord. 
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or embers 
floating down to our nose level. That’s cool — creamed just for dating you, blackmailed —   
 
wandering into the new wrong murder guild  
 
chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming  
 
and massive pulses projecting smiles and feeling 
invisible. Totally insane. M’lord’s libido.

2: We never came across deep trenches in your beauty here.

Slow, like never before, a thriftless parabola of your face intersects both of us, feeling its own pedigree (that was).
Face to shoulders, gestures are precise within your eyes, through them, the viewer’s glass.
There are proud motions throughout — these are viewer’s eyes. Warm and cold climb down a first, second, third hill. Falling lower — a lusty mainstream-underground

of successors with all-eating eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Of small worth. Will

you recover mine? Renew me? how much? let’s call back
blood warm coordinates, summed up in fair praise

remembering pleasures of the eyes! neck! and chest!
Yes there..

Free samples of time and opinion.  
An interpretive opera w/ local accents 
I listen for sample definitions:  
It’s a question of escalating to inhabit received logic.  
I’mretracing what I think I see, yes, I’m 
Concentrating on song additives, naming the obvious,  
Oblique sounds patrolled in symmetry
 
Pushing the most patent among broken arts,  
Tai-chi of slanting states w/ meagre influence. 
 
My sample cologne is also unbranded  
Leading me into phenomenal directions, infinite ignorance.

I like political art.    
 
That’s your interpretation.    
 
Can you penetrate other people’s ethos growing up empty of teaching, unavailable reserve? Yet too reserved to comprehend thick grasses amount to ridiculing the five phonemic states of geese.   
 
Someone asked me not to float this while our so-named public face makes a living, almost kidding and choosing only leisure on fire. What kind of prose government takes dabbling more lightly?

I miss knishes.

Where did passion trend? 
Search: Wittgenstein reads False Prospects. So too The World of Normal Boys transcending genre, understanding one field painter’s task.

You cannot win. It happens fast. Less than a flash, the kiss you depend on disappears.
Go for parallels yourself. 
 
Sorry, felons, there’s a fool’s guarantee. All you have  
to do is ...  
Choose love, a buy or rental option equidistant from the rest of your thought and defunct phenomena that travail and make surprise re-visits within quanta. (Too early to expel.) Choosing love creates an entire platform to spin off much slower tangential constructs. Happenstance plucked out of a good number of dying parallels.  
 
Sorry. Now dead.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went: 

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


Drawing youthful bounds along dark areas of propaganda 

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

Gain longterm advantage spreading the yet-not-yet plan.

Marriage is looking good, a mistake but “not a lasting one.” 
* 

Who owns our house under socialism?

84: Partnerships were counterparts, 1st a little lunatic, more than most...
                Even worse, hotly culled. Who can say?
Let me copy what’s writ clearly, how it lends some small glory, substituting natural praise
                — you’re admired everywhere! Fame dignifies your story.
Adding a curse, I lower my voice to approximate parity.

To such immured an example, who can say more? You alone are you
                 As your story goes. And you let it go.
Rich in style, but penurious compared to what is writ in you.

Core harmonic structure:
you can’t hold back the lucid diver cum astronaut from boyhood... 

Ask why we find this grueling & meaningful.  

We love how duty calls on our astro — always a nonesuch scenario.
  
 
What’s under water?  
Nobody claimed even a half shell of insight 
 
 
— later I ran into you on hallowed ground; lanterns swayed. 
& there go our constrictions for the entire season of love & a welkin of amenable interruptions!  
Here’s how we work — It’s not fun, it’s infinite work   
 

as I was saying lanterns were swaying.

You have kind eyeholes.

Do what you want. Just a few synthetics I dislike. Neuroenhancers. I’ll admit I am curious underwater as sea bream lifts, lukewarm, soft. Splash. Preaching to the tenor choir, I deal in the ethics of what we do together. 

So there’s a rule-of-thumb with natural stenches & hidden fundaments back on land, which seems ultra altered, it’s just too much. My.. 

Rain obscures movie nights and a bar to be what we want. Tall pathologists are restless in the rain. Excellent. We’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads.

New day! Matins but ghosted

& then — second — non-glowing noise 
of collared, greening hospitality where galactic 

banter might calm tax credit havoc. 
Third, I stay nonprofit 
worshiping everything that belongs in consecutive cubes 
on an ice grid.
The rest of identity is stress related in as many directions.

Sing: 
The virus is already inside you  
Hunting in a lather of swing, lacking other nouns.  
Remember thoughts?   
 
What if thinking doesn’t work. Now what?   
 
No single body move thinks back,  
a trick the unexcelled Spinoza observed when the virus foams.

There is no name then it’s absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?   
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s own “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is without forests or it’s forests with no memory, mostly vice versa.

Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows  
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
 
Here I am as genealogies of photon futures file off.  
Rebuilding one future there’s a verb tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I’m the underdog here, emotionally maligned as an amalgam channel  
-ing of normal volatility, sleep, hope, and telekinesis that submit to questioning.  
Photons?  
Can we turn to steel?

You read for some, sex is immediate, overwhelming, terse and decisive — A thousand and one friends back in the city in a boil .. polka boats like dots at sea, you said. 
This is a loose translation, drawing on elements of your life before you planted yourself here. 

You. You. How was it to record the voicetrack for an unscripted movie? Was it like reading from a retrieval search with data trees leading to nebulous, chaotic deculturalization?

21: This is a loose translation, hemmed in on earth, drawing on sea, heaven’s air and your love. So it’s not about me but my verse muse. You planted yourself here coupled with sun and moon.

I’m composing with you, stirred by huge purpose and your incomparable beauty —

writing truly from love of April’s first-born flowers, gems, and richer, rarer hearsay — our search skyward with gold-dipped candles fixed in air! Up there we are rehearsing how you and I write together, and then how I believe I’m truly with you, in love.

We’re fidgeting, minding our conceits, 
lit by mid-sentence clarity, sporting and alway Floridian —  
we’re in an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...   
passageways to enter then exit like work in progress   
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —    
  
Skilled decor, de-simplified, 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 beachfront. 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   
off-rhyme. 

We are a color of cunnilingus. I noticed, tho, you and I applied for
pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called Sparkling Affront.
Nothing is more or less than arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order: in epic hock to our hips. 

Our temperature raises the magnitude of repetitions into an after-life or its meandering dissolution.

Well, our faith promised us immortal lives, backup roles that made us teen idols,

central characters in an improvisation we lost track of.


I gradually began to buy things in no order, branched out a little finding a passion for saluting my nationality that apprehends my experience as no one else.

