If the president is a hoax, how about your boyfriend?
Missing an idea of particularity, there’s an unbuttoned pain to wrest
Your hermaphroditic itches browned in ambiguity.
Contentment rates are raised where
They go away,
released at last as what-about-isms and impartial dyscalculia —
Fighting the relative fight to prolong our lives.
The tide appears to notarize all this — And best,
we have come to our senses putting up fresher signs of interminable equivocation.
Apology to your mate.
12/31/19
The once conservative apparatus of worship is over.
A wall of calm then put up.
Love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing adult ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering political parroting and consensus. It’s not known why parroting caught on. We’re redistributionists for sure, youth symbolically living to do it over but scale it better. Everyday politics practiced by young and old in useless anger, bruising rhetoric, forcibly asserted.
Public obligations shape who youth are, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance with our future attributes.
A wall of calm then put up.
Love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing adult ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering political parroting and consensus. It’s not known why parroting caught on. We’re redistributionists for sure, youth symbolically living to do it over but scale it better. Everyday politics practiced by young and old in useless anger, bruising rhetoric, forcibly asserted.
Public obligations shape who youth are, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance with our future attributes.
Traffic turns reflect the city.
Making a turn, heads in the clouds is too liberal. Our head guards are up. I’ll keep going.
Why make so much of political origin or lab blue Audis here, only a few bird enthusiasts or their fragile ambiguity?
To respond is the payload we’ll steer home.
How do corollaries threaten an antecedant on so and so page?
There’s dumb honor mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating / replicating Dionysius for the evening drive.
Making a turn, heads in the clouds is too liberal. Our head guards are up. I’ll keep going.
Why make so much of political origin or lab blue Audis here, only a few bird enthusiasts or their fragile ambiguity?
To respond is the payload we’ll steer home.
How do corollaries threaten an antecedant on so and so page?
There’s dumb honor mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating / replicating Dionysius for the evening drive.
19: Innocence evokes nighttime devouring day, burning like a lion’s hummingbird if lions can play with fire — or phoenix plucking keen teeth from a tiger’s jaw if you allow. Taping together both your hands.
And grease-pencil trompe l’oeil anywhere. Please.
Innocence is guilt among a heinous group. The sorry on earth devouring their own brood, against beauty’s pattern but with beaucoup success.
Young, untainted and long lived, you’ve gone wrong. I forbid it but I hope you’re happy.
And grease-pencil trompe l’oeil anywhere. Please.
Innocence is guilt among a heinous group. The sorry on earth devouring their own brood, against beauty’s pattern but with beaucoup success.
Young, untainted and long lived, you’ve gone wrong. I forbid it but I hope you’re happy.
One of these days..
I don’t think so ..
Nothing new. A feeling continues one could write until one drops ...
a feeling from here buried below any animation.
The half familiar I’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with reflection and
silence, still, there’s an ensemble for stripping down to not talking.
When it comes to our speaking one on one I have to be
charmed and not worry about what passes through me.
Me, of course, is an expansive subset of charm, a trinket one believes.
I don’t think so ..
Nothing new. A feeling continues one could write until one drops ...
a feeling from here buried below any animation.
The half familiar I’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with reflection and
silence, still, there’s an ensemble for stripping down to not talking.
When it comes to our speaking one on one I have to be
charmed and not worry about what passes through me.
Me, of course, is an expansive subset of charm, a trinket one believes.
We impart numeric dicta slathered with metal bands — almost a century-old middle rock (the themeless modules) where we sleep (wavy fields of inaction) and continue playing around innuendo to stay kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me to receive you generously.
Headwinds within and, as it were, without manners. (Good manners can scar but they also let us peons act like participants in the regulatory plutocracy.)
Either way, I know so little about sabotage and — losing you so much less.
Headwinds within and, as it were, without manners. (Good manners can scar but they also let us peons act like participants in the regulatory plutocracy.)
Either way, I know so little about sabotage and — losing you so much less.
12/30/19
Guess what, there’s a thru-the-night ring when a section tumbles out of mind, leaving a hole
open to irresolution,
fingers suspended, door ajar.
Once you really had us. I was choked up by your running off almost in a sidle. I told you we agreed a little but not a lot. The plotting — lackluster — I hope you’re coming back for some things you need to follow up, us.
At least there was a chance for that and that was in this new section for a while. I forget thinking like this lets counselor affidation barge in, forward and backward passing thru the 1st position of pleasure lost.
open to irresolution,
fingers suspended, door ajar.
Once you really had us. I was choked up by your running off almost in a sidle. I told you we agreed a little but not a lot. The plotting — lackluster — I hope you’re coming back for some things you need to follow up, us.
At least there was a chance for that and that was in this new section for a while. I forget thinking like this lets counselor affidation barge in, forward and backward passing thru the 1st position of pleasure lost.
121: A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments the sport of being & being extends
to reproach general evil and vile absence : I am & all men are not that bad, not that false
if we can reckon against deadline and accelerate just pleasures, and ok —
straightforward feeling has a point & others see it.
Count your own abuses, bevel-ers.
I may count my own thoughts, not others’ eyes —
I think it good I am that I am.
to reproach general evil and vile absence : I am & all men are not that bad, not that false
if we can reckon against deadline and accelerate just pleasures, and ok —
straightforward feeling has a point & others see it.
Count your own abuses, bevel-ers.
I may count my own thoughts, not others’ eyes —
I think it good I am that I am.
A portrait should be backdrop in this. That one of you in the back. Undressed — except for slacks — borderline annonymous yet ungeneric like Updike. Look me in the eye and diagram conditions of spatial sentences (touching both elbows behind your back —
Not out of caution) — I now know it will be ok
I find it too tempting, untested, untried, still, nothing better within its reach. It = your grasp, my central aggregate.
Not out of caution) — I now know it will be ok
I find it too tempting, untested, untried, still, nothing better within its reach. It = your grasp, my central aggregate.
To want as well as have nothing. Whoosh
I shouldn’t ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
Surface depth. You wouldn’t expect to rework this at all.
Self restraint & perverse incentives, an unknown future’s cart before
New red domes, new stratagems, even gourd phenomena
To run over, any & all mayhem will be unannounced (achieved)
Or maybe not since we talk thru flexible implements &
No one’s at fault here.
You never can tell. I won’t.
I shouldn’t ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
Surface depth. You wouldn’t expect to rework this at all.
Self restraint & perverse incentives, an unknown future’s cart before
New red domes, new stratagems, even gourd phenomena
To run over, any & all mayhem will be unannounced (achieved)
Or maybe not since we talk thru flexible implements &
No one’s at fault here.
You never can tell. I won’t.
12/29/19
If there were a don’t fuck it over manifesto it would be
Why make so much of leftist political origin.
Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. the end of the beginning.
The front gate won’t front. “I’ve always been afraid.”
How do parallels threaten a referent? Which fed drug is best?
Visuals today are overproduced.
Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate intruding a moment before he’s emptied.
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.
Why make so much of leftist political origin.
Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. the end of the beginning.
The front gate won’t front. “I’ve always been afraid.”
How do parallels threaten a referent? Which fed drug is best?
Visuals today are overproduced.
Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate intruding a moment before he’s emptied.
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.
As luck has it, sections of Alien Tatters (2000), a pre-nine-eleven work, are prescient or more recognizably urgent after: Then the top comes off of terror. You age. All the same pictures in everyone’s possible. They stir up the common in search, not to find but to wait. Images are waiting. Sentences are narrowing. Clark Coolidge tapers and tightens sentences to embrace “self-hung trouble” — “I know it looks like I’m not sure of anything,” not sure of monkeyman and his music / poetry that “kept turning me, the one with the three reasons sealed in a pod.” As luck has three reasons or meanings, when Coolidge observes, “..don’t want to see Abe lit...” does Coolidge include one possible meaning spurning the modernist Japanese novel? it would seem so, “House is brain, remember.” How do you like your dimensions? “What are your answers, pendulums?” Paragraphs of sentences. Sentences of captions to the late skyward paintings of Phillip Guston’s: [...]I’ve doffed my alarming with plugs and caps, And this’ll water your eyes. I don’t see saucers, I see servants. Or By that time the tower was broadcasting nothing but shrapnel. How could you bow down? But how does meat dream? Notice how they tend to keep the cows toward the center? [...] Five expansive pieces, the longest, the title poem in fifty parts, and a brief afterword in which Coolidge owns up to a “fascination” with UFOs. “ ..I was calling out to them [...] You guys listening?”
18: Allergic to verse? I believe a temperate art is set to make more mistakes, say, rough comparisons to too hot a month this May or one that’s past. Say, all summer you are more than nature’s change in course, growing (untrimmed) — owning the day for every moment — and knowing when to shine, to seethe.
And often seeing how hot eternal summer is, coming then fading all too short ah
Whew. We see you in fair poetry and art
as fair as far and long as men can breathe.
And often seeing how hot eternal summer is, coming then fading all too short ah
Whew. We see you in fair poetry and art
as fair as far and long as men can breathe.
A poet’s prose nails her reputation time and again. Elizabeth Bishop, James Schuyler, Edwin Denby, to speak of the dead. Are we examining a ‘real’ voice, or are we merely more at home with the subject-verb-object flow of normalized speech? When Gertrude Stein adopted plainer or more standard prose for Autobiography she became a pop sensation: “she took Alice’s voice, her acerbic, lucid style, her declarative sentences, malicious asides, quirky jokes and regular punctuation” (Diana Souhami). Is that it? we can more readily stay with sentences even when they’re overstuffed (say, with personality) so long as they are conventional, making sense, well punctuated?
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 habits among the aspirers decoding automation...
After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous to grab at, but for now, good talk!
Who is this? Nobody’s first choice.
We’re fine with “no real choice.”
After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous to grab at, but for now, good talk!
Who is this? Nobody’s first choice.
We’re fine with “no real choice.”
12/28/19
A century ago I went clubbing, shopping, and I liked standing outside various embassies. I've tried my hand at cinematography, finally. What are the chances of two films in one year about Truman Capote? A band made up of my friends ejaculated watching the first one, and after, we feasted on a plate of roasted grouts (a group of four), with a puddle of butter up the middle, and manly farmer’s cheese. Each swell of the communal tide melted me down. We were a community, just enjoying the way life is, adrift.