The new epoch is explicable because sex is sardonic comfort with a sober edge. 
Such limited reach is very sobering. Time’s up. I have to guide the underworld back to her tapestry, a bigger viewpoint with a visual cortex attending what’s neat in the future when the world finds me attractive!

Have yourself a good time. I’ll have you over when political science gets to better thinking, Aldous Huxley augmented with a good bouquet, plus a full deck of historical raiment among the aspirants decoding automation...
After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous to grab at, but for now, good talk! 
Who is this? Nobody. Nobody’s first choice.  
 
We’re fine with “no real choice.”

Been holding our tongues for the future. That’s how it works.  
 
Non-interference is in charge, under which an authentic kindergarten language, genetic dance and bourgeois charades get raised and quest is forcibly asserted. Working against deadline shaped the last phase of withdrawal from our deadlock with impending attributes.  
Oedipus meantime, our founder, targeted a fan like me because of ageless obligations to familial platitude, his camouflage in plain view, the better part of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground.

What comes of Wieners’ marquetry?

A clay-toned jouissance* returns to land 
shedding light tints in reverse of rotating surf.
Ya, he is important. Joy has free play while parody affixes inky eels beneath his poverty, evoking retreat and nighttime, slurping undertow from the beats.

You want to get fiery 
to include the cosmos. 

But there is a hairnet over the situation. 


Inner retreat. 
*However, when we single ourselves out, we get close to guilt reformulating sublime fears of exclusion. Immense hard line purging tho brings on jouissance, scrubbing any direct polarity. 

The normal exec in a large academic corporation by the highway grows up, studies medicine in a flash forward, and works for Strategy Foundation, a company that parses guilty pleasures around the world. She or he doesn’t dream now — 
not any need. One becomes an energy therapist, and keeps rabbits. You see doctors learn how to say what no one wants to hear. “You sure of that? You sure those were your rabbits?”

42: What do you need now and for what?
You may ask if I loved you.
Is that my get-out-now question?
Do you test, tease, defame to get the best?
I ducked his punch, closed the distance.
His loss is my love’s gain for my sake.
I told him, no don’t, I want to bolt.
Loving offense I excuse you both.

I’m a bad judge of character. I just shoot.  
Having a Bud with you.. 
my rage came to a bend..   
 
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!  
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, attracted  
to light, staying competitive.  
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over 


for snap love — now on the mouth. 

Pavane: At arm’s length..  
There were dimensions an hour ago enabling 2 events in a plot we’re party to.  Tenebrae, we said. Let’s return to the olfactory sketches, in which the cosmos is left and right unexplained. Constant and converted. Incandescent, then, our ardor comes back to choke a rocket sidelined by a braided chord worn as a necklace, a burning space distinguished by our compliments contained.

I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.

There is no name then it’s absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?   
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s own “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is without forests or it’s forests with no memory, mostly vice versa.

Focused. Demented.
No shortcuts. Nope.
It’s regrettable, they say —
Twin Peaks doesn’t add up
under binge watch...

Not entirely, but it seems unforced holding to an ideally liberal weirdness.
David L through Kyle M is an observer with an uncapped fortune,
reflecting what adolescents do when their backbones ice up,
raising all boats, all antisocial levels.

* milk skin therapy rallies across the Atlantic, redemptive and with slivers of compulsive nourishment, some rousing start to en plein beauty. It’s a trap, why were we going? Why, it’s easier to French-kiss over Europe, more natural to pose — here, especially in our best schools, we repeatedly set it up — an instagram in asterisks.

51: In motion, no excuses — war is unjust when there is only one side to wage it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps pace.

I’ll be an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly deliriously our business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles, no excuses.

What time do you get off work in poetry? Should I know?
Speeding up when swift extremity can seem but slow

I hastened to run toward you
as though mounted on the wind before even starting ..

Massively cool but no gracias. This is tomorrow.   
 
Rescinding our directive, we constitute the flown-the-coop  
group taking part in I-hate-new-calculus speech acts ..   
 
We win door prizes in the periphery   
 
if we let politicians get wild   
 
losing the meaning moving sands over topsoil and forgetting about it — 
Tasting shale, we met tomorrow’s firepower to prevent further questions.

We think I know where I am going   
gawky, rattling in my anthropocentric will.    
  
I know where the caged bird sings.  
I shop for scum.    
  
Shy of seduction   
I worry about the bigger primate family.   
Like Clint Eastwood I got shifty   
Once. What was that all about?

What about Lars? 
We didn’t kill him. 
                                  — The Thing (2011)

“A solid base” cited in the last run of artificial snow, foaming — I do not have licenses to bring it in.

It’ll be there where I leave it — under a trope for downward spikes in bonhomie —

In bed the U.S. landscape descends from clarity.
It collapses, atoms’ density decreasing, torquing with disaster tv on,
volume off, pitching backpacking services and dumped goods.

Why tonight? 
 
My day jewelry drove out surface tension and gave me balls to take off and run.  
Software permeates where I hurt —  
Show me holding the moment once. 

I know this sounds lame — you and I annulled our thingness with a few hand-waves and it felt major, the way I inspired your open, emotional austerity, rubbing eye cream in, admiring buzzwords but no ideas. No fins of infinity.
Nope. You and I have no controlling issues!
Targeting methods 
To appear transparent 
After a button is pushed 
... I’ve heard that scream!

In full bloom, full blown. There’s too much junk in triangles. (Conductors, maestros at least, know this.) 

That’s how I live alone anticipating mind control as  disingenuous. As  
my own adverb creator I found action prosody within alter-egos,  
exact asides, and decorative indeterminacy.   
 
Love memorials are cool.   
 
The smitten dissipate. What is it like here w/out you?
I’m a fan without chemistry.

31: You remind me of lovers gone. The morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms over their hidden forecasts in naked patterns —
This was their 1st stab at tantrics, due many now.
They merited love trophies — now all yours alone.
You have all of mine,

My tears buried in view of you. They’re inside you,
Removed, disguised as glare hung from all-in loving you.

Marriage is looking good, a mistake but “not a lasting one.” 
* 

Who owns our house under socialism?

The times call for action.
Not

Caliginous faces, doubts, pleasantly high alerts.
No tedious script but liberation from horror!
We heard from the ‘producer’ under his own death trap rubric
that is also an icon of his intentions.

And yet stuck at this end I’d settle for a shorter text than this,
a preface to a cookbook, perhaps. Straying from the trap but within lines:

We’re feeling besieged, a little called out
in the great rift’s meaning of no revolution now.

The disease gathered in a kitchen of the West Wing.
Democracy is a charity case. I have checklists from partisan television.
Civil discourse’s beginning to come undone, a mistake... a lasting one.

I go for the moody and unexpected.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and below, unlikely yet

I put my name in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. I found so much of what you say emancipating, but the data are hardly unadulterated. You’re driving me nuts.