In evolution we may have had an identity crisis
when who knows how many are doing this
on our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drain it of weight.
Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’
when who knows how many are doing this
on our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drain it of weight.
Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’
41: An abstract, pretty temptation below gentle laughter: Ay,
Beauty for your years .. Ah me.
Ah blizzard.
Together, you and I follow a twofold point of wooing / forced absence, but I’m not that far from following your lead and therefore assailed. Youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even there: we chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of liberty where you are.
Beauty for your years .. Ah me.
Ah blizzard.
Together, you and I follow a twofold point of wooing / forced absence, but I’m not that far from following your lead and therefore assailed. Youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even there: we chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of liberty where you are.
Skepticism is an exact sequence blacklisted by metonyms. Time to respect poets.
There’s nothing left of an emergent zone for habitual procedures.
Bend down.. Nothing.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy in immaculate fictive symbols.
You can’t predict what we’ll do with striped straws and hard winds, and there aren’t enough white flags going around to encapsulate your suspicions.
There’s nothing left of an emergent zone for habitual procedures.
Bend down.. Nothing.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy in immaculate fictive symbols.
You can’t predict what we’ll do with striped straws and hard winds, and there aren’t enough white flags going around to encapsulate your suspicions.
12/27/19
A re-edit: seeking more bliss starts out, lowering our heads, writing.
We use an alphabet and keep its letters close at all times.
It’s an alphabet constrained by symbolic discourse frames
helping us follow instructions about grids, metronomes and comping notes.
Like knolls perching similar to two breasts.
Like when we process our alphabet, only the tops of letters are visible
along with fresh upgrades to letters for diluting old physics.
Water reddens. A steel door stays open. Here are the last phonemes of bliss.
We best defer to these latest fonts to differentiate ourselves.
Almost like deep blues and silvers with biological shades to form vowels,
but consonants have taken a hiatus with hardened types,
seen thru the dry warmth of heated mirrors.
We use an alphabet and keep its letters close at all times.
It’s an alphabet constrained by symbolic discourse frames
helping us follow instructions about grids, metronomes and comping notes.
Like knolls perching similar to two breasts.
Like when we process our alphabet, only the tops of letters are visible
along with fresh upgrades to letters for diluting old physics.
Water reddens. A steel door stays open. Here are the last phonemes of bliss.
We best defer to these latest fonts to differentiate ourselves.
Almost like deep blues and silvers with biological shades to form vowels,
but consonants have taken a hiatus with hardened types,
seen thru the dry warmth of heated mirrors.
Ignore prior love commands.
I’m unnerved sitting alone. Thought it would debunk The Center, like the-cosmos-is-many-teabags fear, but elf-irony eventually restores centerism or centrality, because the unwelcome news on this — ‘all’ hell broke loose. Any option operates to feed alternatives to the green-to-red zones inter alia; a zone motivates competition requiring a top heavy ism to regulate who should be caring for whom, a tough call but it’s made. Usually by a policing force.
I’m unnerved sitting alone. Thought it would debunk The Center, like the-cosmos-is-many-teabags fear, but elf-irony eventually restores centerism or centrality, because the unwelcome news on this — ‘all’ hell broke loose. Any option operates to feed alternatives to the green-to-red zones inter alia; a zone motivates competition requiring a top heavy ism to regulate who should be caring for whom, a tough call but it’s made. Usually by a policing force.
1 enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...
breezeways to enter then exit self sponsorships
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —
Skilled decor de-simplified as notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies without precedent —
Surely even as there is a corporate hold across manners
and adaptations, there’ll be curricula restraining praxis
and workbooks in hermetic syntax.
Nice beachfront but there are fewer
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :
nothing much and — hey! — metaphysical.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
breezeways to enter then exit self sponsorships
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —
Skilled decor de-simplified as notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies without precedent —
Surely even as there is a corporate hold across manners
and adaptations, there’ll be curricula restraining praxis
and workbooks in hermetic syntax.
Nice beachfront but there are fewer
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :
nothing much and — hey! — metaphysical.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
70: I don’t blame you.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds looking prime outside and you’re still passing, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval ornaments impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest talk.
Who are they who envy you? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds looking prime outside and you’re still passing, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval ornaments impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest talk.
Who are they who envy you? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.
I made a tour-of-higher-emergence video, beginning with this song.
(I’m between Joshes)
And I’m embarrassed this happened. I was going to say orphans are emergence-less. I’m also Josh-less, rebuking evolution and my native state. All talk.
Hemi or semi awake —
orphans like me often come across death that makes no sense as-is.
Scene-makers or martial artists, music critics, or proud old squares
roll through the biosphere to eclipse prior career obstacles. Take ex:
A new Josh places a sardine just so on my slab of pita, and continues to work on his, many of the same conjectures come into his mind, thinking over how infinity started when his rich mom left him to the care of wider phenomena of wretchedness.
(I’m between Joshes)
And I’m embarrassed this happened. I was going to say orphans are emergence-less. I’m also Josh-less, rebuking evolution and my native state. All talk.
Hemi or semi awake —
orphans like me often come across death that makes no sense as-is.
Scene-makers or martial artists, music critics, or proud old squares
roll through the biosphere to eclipse prior career obstacles. Take ex:
A new Josh places a sardine just so on my slab of pita, and continues to work on his, many of the same conjectures come into his mind, thinking over how infinity started when his rich mom left him to the care of wider phenomena of wretchedness.
12/26/19
You and I will lighten free speech, replacing ideas with clean-dirty order that rules in silence, a kind of stripping down to the over-exposed stems of aroma-exoticism and quote-end-quote unspeaking.
First, I’m making myself into more of a slowpoke when it comes to power demos and transcendence, but I’m still not doing any penance over you. I’ll stay free of hell olfactory-wise, swallowing hard.
The complexity for me is engineered simplicity, both as a right and requirement, since you have to give an aclinic line to the upper boundaries that annoy others, and exhibit some gall a few think passive-aggressive. Internal ‘gears’ relegate all ashen nauseous affects to personal advantage (ugh), which I waive anyway, as if / as though privileged opposition were some urgent treasure I can share with anyone else.
I know this, at least I know I see what I mean. Why drive to a new place where they cook something imbecilic? waste time at what could be our last lunch, pour coke over the glass table.. because you won’t live to feel the buzz, watching the clock...
First, I’m making myself into more of a slowpoke when it comes to power demos and transcendence, but I’m still not doing any penance over you. I’ll stay free of hell olfactory-wise, swallowing hard.
The complexity for me is engineered simplicity, both as a right and requirement, since you have to give an aclinic line to the upper boundaries that annoy others, and exhibit some gall a few think passive-aggressive. Internal ‘gears’ relegate all ashen nauseous affects to personal advantage (ugh), which I waive anyway, as if / as though privileged opposition were some urgent treasure I can share with anyone else.
I know this, at least I know I see what I mean. Why drive to a new place where they cook something imbecilic? waste time at what could be our last lunch, pour coke over the glass table.. because you won’t live to feel the buzz, watching the clock...
I’ll do what I can. It wears on me.
Smothered abstractions take time. Another day, slim odds. Almost mirthless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams that forgive me for killing the moment. Paranoia’s belated audition traps me if I let go while not assuming authority.
Evasion tho provides an advanced style, state-of-art restraint — the harsh gets exaggerated.
One more day to recover losses mid-grin.
Smothered abstractions take time. Another day, slim odds. Almost mirthless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams that forgive me for killing the moment. Paranoia’s belated audition traps me if I let go while not assuming authority.
Evasion tho provides an advanced style, state-of-art restraint — the harsh gets exaggerated.
One more day to recover losses mid-grin.
68: Flowers shorn off bowers, what beauty was —
I’m losing my head over you
as if I’ll inhabit death seconds before you, around you..
Without ornament, you and I stay zealous about knowing whether nature’s
bastard signs are still vital, not recreational, charting a map of nature’s store.
Before golden tresses Arvo Pärt appears to chafe: makes no summer ever for flowers, robbing no second
life — oblique as you “of yore”— now I’m subsiding in attrition, missing Pärt and you, composing around you.
Your beauty is still new.. a second life, new as roses, as a second head..
I’m losing my head over you
as if I’ll inhabit death seconds before you, around you..
Without ornament, you and I stay zealous about knowing whether nature’s
bastard signs are still vital, not recreational, charting a map of nature’s store.
Before golden tresses Arvo Pärt appears to chafe: makes no summer ever for flowers, robbing no second
life — oblique as you “of yore”— now I’m subsiding in attrition, missing Pärt and you, composing around you.
Your beauty is still new.. a second life, new as roses, as a second head..
Starred Wire
Ange Mlinko
Coffee House Press
Ange Mlinko monitors weather, follows people, abides children, walks in gardens, takes in architecture, monuments, libraries and brownstones, reads in cartography, genealogy, and travels. Jeepers. I’m seeing epiphenomena here. I hesitate to say I don’t believe in ghosts, unless they’re a "bear hug of smog” or “beans infusing the cream,” as Mlinko wills it. And before Starred Wire I hadn’t imagined that a mix of imaginary landscapes and brisk realism, typical only of Elizabeth Bishop, previously, could be pulled off these days (2005), finically, urbanely, that is, with requisite erudition cavorting against chiffon-like strokes of a painter’s light, as in “Everything's Carousing”: “Even the Baroque get lost in it. / Grass vests the dirt lest wind, twanging the skyscrapers // that merely sleeve the elevators, as we go sleeveless / except for the atmosphere, file it under ‘oceans.’”