Ovid called youth a positive influence. 
Reading and living  
Ontologically under-simulated his senses —  
He should be doing flips,  
Be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes.. get  
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips  
Under the prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,  
 
“A voice and nothing more.”

Pasach fixings.

Here, to protect yourself from a wrong-headed (naïve) build-up and still call a portrait “transactional,” limit data to easily observed phenomena and stick with expedient production from self-contrived ideology and history.
I bet in the future we have no mail from the here and now. We’ll be on site.

Indebted? to what?

We’re a special team. We’re circumspect.
Our sharing mechanism (pretext) gives no voice
to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence
we back off from. Nightly


we face life thickets of cloud & southerly winds
taking it to other investors who might stay offended,


the next step in the training.

11: 1st choice for a sonnet is to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce; x copies my life for yours.

After, I feel a burst of fresh blood, wisdom and your living endowment.

Wait. Later, without x... it’s cold, a waning world away...

But so like-minded so fast —
we convert to folly ..

The world you call yours we keep featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, like
Thought in agitated waves, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing here to help increase harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se, nature will age, decay.
Yet not you, my love.. The more you live you are given what you give.

Our bodies are made for each other. 
It’s astonishing.  Did you hear back, what? 
.. I’m changing my mind for a life you changed  
So relax Ihre form here.  
No cheap shots. Nope. Take the plunge..  
Now I’ll try occupying your emotional life.. I move in with a conscience 
Operating with data of the moment.  
Our biggest hurdles, memories.

Let’s see what we get at top of the chain of proxies. 
There you go again. Tax and spend. Death panels. Lyin’ Hillary. Toxic concepts infuse social ideology and organize perception. Political samples predict voter behavior.  
 
The kings are crazy dudes. Party “extras” play along or rue it.   
 
Turning to outdoors there’s a wholly hidden idiom of renderings, highlighting themes out-of-focus, left to twist in the leafy apolitical acreage.   
 
Art director’s cut.

As noted last century, there’s rustic prep for a painterly style and muddled cool. We come from some landscape with a father, calmed by his fear we were of a kind he was to others.

There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order.

The young gain on the old, those that would,


Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years. (Like the renaissance.)

By future standards don’t-I-wish
is disgusting.

How so? we failures inquire. Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory, you howl. “Mm,” the man says. He was staring at my clogs, wondering how they’re embossed.

When struck a lightning rod emits dust, after that a solution, a chemical substance that squiggles down to my feet. That’s how.

Suspend suspension..

Our hesitance to go there is weather related warmth riding in and a similar improvised sauna of fog going out, all but darkness offshore the day before.
The atmosphere wheezes through its pace emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, I’m a musician.

Bliss. We were looking it up. 
A battle between two distinctions  
 
among few rules bringing up a few others,  
times no more of those brain-states showing pride from Asia.   
 
A marsh is now interesting  
(as well as vitae) for the sea.
 
For the eye, nothing but applesauce then shellac the sea brought in without consent, leader of the pack of earthly rule breakers.

39: Sing how in your absence, thoughts on love with him hint of torment. Separation seemed brilliant manners far back, before today. Thought of that now is oblique, divided but pointedly, singly alive.
One difference, then, sing: you are the better part of me that changes — I’ll praise you while praising him.

Even divided we prove we’re the same. We live to entertain thinking of our love at times. Yet even this is separation. I dream w/ you.. as you sing.

I have aged for you. You may have noticed I’m on the side of folding in meaning that has no purpose, sheer falsetto.
You want in? Try eye accessing cues, carve out what rafter was last seen all strapped at the top. A name for emphasis might be imagined.

A serious pronominal.

Frag-mento steps in, We came from coming back, he says, never the same last excuse when you like to stay running on a folk classic with breathy cult components, listening and showing we both are here. One part synergetic Weltliteratur giving less weight to fantasy — another now is where the renaissance part sways.

After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.

Can I state my own fact as fact?
We’re nimbus-wet. The dark edges must be why
Two very different outcomes equally square
What we (a) hear;
(b) wear to the worry dance;
(c) fear on all edge with work.

(The lord’s will tilting my ribs reflected aphids gathering on a wall, also unanswerably, in the hand. Whose hand? Those were my sentiments. The last ones. I’m pretty sure. If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)

36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho one, 
you’re also mine. Yet you get so far then it stops. You’re not alone.  
I acknowledge you are not my one delight — you’re not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love that keeps dividing us in stolen light. I confess that — or let me confess both our loves are shamed into love’s altered effects —  
 
Your love, mine — separable remains from our nervous systems that distort our open love into two, radially.

I hear your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it sounds fast.

We wanted to go to
This point in real estate, stabilizing the new office — over the ocean
w/out ‘water- or personal-contact.’ Should we take 
a message?  
We’re talking to what must 
be figurative breakpoints with fate and fate’s consignments. 4 walls as examples.  
 
Empty messages recall nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
 
We’ll erase that message. Also 
Politic display of paranoia recommended for staying cool and stable in an emotional tri-level.

Surely I have ideals and uncoded momentum, bolo intact. 
Rain twisting, “tensile lines.” So wave back, s’up?  
We’re at the prelims of collapse, I suppose.   
 
I’m on the outs with prelims, down with the innards of English.  
Down with variations as conjecture too. In fact   
 
I’ve been breathing without conjecture too long,  
restrained in my language on earth.

As noted last century, there’s a rustic prep for a painterly style and muddled cool. We come from some landscape with a father, calmed by his fear we were of a kind he was to others.

We were wondering about invention of the planets, empathizing 
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative passage to sing.  
Not a foe, no spite  
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment got cut! Getting  
To there uproots the light series, exalted then stiffened into parody..  
 
Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray  
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing;  
This was not true showing you touched, you took me. 
What go around and come around left to their own desires and systems.

Heart asleep, little love, I remember looking up at you, at — 
ahem — feeling an urgency in ideas taking heat. Women, men:  
Legions warmed living in a debt growing city state. Maximum restraint  
= get it done and don’t talk to any of me.  
 
This pumped with mandatory inflows of feel-  
oops, they’re metering to block counterfeiters’  
hen of steam: From which — from art of algorithms — all  
personnel will  
have to be shifted or fired,  
coming to work anyway, achieving a remedy, a seemly  
bliss of the non-willed state. Enlightened but as it is,  
lacking the middle way or new age.

Exquisitely handcrafted 
meditation retributions..

In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
indeterminacy.   
 
All a given. In this case, someday.