As Bishop had her New York moments, her “Varick Street,” her Brooklyn “cloud of fiery pale chemicals,” Mlinko has Dear Soho, Riverside Park, a “Secret Chelsea,” yet Mlinko is entirely tuned to New York pacings and sensual logics. This is never more so than when Mlinko speaks of other places like Boston (her former hometown as well as Bishop’s): “Venice must be like Boston, on the water / north of things’ center…" She advises, “One can make the room of coincidences the bedroom” which she assumes is “Like that secret rose garden at Harvard” (Radcliffe, actually). More urgent, the New York qualities we most could do with suffuse this poetry: the worldly reference — “Boolean chastity,” "Taoist gestational how-tos”; the crazed simile — “The winter trees look like Catherine Deneuve”; and the nuttier conceit — “You’d have to hair-spray a dragonfly / on its way to the Faerie Queene”; along with the crucial, appositional everyday data reminiscent of NY’s first generation — “Logs are crossed in the fireplace. / The casserole is put out on the porch to freeze. // They invite me to sniff the new freesia body bath set. // ...The subdivisions age.”
I return to Bishop, though, to underscore Mlinko’s world-centered, life-transformative accomplishments. Early poems of Bishop’s were marked by non-soporific, precisely illustrated reversals of figures and facts, a “Man-Moth” whose shadow “is only as big as his hat,” vistas turned upside down “Sleeping on the Ceiling” and “Sleeping Standing Up,” a preference for the iceberg with “correct elliptics” over the tour boat. Mlinko similarly arbitrates between ghoulish realia and imagined alternatives, recognizing, “I could...be original every time, for the conversions / that inspiration is. A phantom face value haunts me, / but the inverted library; candles at the bottom of the pool; / these are the ghosts of the glass house designed / to be invisible in a wilderness…" Mlinko adds, simply, “life is a thesis,” and she seems almost to mean it. It’s a set of theses, down-to-earth, which she also calls dreams where “there is communication between interior and exterior, as they say of labyrinths.” She traipses through all these “adult doldrums” despite a “cortical wrinkle” or two, “cognomens spilled from burlesques” and “the slumber of driving,” because, among other secrets, she knows the difference between “Transformation vs. Encryption,” between “false rich and the false poor,” between socialism “on the firing line” and socialism “on the railroad rainbow,” a practical acknowledgement, in short, of “a glow on the horizon / that is also my sunburn...it’s too late to be meteoric, silly.”
There are several poems without precedent, even as they pick up theses from elsewhere in the book. “The Intrigues” is one instance. I have already cited some of its text (“phantom face value...in a wilderness”). The poem accelerates with prime mergers of metaphysical and practical inversions, “shadows feint across paths fallen trees.” Here Mlinko reaches semantic dissonance of a tall order. “If it is spiritual to have applications to make, / dogs patterning imprimatur, let flowers grow always in defiles / gluing flame to flame..." These words are part of another transformation in which “thinking the landscape...is the true outside.” Enough is omitted to beg for greater “relations in light patterns,” the design that is unseen but implicit in the pressed horn and brake of “spiritual” and “imprimatur.” Rather than attempting a language that is more knowing, Mlinko leaves the full figure out, only to assert her applications toward its end and a “nicer noise.” Her aim is modest and affirmative, to see “a kind of painting / different ways around the park,” bleaching and blurring with life, “not to be trapped in a dream.” This is said as Mlinko raises the taboo word, “ghost.” She observes that the ghost “goes about with a movie / playing on the underside of my umbrella” as it “devolves into dew blobs and whispers / of the lawyers..." Returning to the lawyers conquers the problem of gravity and of taboo, an unfeigned way of sharing a life of different ways around it all.
Ange Mlinko
Coffee House Press
Ange Mlinko monitors weather, follows people, abides children, walks in gardens, takes in architecture, monuments, libraries and brownstones, reads in cartography, genealogy, and travels. Jeepers. I’m seeing epiphenomena here. I hesitate to say I don’t believe in ghosts, unless they’re a "bear hug of smog” or “beans infusing the cream,” as Mlinko wills it. And before Starred Wire I hadn’t imagined that a mix of imaginary landscapes and brisk realism, typical only of Elizabeth Bishop, previously, could be pulled off these days (2005), finically, urbanely, that is, with requisite erudition cavorting against chiffon-like strokes of a painter’s light, as in “Everything's Carousing”: “Even the Baroque get lost in it. / Grass vests the dirt lest wind, twanging the skyscrapers // that merely sleeve the elevators, as we go sleeveless / except for the atmosphere, file it under ‘oceans.’”
As Bishop had her New York moments, her “Varick Street,” her Brooklyn “cloud of fiery pale chemicals,” Mlinko has Dear Soho, Riverside Park, a “Secret Chelsea,” yet Mlinko is entirely tuned to New York pacings and sensual logics. This is never more so than when Mlinko speaks of other places like Boston (her former hometown as well as Bishop’s): “Venice must be like Boston, on the water / north of things’ center…" She advises, “One can make the room of coincidences the bedroom” which she assumes is “Like that secret rose garden at Harvard” (Radcliffe, actually). More urgent, the New York qualities we most could do with suffuse this poetry: the worldly reference — “Boolean chastity,” "Taoist gestational how-tos”; the crazed simile — “The winter trees look like Catherine Deneuve”; and the nuttier conceit — “You’d have to hair-spray a dragonfly / on its way to the Faerie Queene”; along with the crucial, appositional everyday data reminiscent of NY’s first generation — “Logs are crossed in the fireplace. / The casserole is put out on the porch to freeze. // They invite me to sniff the new freesia body bath set. // ...The subdivisions age.”