At some tiny level there’s spontaneous disintegration of what’s on my mind until I find myself in a “half-life” where speech still matters. 
By way of a PS on bohemians, Schuyler (ravaged of course) was more of one than Ginsberg, unravaged. And Brainard (ravaged then unravaged then ravaged) was a big boho. Auden? Think so. Jim Brodey, a boho. Even less narrowly, Harry Matthews.

149: Cruelty goes by a few worshipful metaphors. Not loving you down the road.. going against myself.. all due to future Mars invasions!


Heavenly and new, classic, easy, unforgettable metaphors to our surrounding revenge by taking off, fawning over you / fawning under you, quiet and respectful in everyday nudity. For nudity earned your just respect, commanded by your eyes. It’s always a swing reunion in that ritual expanse, a whole new side of narrow and hollow at center, a vacuum spinning on wheels!

Blackened windows:
We know we don’t know.
Prose is a marketplace,
a rendezvous to encapsulate data fields for the tongue.  

I’m sorry this happened. I was going to stay  
from the moment we set the stage from squinting within representation 
until I went broke. I was then indebted. I am now.

I just can’t say enough.
Now an international scale opposes the lexicon of my body. It’s scary-loud, yet there are comic arguments as dreams seem to centralize.

I have come to my senses, acting my age with your beauty inside. So what I say prompts the assembly I made of torn Gillette letters and smaller decimals.

Each step (of my essay) ground in my heart.

Fair, dark warning. 

None of this is pressured by déjà vu. It seems rational, with a little prep you can achieve more intimacy with a poet you’re initially wanting to know. If you want. And, of course, you’re helped by the other, the other’s writing, I mean, since poetry is one medium for splendid self-introductions of a framed sort. No, what I am about to say ...I want to put here and it’s not entirely rational .. there may be a blushing-waif-zeit and atmospherics, but certainly a range of collective empathy (psychosis?) with a potentially or partially vulnerable social manner.

Wanting together with his and your own empathy and vulnerability, will put you both a way forward; you’re talking fast and can’t control your eyes, even before you have intentions. This happens fast but not forever, especially with one who has submitted to selection-pressure before, one who misapplies both your moves and language to enact motives beyond the immediate speech act.

You all right? 
That’s a title for most any time lapse. Stick around. 

To chide your beauty, sculpturally, has to be done but it’s one-sided.   
It seems artificially important    
The screech was spherical, chiseled in  
a seagull.    
No one’s there now but you.      
I missed it.

In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
indeterminacy.   
 
All a given. In this case, someday.

Our thoughts at this point raise magnitudes of meandering graphics, 
having left a lavish record of the human hush-from-hand-to-fingers-to-mouth.  
I enjoyed it when my innocence sawed into us,  
turning us into this 
beginning of infinity
even if sheeted in asterisks. 

Our area is interpretive search. 
(Want to read our minds?) No symmetry among unequal strains.   
 
No that’s not right.   
 
The ‘search narrator’ feels self criticism got way over-modulated becoming 2nd rate, NGO, poor argot sampling hostility.   
 
Masked or not, my marketing allergy steals from my super ego stuff.. ..easy to cite in tones stressing processed shock and inexactitude.   
 
Flipping out highlighted weak spots, our freedom, our top level surroundings. Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting.
That’s not to say there’ll be any more food. 

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently. 

88: Patriarchy expands fraternal allegiance. You & I so belong.
We’re well acquainted with our own double weakness. Well, I really enjoy it. 9 out of 10.
What do you look like now? It’s right to ask? For your right I can set down our story, bending all my loving thoughts onto you.

We both gain an advantage (all wrong) to prove you virtuous.

The local is inside you, sang Pete Seeger, Bob Creeley  
when I tossed my head and rode 
one foot, pawing the ground before a gallop.  
As for my consultant, he shook  
the bed, broke a baby toe, stubbing it  
Like nowhere else in one place, 
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the very era or epoch of the perpetually alterable 
— a stream of gasses embossing / conjoining an invisible roll call gathering around
so much as ‘the way things were’ stay the same that day. 

I swear while we teeter and travel further  
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts —
All these props are just to get in.  
Or I was wondering about the knowhow that causes new wonder,
That licks both problems.

You, my man and woman,  
Pastoral you and all it initiates take humane power in socialist space. It’s rare.  
Home base, hierarchal Finland: say it’s working through the population. 
And we’re the entire crew. The socialist’s way.

Yes or no, certainly. & all right 
All attempts to throw your voice were patently dumb & of a special force,  
Interventions & addictions too disproportionate  
To unknown risks. What’s semiology chanting?  
 
No futures present advanced phenomena — what older worlds once added —  
I have a tiny soft view of holding to the new path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord configuring another.)

I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 
 

What’s wrong with a billion for two    

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan  

with no memory how it got there?

My last friend is 
my most erotic partner. Our joy’s a start-up  
And has nothing to do w/  
Opposing ideals of corporations —  
 
Our music brokerage remains in aerospace   
 
Within no sound where there is none  
Other than the last  
S’up? nothing else —  
 
The more he said it the pushier he got.

As one says in social sciences, it’s too late for Cy Twombly’s complete nervous breakdown. There are lucid gaps we spot now and see through... the universe in flight enjoins the loyal center, Twombly’s cocktail expanding and accelerating. To resist extreme sobriety of the autodidact bouts of hedonism are recommended under the guidance of loving doctors, wet nurses, others beyond family and school though you can try your luck there too.

147: The float seems to learn love fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant wares,” 
 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the fair as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no caption.”  
 
Mad discourse throughout anticipated that base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave me now when there’s a move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please. 

Same with his mocking Plato —
It’s all hideously exciting if you’re fair as well lovable.

Justice for all is only made to look calculated, he said. Liberty with caution, minuscule, exciting.. again.

I’m

petrified by striving to mend —
The forsythia is trying to warm up.

Do I have a taste for disharmony and disproportionality? No, I elect to be ignorant. As a singularity 
I believe in undertones and the mimicking hidden force of gravity. You guys go ahead.  
 
 


I’m going to walk on w/ Gilbert, that’s the best stunt.   
 
You see, G Ryle asked (and w/ this new knowledge he still asks), “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”

As one says in social sciences, it’s too late for Cy Twombly’s complete nervous breakdown. There are lucid gaps we spot now and see through... the universe in flight enjoins the loyal center, Twombly’s converse expanding and accelerating.

Didn’t they tell you 
thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof  
— our brains are being stolen. After  
 

we wander off the promontory back home muttering “TV,  
TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia   
 

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  
Hazards all sides. 
Talk? You hoped we might &?

In descending order of indefensibility...  
 

(a) Poetics is democracy.  
Evasion in poetics, as in prose, foregrounds style, motive — subjects for close attention. (They have tied me to a tree.) 