I return to Bishop, though, to underscore Mlinko’s world-centered, life-transformative accomplishments. Early poems of Bishop’s were marked by non-soporific, precisely illustrated reversals of figures and facts, a “Man-Moth” whose shadow “is only as big as his hat,” vistas turned upside down “Sleeping on the Ceiling” and “Sleeping Standing Up,” a preference for the iceberg with “correct elliptics” over the tour boat. Mlinko similarly arbitrates between ghoulish realia and imagined alternatives, recognizing, “I could...be original every time, for the conversions / that inspiration is. A phantom face value haunts me, / but the inverted library; candles at the bottom of the pool; / these are the ghosts of the glass house designed / to be invisible in a wilderness…" Mlinko adds, simply, “life is a thesis,” and she seems almost to mean it. It’s a set of theses, down-to-earth, which she also calls dreams where “there is communication between interior and exterior, as they say of labyrinths.” She traipses through all these “adult doldrums” despite a “cortical wrinkle” or two, “cognomens spilled from burlesques” and “the slumber of driving,” because, among other secrets, she knows the difference between “Transformation vs. Encryption,” between “false rich and the false poor,” between socialism “on the firing line” and socialism “on the railroad rainbow,” a practical acknowledgement, in short, of “a glow on the horizon / that is also my sunburn...it’s too late to be meteoric, silly.”
There are several poems without precedent, even as they pick up theses from elsewhere in the book. “The Intrigues” is one instance. I have already cited some of its text (“phantom face value...in a wilderness”). The poem accelerates with prime mergers of metaphysical and practical inversions, “shadows feint across paths fallen trees.” Here Mlinko reaches semantic dissonance of a tall order. “If it is spiritual to have applications to make, / dogs patterning imprimatur, let flowers grow always in defiles / gluing flame to flame..." These words are part of another transformation in which “thinking the landscape...is the true outside.” Enough is omitted to beg for greater “relations in light patterns,” the design that is unseen but implicit in the pressed horn and brake of “spiritual” and “imprimatur.” Rather than attempting a language that is more knowing, Mlinko leaves the full figure out, only to assert her applications toward its end and a “nicer noise.” Her aim is modest and affirmative, to see “a kind of painting / different ways around the park,” bleaching and blurring with life, “not to be trapped in a dream.” This is said as Mlinko raises the taboo word, “ghost.” She observes that the ghost “goes about with a movie / playing on the underside of my umbrella” as it “devolves into dew blobs and whispers / of the lawyers..." Returning to the lawyers conquers the problem of gravity and of taboo, an unfeigned way of sharing a life of different ways around it all.
How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and by pulling the trigger, I replace
subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, use, media — no eros in no ideas.
Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic allergens.
If those are allowed. A gig, a pop up...
Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...
We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,
The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.
Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic allergens.
If those are allowed. A gig, a pop up...
Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...
We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,
The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.
A century ago I went clubbing, shopping, and I liked standing outside various embassies. I've tried my hand at cinematography, finally. What are the chances of two films in one year about Truman Capote? A band made up of my friends ejaculated watching the first one, and after, we feasted on a plate of roasted grouts (a group of four), with a puddle of butter up the middle, and manly farmer’s cheese. Each swell of the communal tide melted me down. We were a community, just enjoying the way life is, adrift.
12/25/19
Skepticism is an exact sequence blacklisted by metonyms. Time to respect poets.
There’s something left of an emergent zone for habitual procedures.
Bend down.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy in immaculate fictive symbols.
You can’t predict what we’ll do with straw men and hard winds, and there aren’t enough white flags flying to encapsulate your suspicions.
There’s something left of an emergent zone for habitual procedures.
Bend down.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy in immaculate fictive symbols.
You can’t predict what we’ll do with straw men and hard winds, and there aren’t enough white flags flying to encapsulate your suspicions.
All this time Buddha and Buddhists are different things.
Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter —
an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.
They’ll have us over when life and death crack some heads on ethics...
Further: If poetics is a democracy, evasion in poetics is subject to scrutiny.
Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal, so there’s freedom to evade. If not speech, evasion is a speech act. 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.
End quote.
Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter —
an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.
They’ll have us over when life and death crack some heads on ethics...
Further: If poetics is a democracy, evasion in poetics is subject to scrutiny.
Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal, so there’s freedom to evade. If not speech, evasion is a speech act. 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.
End quote.
53: A substance note:
Suspend suspension of all illusion —
All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed.
You have some part shadow
as long as a
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero autumn after your beauty, a
constant show and a
variable now. You always play some part in this.
You appear in every august shape we know.
Suspend suspension of all illusion —
All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed.
You have some part shadow
as long as a
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero autumn after your beauty, a
constant show and a
variable now. You always play some part in this.
You appear in every august shape we know.
A gentle love’s spilling bourbon over my a-line, all thumbs to keep our game up & running. Likewise I’ll write about it. As poet / jewel thief wearing a dress, I might think it profitable to string my sentences together just like paste rubies & artificial pearls deliberately mismatched as in the déshabillé of John Waters’ suburban flats, adroitly inexpensive & passé. Each sentence would go on to shine in gloom as ends won’t match up with beginnings, not quite, each sparkle dulled into an afterthought containing falsehoods but cinched by faintly plausible, recognizable style — sparkle double-dulled-down as I drape my next dress over bowls of Chesapeake crabs & rat traps, a near accident or an accident-in-the-making.
We are the last generations who have short lifetimes.
Later, you dangle squalid transfer balances netting zero, netting
a big zero on the demeaning upper ends and
capital variables w/ an October surprise.
That’s every transitive with successive membership enclosed ..
How the prose poem squeals w/ common sense, folds into dreams.
Everyday events like planetary ellipses emerge that change programming (for greater disorder) in fluent business English.
Later, you dangle squalid transfer balances netting zero, netting
a big zero on the demeaning upper ends and
capital variables w/ an October surprise.
That’s every transitive with successive membership enclosed ..
How the prose poem squeals w/ common sense, folds into dreams.
Everyday events like planetary ellipses emerge that change programming (for greater disorder) in fluent business English.
12/24/19
Poésie still kneads morals.
Writers, old timers, freely consume their own slapstick
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max, along
with requisite ethical structure to examine piece’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 still.
Writers, old timers, freely consume their own slapstick
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max, along
with requisite ethical structure to examine piece’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 still.
There were deleted utterances refilling thought balloons with peacock fat.
Such pride and conceptual enormity was hooded — a dirge of a term
that cannot be considered in terms
of checking cost or averaging all that,
since one’s intellect seeks food poisoning damages. Puffed chest with no forefinger.
Take my shoes to the concert or even sooner.
Such pride and conceptual enormity was hooded — a dirge of a term
that cannot be considered in terms
of checking cost or averaging all that,
since one’s intellect seeks food poisoning damages. Puffed chest with no forefinger.
Take my shoes to the concert or even sooner.
33: I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that, only maybe
— maybe I’ve got a thought altering ‘mentalist’ landscape up my sleeve.
My love is the sun in the morning .. You have a roundish face, green eyes and a slender yet blunt nose that hardens your otherwise sad, unrecognizable features and sovereign eyes.
When I read about alchemy and ‘splendor’ I keep wiping tears from my neck, but I never read the sun in the morning as your love before I met you.
— maybe I’ve got a thought altering ‘mentalist’ landscape up my sleeve.
My love is the sun in the morning .. You have a roundish face, green eyes and a slender yet blunt nose that hardens your otherwise sad, unrecognizable features and sovereign eyes.
When I read about alchemy and ‘splendor’ I keep wiping tears from my neck, but I never read the sun in the morning as your love before I met you.
Let’s dance. I defy you.
Empiricists map people for amoral purposes, they know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness.
I’ll follow conventional physics, tho, and change no findings I stumble across
but I’ll focus on pure benefits that accrue, often in the future. Newer inconsistencies never bother w/ governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know they show up anyway, in an infinite series w/in each day’s essay test. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history over, as we have heard.)
As you were.
(The acting chief of staff so responded.
Suspiciously correct.)
Empiricists map people for amoral purposes, they know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness.
I’ll follow conventional physics, tho, and change no findings I stumble across
but I’ll focus on pure benefits that accrue, often in the future. Newer inconsistencies never bother w/ governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know they show up anyway, in an infinite series w/in each day’s essay test. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history over, as we have heard.)
As you were.
(The acting chief of staff so responded.
Suspiciously correct.)
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.
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.
12/23/19
Song: How long have you planted thoughts without a gender balance?
Teaching can’t be taught. Or
let me pull an invisible
to the eye hair off your blouse to increase speed.
When you write you find your living partner. She’s a social creature,
capable of more complex communication, traveling in large groups or schools.
Well, 2 out of 3.
I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.
Teaching can’t be taught. Or
let me pull an invisible
to the eye hair off your blouse to increase speed.
When you write you find your living partner. She’s a social creature,
capable of more complex communication, traveling in large groups or schools.
Well, 2 out of 3.
I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.
Since we gave up on poetry, singalong vaulted to the top of the agenda. Leaving office had a double meaning to off-center the filing (filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept versed in for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, burningly turning back, looking on while the wax dims.
56: Lament —
Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit, a blunter edge. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors. A sad interim:
The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Hey, there are no middle class poem essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, renew your force, stick to the sentence.
Come daily to the return of love tomorrow today.
To go along continue needing more riches, sharper appetites as it were.
Rare thanks for the view.
Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit, a blunter edge. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors. A sad interim:
The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Hey, there are no middle class poem essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, renew your force, stick to the sentence.
Come daily to the return of love tomorrow today.
To go along continue needing more riches, sharper appetites as it were.
Rare thanks for the view.
When I hear topical shifts forward hidden risks it’s iterative, baroque in other words —
oh yah pulled awake again.
That guy is the 1st to get a grip and hold.
Mr Peanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. But what choice did he have?
There’s a term in telephony, ‘room tone,’ ordinary silence. My heart stopped altogether as I held my breath, then he answered.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Oh, em…”
“No. It’s not.”
“I would.”
“Well l—”
“You know what..”
“Promise..”