(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (writing despite the signs). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory kicking a signing agency when the signer is down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement. What tree? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, so much later. (Signing in hilarious light.)

Artifice, craft, life are short and drive you all over. 
 
Making out, I can drop the questions and shoot for craning my mien; by squinting everything visceral is scattered. (Behind artifice there’s an interaction lab.)  
(Behind life, a free agnosticism. Easy sway. You’re taken up on your offer.) 
Beaten up hulks pour vodka that swirls in determined tones. A film clip with multiple data fields and a crew of deft extras in malaise, one supported by another grabbing a ring thru a rope, dignifying pain.  
 
I’m told you’d prefer not to watch. Using your voice, better to ask a friend or two to make you hurt, pretending they are you, falling mute.

Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in a mocking form. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.

I thought as a lyricist you’d follow these leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —

I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bear bar repartee.

154: I’m sick from love, disarming my love god once asleep; I’m diseased, too hot a votary for you. 

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

mind and body worship by your side, truth un-quenched, a general idea to warm us, bathing you in a healthful belief system. Or do  

we prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats hearts for perpetual cure?

I am lewd, in a blink in my ‘true mind,’ stinting
claimant of photogenic vitamins to embellish the bleeding,
lacking historic truth tho settling in —
in a way — over a raincoat of moods.

Warm-bodied, visually queuing up.

So you get it now, assigning de facto completion thru catharsis
is no yes vending grafts about duality —
Send in multiple marines with hand and finger gestures to boot
and never complete, never shaken in how they prolong dulling pleasure
but at overhead altitudes.

Our atmosphere squeaks common sense.
I sensed him and he liked me. It’s an eye popper, a new 
Use for fumy italics — fumy on the outside,  
Different inside, just repeating, just on nerve, just on time.  
Like him I leave my stamp for no reasons, for nothing spurs dreams.  
Here take a wild guess. 
A young monk will then say,   
 

Tell us about your imitating experience. 

Your reading was beautiful, well pronounced. Perfect make-up. Had .. humm? Your boredom is poor experiment; that’s what we said to snap out of joy, lightness, eyes-open dream. Knower and known no longer clean, osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind others, our others. And I’m less affected by less meaning, un-giddy like you. Duly of course sounded, I cover my throat.  “It’s nice to be interrupted twice.”

The door to the exchange was left ajar. 
 
Fizzy purviews haunting harbingers that hang around from The Inferno. Quantum waves beat our eyes off. Don’t you care structured improvisation vibrates thru personal diaries (volumes) over time? I’m chatting up my repressed side to save you from all our early decisions. The charge is to pass / not fail to remember our nonironic ignorance.

I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 
 

What’s wrong with a billion for two    

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan  

with no memory how it got there?

Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there we can move forward, back to detect undertones that encompass our naïve expertise.  
 
Yours and mine. 
There are no nasty hues in their nesting place. There’s a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and greed. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up the visual cortex — pasting-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — powers of color broker enduring benefits, tooth and nail radiance.

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?

We can’t always wolf the message down this way but here we are. INTRO: New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. ACTION: The brilliant live on and they always have, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).

108: Admit you miss smoking, drinking boy.


You miss that first drag. Have you heard,

Taking other lovers you become multilingual.

The smoke tows you in its stride, in its spirit
Among the underemployed in hyper décor —

Your glass half full. Your hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with fresh manpower.

Counting no old thing old,
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.

How I do love you —
Tho graduate studies seem piecemeal,

I watched us dreaming like economists
affecting a radius of two coasts.
What happened out there? What for?
The survey said you and I made it to the 2nd challenge,
a winning session in crude instrumentation.

Looking into the camera makes this a document.
Gestalt-like comfort in disruption is one point of a # for our seminar at 22 hours.

I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out scene like in martial arts, barnstorming pen- 


umbrae, a pro ring planning to vanish on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
un-danceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.

Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 

I swear while we teeter and travel further  
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts —
All these props are just to get in.  
Or I was wondering about the knowledge that causes new wonder.
That licks both problems.

Firewall, a king wanting sleep. A foot of sleet, mush, your estimate 
From the royal window.. pane..  
 
Nothing concentrates like a.m. rulings on Nordic weekends and a palatable wardrobe.  

I believe in you. Evening you’re distingué. 
You give me a musical temperature, a fine spray marvel. 
We’ve discovered squeezing brings up more meta-activity as superstitions based on fact —  Blasts of selecting fast, out of nowhere.. nowhere near here. Not even now.
We reach back to no self, only others.

Been holding our tongues. That’s how it works. 
Non-interference takes charge, under which an authentic kindergarten language of crawling gets raised & quest is forcibly asserted. If this were true, working against deadline would shape the last steps of withdrawal from our deadlock with future attributes.  
 
Meantime you targeted a fan like me because of familial obligations to ageless platitude, your camouflage in plain view, the focus of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground. 
 
In midlife I once had an idea today was over. I forgot, man.  
With less & less destruction of evolution, we constitute the Odds-on-Group taking part in the co-ritual to outlast time.  
 
Over & over. Today again. 
 
Life & limb truncation covers about half the winners & victims in crossfire. How you question & answer — anything you come up with will stomach fair use doctrine — what the privileged young play by. But the next resurgence is an elaborate gerrymander where all ambiguity vanishes for a seeming long time.  
 
History is old as mutt. 

Sonnet 105: We express idolatry as science. Fair, kind, true. 

Amazing to meet you as well as science, two, all in one. Two!



Amazing to touch your penumbra, feel influenced by funky themes, o many songs.  Lawyers


Define pleasure you communicated thru love to last a lifetime. 
Take care, and take your time; 
likewise, inspire small talk between you 

while keeping your sum of sums under surveillance. You
look good together.

We’re not all to blame for unforced errors 
modulating the binary self  
according to archetypes of reverse daring.   
 
Varieties and perspectives have changed —   
 
There’s nothing to tell...   
 
since unforeseen messes at some point talk back.   
 
When they enter, they appear as though they have been with us..  
it’s amazing how “they simply pass”  
— coming from another headquarters, radicalized before they got there, here  
proceeding to be read in on the agenda 
in time to hang it up.

The service vice president wrote you a note:  
An idea dawns as you and I back ‘into’ the salon.  
It’s a salon poem, exquisite, uninviting, keeps its distance, so what?   
 
You contain only so much of me  
as I live where you belong. 
P.S. They are holding your brain illegally.

The traitor’s bags are packed.

All puzzles solve for a religion of dance (x) sharpening endurance, risking focus.. 
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, ones who advocate for world peace. Their reputations recede but the fact of their early apprehension holds sway even before guns were worn.

In descending order of indefensibility...  
 

(a) Poetics is democracy.  
Evasion in poetics, as in prose, foregrounds style, motive — subjects for close attention. (They have tied me to a tree.) 


(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (writing despite the signs). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory kicking a signing agency when the signer is down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement. What tree? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, so much later. (Signing in hilarious light.)

Beginning to get the picture. Your flash is on this surface. 
 
You taste of star anise ‘launching’ the latest OS in fertility: you wiggle like a borzoi  
 
also w/ backsliding wipe-outs & their aftermath:  
trash-flashes we tautologize into cattle calls of harmful purity.  
At least our calls are in the area...  
‘holding each other open’ ordaining our interpretive devices to 
bleep up to the top.  
 
There may be other areas, too.

Sonnet One: Ornament is content.

The yews know how to wear theirs, desiring buds to contract brightness and increase —
much as we eat the world to save it. Together, dilating, flaming, increasing now in riper time, your own eyes profusely fresh, then green.

[adverb not here] I can’t face facts auf deutsch. I invented my elbow rail thru intimation, insinuation, innuendo. 
Also it was something I ate control-grouped by coughs.  
Never believe quite a theory, we never say it’s conjecture.  
To translate costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, faint of.   

I’m a little I guess confused 

I thought you might understand I mean   
I’m surprised, do you know   

what I’m saying? I guess so   
not exactly. 

You & I wonder about one summer’s eternal 
possessions, oblivious buds, shade & a day  
staying chaste .. it’s on the house.  
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold.  
 
In those same terms there’s too hot  
a reliance on making out   
Optimizing the center where death dies.  
Vice or virtue will take more than a single changing course  
through the ambiguities of code-switching, aping
to snatch life from time, breathing freely if we could see. 

The School of Nobody takes 8 lives
rising to any occasion w/ pretty good yoga probabilities
tho troubleshooting is more shaped by time while taking
steps w/in unruly aplomb (to parse diacritically)...

There are no stages

for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting:
& moving

I believe in the healing power of unhealthy options. Percussive isolation. Resentment buried in a colossal physique. Orpheus, the overspontaneous,  drumbeats through a dinosaur theme park. Don’t care, I only lie about what I believe is right, clinging to rules

without a theory of purpose or the gift of agency to promote my case, as masking vanity becomes a fund raiser’s challenge. 

Fizzy yet salient points soak into visual mechanics hanging out for the escape clause (always the last place you look)!

Burp:
The book recovers a lot. Preordination, say. 
An interesting interview on unvoiced phonemes done in trochees;  
latest brain and behavior data are radical and mistaken.
‘Staff may be quenched in the cooler,’ toughing this one out. 

104: You’re fair doing this, my friend. Etc.
I saw both of us stop dials, and reset the pace. Danger, for one,

you or I may get burnt, turning toward seasonal
purebreds, to fresher figures, sweet times and hot pricing, unless

your turning to deception and envy sounds better.
If not, burn for me, friend. Hues balance in your greener motions, ever

since I saw shaking fear and beauty from your eyes.
I eyed your figure before you were born.

Perfumes of April stand as axioms in June.. stand with pride
you’ve already processed.. stolen for future use.

You shake summer into spring, one’s first guided
tour — such a future can never be old, never overdone.

My honest, real boss sucks. 
That’s because she has to. Some job titles are, as the expression goes, anathemas. Disquiet raising the roof. Boss, leader, principal, director, chair, honcho, chief, chancellor, prexy, officer in charge, top chef, head of the shift, muse. What does it take to earn and maintain these titles? Ideology.   
 
Casting spells. Constantly interviewing me as I do with every other employee, affiliate, colleague, member, collaborator, associate sans souci. Muse first!  
 
Encore… A poem is a picture. Have a Shrek glass of water after sunset, a big help defining my boss’s properties degrading, shaken to ..oops.. It’s a picture like hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares) ..in this one I’m emotionally shot with depth as a thespian-rapper rounding off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence. I never meet her on a Ferris wheel.

What do we mean ‘quest’? 
 
Each year corrupts the ultra-field, infatuated mostly with active measures. The elders have rules. Stay funny and comfortable is one.   
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert handkerchief. Shave twice a week. Does your dad look selfless to see you slung in the eyes of other men?   
 
What can we do without sleeping around in our measured subculture? Serve meaning with a sleight thru science and art for all.   
 
Last, best, fair in gay love. Then I’ll ask you about immaculate being, rondure and cold feet. That’s dashing on to allegory, the one they call Stepping Up:

Acquisitive Quest Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.  
 
* 
Oh My God, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.

Gastronomy is to breaking the ice as ‘fucking / sponginess’ is to bacchanals.

Lack of knowledge. Living with relatives.
Two earthly conditions for losing your inborn mind.
Little, no, nothing. There’s so small 
an exchange to transact, no tangibles, only 
exhibitionist’s subtopics, within a power den, 
proving repeated effort is self plagiarism.

You may have noticed I write over your face, in inessential praise  
of your fuzzy fragrance, choosing you out  
of other top notes then commending you to a suspicious but dearly rational face-off:
What to look for and how to wave to be waved to,
reducing hang-ups.

The sun maybe 

Burning you, other brilliant dislocations TBA, expected. Alternate forms go 
Beyond predicates fixated on loud procedures 

But in their giddy case they look into a surfeit of deep space.. 
A sumptuous, soilless bond, 
Angels — a happy title.. 
* 
Maybe they’re only words, assembly, to quote you. 
They are real actors, still accumulators, without our enzymes.

I’m lost? I’m not familiar
with your neighborhood.

You’ve got a nice view of it
from up here.
Here we go. I got you.
Here we are.
I got you.

My back!
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?

Sonnet 3: Now is the time. 
Image & posterity aren’t everything. But they call us back. Same for dying. Stop Pisces & piscean disdain. Face to face 
End death but mark self-love as no fond option. Unearned. Yet in time thru windows seeming nearly your 
Own age April will renew a time that forms 
A fresh golden light flow even now... “Could you be more specific, autumn one?” 
Fair, a prime light calls you back, repairing you, 
Your face, fond ears, all forms of yours remembered.

We met at a fashion party, Homeric possibilities in extremes. 
A couple of days reveling in delirium, haunting.  
Breaking the ice when it dawned on me: 
 
That driveway could be the future beachhead steaming for real, along with amalgamated events summarized best, perhaps, in this question I’ve been asking myself?

So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,
Intemperance, flu.
Coming clean, part
Entering & staying w/ a value

That turns into you, fantastic to watch!
Won’t lie, I weep in it.

Calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with top notes we won’t ignore, some jittery appliance in occipital brushfire, active against the ‘human grain’ in intimate groups under our governing bodies.

Free translation. 

Beside the observation tower, here from which one can see in good weather far over the Baltic to Danemark, by the Forest House Hessen Stone lies. Previous foresters got their insensible blush withal from its sailors — sad I see — lords of life. From that foresters with salts on Hessen Stone glowed with barbarian misrule. 

Today one can eat excellently on the spot and jazz friends come also.

I can’t make enough, cannot make it. I’m staying home. 
I once said goal!  
We can’t always keep gathering this way but we do. 
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age.  
 
The lucky take the pain, live on then perish. More will, fudging abasement in clean restraint serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (re-wombed).

Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there we can move forward, back to detect undertones that encompass our naïve expertise.  
 
Yours and mine. 
There are no nasty hues in their nesting place. There’s a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and greed. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up the visual cortex — pasting-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — powers of color broker enduring benefits, tooth and nail radiance.

We went nowhere. Propositions become a promise. 
 
At first fluky, as noted last century, there’s a rustic perp to expat style and muddled cool.  
2 million years a species, sexual liberty never expires, but elimination of error is piping hot
while I’m learning to increase trying.

Do you write while you edit?

116: One’s {most-
Ly random swagger looks on marriage as a catch that alters one’s worth unknown to
The equipped} naysayers: They encourage tasting more —
Never coerced by impediments of stars or human form, fixed on this mark: Love is not love;

Nothing shakes them or me like love following its rosy doom. That’s if I’m not hit by what I feel in the a.m. Then, if only, I believe you, I’m a fool no man ever loved...

But let me take our love’s temperature — wanderings of your true mind prove

We’ll be hitting a few heights in a few weeks, a few brief hours while others admit to softer, more musical alterations.

Love is no fool. Love goes overboard as if water lilies kick off their boots and women come to rule. Love’s bent bears it out, removing

The edge to lips and cheeks.

How I do love you —
Tho graduate studies seem piecemeal,

I watched us dreaming like economists
affecting a radius of two coasts.
What happened out there? What for?
The survey said you and I made it to the 2nd challenge,
a winning session in crude instrumentation.

Looking into the camera makes this a document.
Gestalt-like comfort in disruption is one point of a # for our seminar at 22 hours.

High on sandwiches.

Platypus, cough, the kiss —
Justice w/ passion, seltzer


foaming in mercury selenide... I told you these were blocking ideas.

I kept going, barefoot & outdoors

the tuba bits are detouring into surf & compact surfaces

 
— praise & the opposite grow acrostic, slightly rife

after doublecrosses. I grab my pen & clamber over to

your jet gate where you’re holding sound-

tracks w/ pulleys over aromas of civet & benzoin.



My fly is open. I feel overextended & we forget big words —

under whose thumb might this be? This decimal of a nook

is a stretch of dark matter — Careful! the glove-as-puppet is a transition error

while phys ed shifts one martial art at a time



into the present. Right, a physical affair is supported by steamy looks,

heat, & it promotes sea plankton. Bookmarks aren’t supported.

Poets fob off any acute particularity. Such with the bright intern on the bicycle in a parking lot nowhere close. Please applaud. Left brow fuzz so sudsy it can be substantiated, born by epochs of parallel scenery — per the annals of physics to poetry.

Midnight dining, toes rambling
later like deer in bed, unnatural, shiny in smoke. Seagulls play duets birches tear thru passive groans... uttered it seems to affirm fajita in snatches, opera and shush...

Hey mmm 
Europe with Alsace in its midst about to be a pain ..  
I’m furious about pure consciousness, its transparency and orchestration. A conduit of expanding stops and sharps. Stasis. Or is it a geyser in a box?

Anyone can wish for ‘portal trans specificity,’ Me? I eliminate markers to get fully inside my face. Your face. Your brow sports a few layers of sleep relief, aching in baby, cutely accruing intimacy. Meanwhile a new team works on peer strategy, yielding larger holds on cultural cynicism..

*
A kimono is entered, explaining ardor without thought, and with. It also explains our slender objectives wearing each other’s fragrance, weakening the night body.

RNA itemizes tasks.
Do you like winter’s dares?
Or to be bubble-footed in dark briefs!
None of the above!

Nonfat, never satisfied, we live on the edge, they say,
we come from creatures far back, slowly calmed
by disquiet we were of a kind they were to others, lacking
redoubled patrimony and finding-it-out tools. Just ask

distribution adjustment @ sports.com — they have those to spare..
The slew of patrimony tasked down from behaviorist beliefs.

97: 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.

Very good, Jack. We were going over some numbers, audience shares, I mean maxims, and...
I’m here to voice concern about automata poetry / self critique spiraling out of control...

Look, I’m filling out forms on the nightstand.
The point is I’m not writing anything “garbage-y.”

Not
anymore.

Don’t be silly, Jack. You are daytime poetry.
That’s cruel, Rabbi, very cruel.

Whom will we discover? How? 
Do you both laugh? Per rules  
& regs of sounding it out  
it’s overdue.  
You’re back in vertigo yay!   
 
yielding authority with no proxy   
 
Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon  
: any of your remedy gets exaggerated for good :  
                                 What’s this the (x) about?  
Without your knowledge you say yay. (For x!)

“I wanted to regain our friendship more than anything...”
...is this on the test?

There’s nothing linear going on. Everyone knows that. 
Unless you want to.

Sargent’s song.

Side by side, everyone in Dog City thinks equity-is-so-cool. / Every owner of a bonehole subject to rules hard to vary
even as Dog tax experts evoke cuddliness bred in muted colors.. I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.

I live and wait in a container house southeast of the city. My work is to detect and remove abusers of my equity.

Dog Zen is nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation on nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.
My gospel is to smash divisions.

Un-sober gestures, precise. Bright eyes, sparkling motions. You and I should get a huge smucker’s. 
 
But it’s hard to pilot (let alone hatch) a plan out of leftist smoke. Mm-hmm. Green new rhetoric toward a political realignment is hemi-obvious now, at this hour of the fireball pyramid scheme — v — those who vote to approve public squalor juxtapose obscene capitalist private milieux? 
 
— v — 
 
Start from the midsection, track your rectangular coordinates, understand pleasures of the neck, chest and eyes.    
 
Before thrills, yoga is fantastic. I’m 12 years old for now.

Sonnet 10: We lodge now (in the presence of physics-oblivion) 
a headless pedagogue hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing 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  
tampering w/ thought experiments.. you love no one? Him.  
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = loving or hating him =  
hating yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts,  
sticking to what’s enclosed in nominal trivia to locate fresh paradox.   
 
For you change your mind repeatedly enslaving romantic English so you can be taught  
(for shame a conspiracy loved so long by such an impassive number, so many..) ..

You don’t even have to be interesting.
T hat doesn’t sound right.
Always repeat what appeals to you.

I’m captioning love’s Token Austerity, sleep-laden.

Copy-fitting is more profitable than deep discounts.
W e need to see everything, of course, before it’s retouched out.
This is a new policy to block deletions that took on fire to go missing.

There are faith that’s gone on and consequences. There comes an enrollment
point you caught your waxwork hologram in a partner’s eyes. 
Ventriloquating is something. 
No one’s favorite word yet — nice aftershave, Rene 
..I got wind of it and put you in — 
Can your artistic behavior be “copied” or even “cited” in any meaningful sense? 
We have two arrays for time/money & harmony: 
The ass comment — I know you meant juniper 
within a philosophy (in movement thru spatial dimensions) 
(& the aura of an assumed scent) forward!

Draft 14

What now?
[I’m sorry]
You stuck or
something..

What’s semiology? unless we find felicity to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present newer phenomena — what older worlds once could say, new and interesting, difficult.  

I have a tiny soft view of holding to their difficult path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One shared flame after another.)

“Dear Hightop,” 
 
It saddens one to inform the boss  
 
she’s not serious, never is. She makes  
comparisons during sex and makes  
love checking in — whilst I live  
off the equity of a third faculty, timescales  
where strata hold well tuned compulsions — the ones promised  
Hermes that took him over the edge.

Sobriety, not mine, makes the case for / against boredom in semi-dirge, that is, in the poem-making venture. Boredom? Blame it on our near relatives, the empire-prone who once rode escalators up and down the Radisson close by.

Sociologists are stepping up and nodding off
Under the influence of futon cramps at home owing to their driving similar vehicles to work
Transporting pouti debs and elephant men,
Dostoevsky wrote.

The sun maybe 

Burning you, other brilliant dislocations TBA, expected. Alternate forms go 
Beyond predicates fixated on loud procedures 

But in their giddy case they look into a surfeit of deep space.. 
A sumptuous, soilless bond, 
Angels — a happy title.. 
* 
Maybe they’re only words, assembly, to quote you. 
They are real actors, still culminators, without our enzymes.

13: Son, father, if we were ourselves
we’d bear up against cold instincts..  So
                              hard  
to put back in the valise, eternally bare, love. We pirated the code.   
 
I can’t say we do it willingly (dueling storm gusts). In honor? None! 
 
No determination, love, you are no longer than your life in full.
Others, mere semblances of you, hold to a lease.  
Who lets it out says so. 
 
While you give me all forms of love against the fall,  
against coming death and barren winter, o sweet. O you
 
o, you know we then and now here ‘should prepare’ 
for none but ourselves being in love.  

Flashbacks pertain.
Large reflecting pools in the beta future, it’s just a thought.
If I introduce vagueness as a more ardent
co-therapy, we can escape. It’s (vaguely)

thought-train-derailment, bringing on experiments in graphemic parole,
a fullness in replica that nothing’s left of.

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.

What does it mean to work? I don’t know that either. What I know is how to belong, stake out territory and bust heads, maintaining an atmosphere of trust.

Tattoos first, 2nd, his hair.

The plot leaves the door to irresolution ajar —

Guess what, the grabber is un-belted in segments like a sex rattle
spinning to take effect. It adds an all night ring to our narrative, id est,
the needle breathing hard, leaving the hole
open to mas irresolution
and topspin for picking up the dissolved thread.

Guards stood tall. United keeping their balance over parcels. Now they tell you take off your belt. The impression received: every advance serves a purpose. A higher purpose according to those hoisted in a disarming breeze. Purpose is metonymic for devastation in dance, collapsing under glare in haste, minor readjustments in body politik on a purely intentional scale opposite a line-up of out-of-control voice forms.

Then ballet natives yield to a rush of idols and new people center stage... my right, your left.

*

Dispatched for
chaos

yet
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible
twin lights
Minimalist
and suddenly just theory.

Awing in a wolf’s regime,

there’s brush
fire toward mosquitos — shot
through the throat, asking too much.

There’s a container for every passion.
Ounce by carbon resin ounce, a take-off
economy floatable within, once
regarded in wholeness, all contours
beeped forward w/ the news, smart enough
though meaner beyond any coarse-grained whereabouts..

I guess it’s us.

133: My strategy is sweet sleep until we wake.

Who’s calling?
Your friend is coming. Must I abandon myself? then my next self? both appear wounded players, both slaves, both to slavery?

Who can say? Twice or say thrice double crossed and, again, — it’s not enough to torture me alone —
Engrossed, I can hear my friend’s heart groan as if in jail, double crossed — pent up cruelty that’s iterative, baroque:

As if out of time Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.

But let’s be rigorous now and agree while we’re in prison I am in you. I am yours by force.

And I keep you in my heart on guard of you and for all that is in me.

Switching phones, I look up at the crazy dental intern waiting to take me out. 
Silence is oversexed-enormous but I practice it.  
 
I’m sick of guy’s things.  
 
Not running, walking rapidly, I cross the hall, the long one with mental achievements ....  
 
... come out the complex, take the duck walk ....  
...go through a dedicated lot ....  
... and into Q7 in one STEADICAM SHOT. 
*  
Back then I was a dental monitor, not a dentist

— I see your potential; can’t wait to be huge. Time is temporary; eternity  
Later .. it’s not much.  
Get your share,  
knocking love-moments down with small talk, unscripted, unpredictable.  
 
But there are standards.  
Shined asides. 
Pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,  
Really a vase,  
 
Set it, let sunlight pitch in its foam, infer  
Poetry goes thru many drafts.

The back office is an eyesore, assembly required. It
makes itself think...lets itself think...

(It’s a coin flip.)
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.
Thanks for the memories.

You ruined everything.

I’m late for my gown fitting, my weeping on the inside. Outside, I’m late, 

Impetuous, from costive stock, unflappably happy, brusque.  


I floated here while my toys were asleep. I voted for change.  

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


Time now to stir toy fluids with a respondent gavel. Then back to the bench.  
Judgment is a big puzzlement for suspects of natural selection.
Only the jury rises.

A poem is.. 
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write (if not well).  
To tap on the keys and wander out above our welcome in a retrospective..   
 
Again there’s no title because nowhere  
Are my thoughts so hidden in use.  
 
It’s a contraption. But that’s required.

20: Like voices & solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.) — smart, amazing particles sleep it off in traffic, affecting shifting hues up to the rolled bridge lattice. On you
& by you, nature’s face is warm & bright. All hues, charged & painted brilliant to the eye. Purpose that’s stuffed with pleasure, not needing love, except when it comes altogether!

Thereupon we control our handiwork, less false than one’s life, almost like passion’s master-&-mistress gazing on as it grew.