“Yeah, I think —”
What I heard while we both waited was room tone. The next five or six seconds would matter. In an hour he would walk us both down to clear our heads. He waited a moment more, then he said, “I’ve just noticed I haven’t said anything.”
oh yah pulled awake again.
That guy is the 1st to get a grip and hold.
Mr Peanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. But what choice did he have?
There’s a term in telephony, ‘room tone,’ ordinary silence. My heart stopped altogether as I held my breath, then he answered.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Oh, em…”
“No. It’s not.”
“I would.”
“Well l—”
“You know what..”
“Promise..”
“Yeah, I think —”
What I heard while we both waited was room tone. The next five or six seconds would matter. In an hour he would walk us both down to clear our heads. He waited a moment more, then he said, “I’ve just noticed I haven’t said anything.”
Mortality can’t be beat. A big send-off but
no amnesty? A ship is on the way
from mare nostrum
or / & like crustaceans we had to give in, to forgetfulness for now. No static I could see.
Blinds drawn, our preachy, scavenged opacity fills w/ sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking the globe w/ its bible pedigree & thumbnail intensity, semi-transparent.
Before that yoga was fantastic, a soothing coterie added to sempiternal space & entered into w/ a worldview w/out language achieving access to felt qualities.
no amnesty? A ship is on the way
from mare nostrum
or / & like crustaceans we had to give in, to forgetfulness for now. No static I could see.
Blinds drawn, our preachy, scavenged opacity fills w/ sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking the globe w/ its bible pedigree & thumbnail intensity, semi-transparent.
Before that yoga was fantastic, a soothing coterie added to sempiternal space & entered into w/ a worldview w/out language achieving access to felt qualities.
12/22/19
Oh domestic servant, poet, heck, oh chanteuse —
I’m your doorsill to walk on and grin at in anguish..
Open up —
Textual anarchy can muddy and arbitrate convictions.
The crisis is now. Catch your falling voice.
Form is no object but slots of hooded activity, dreams into photos — your getting to turn channels keeping to your non-hegemonic pulse — wailing out of a tunnel.
I’m your doorsill to walk on and grin at in anguish..
Open up —
Textual anarchy can muddy and arbitrate convictions.
The crisis is now. Catch your falling voice.
Form is no object but slots of hooded activity, dreams into photos — your getting to turn channels keeping to your non-hegemonic pulse — wailing out of a tunnel.
No pleasure, just a breather, but not while eating.
The show was called; the rain spat. (I'm sorry al fresco’s a bad idea then.)
Yes. My voice tended toward stridency, an unfortunate strain.
The music took off about here. 1st smelt feminine along abandoned quays but now looking 21st century mercantile with canals and minimalist carvings.
We viewed them before the high brutalism of fine dining (Otto Dix).
A violinist, hesitant but banging it out better tonight. This starts our cuisine engines mid-grin.
Tho evasion foregrounds our coerced motives so they sink in more.
The show was called; the rain spat. (I'm sorry al fresco’s a bad idea then.)
Yes. My voice tended toward stridency, an unfortunate strain.
The music took off about here. 1st smelt feminine along abandoned quays but now looking 21st century mercantile with canals and minimalist carvings.
We viewed them before the high brutalism of fine dining (Otto Dix).
A violinist, hesitant but banging it out better tonight. This starts our cuisine engines mid-grin.
Tho evasion foregrounds our coerced motives so they sink in more.
I’m instructed by Alice Notley writing about Frank O’Hara in the first essay of Coming After, re-alerting us to the weight of his last poems that I still resist, a voice that’s “anonymous and communal (in the bad sense) in its exploitation of verbal mediocrity.” Notley sees O’Hara influenced by the “deadly flat diction” of television (the first generation of such pervasiveness), thus affects of the heinous sort, offering up “warnings.”Also in the same essay, on an earlier poem of O’Hara’s, Notley interjects, “the Buddha fucking well ought to think at this point in history,” a rousing supposition on her part about what O’Hara meant by ending “Image of the Buddha Preaching” this way: “...hopeful of a new delay in terror / I don’t think” — deeply stoic of O’Hara and Notley.
Sonnet 10: We lodge now (holding evidence of physics-oblivion)
like headless pedagogues hammering out Bo Diddley —
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option more centered per theorem.
Panning back fast to grant your audience your presence, the love you bear — your beauty grew
beloved of many but tampering w/ our modern thought experiments.. you love no one? Not me or him?
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =
ruining yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts (only a few
repairable through nominal trivia and fresh paradox).
For you change your mind repeatedly, murderously enslaving English poetry so you can be taught
(a disgrace — a conspiracy partaken in by such impassive numbers, all of us.. so many!) ..
like headless pedagogues hammering out Bo Diddley —
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option more centered per theorem.
Panning back fast to grant your audience your presence, the love you bear — your beauty grew
beloved of many but tampering w/ our modern thought experiments.. you love no one? Not me or him?
We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =
ruining yourself feeding on non sequiturs as concepts (only a few
repairable through nominal trivia and fresh paradox).
For you change your mind repeatedly, murderously enslaving English poetry so you can be taught
(a disgrace — a conspiracy partaken in by such impassive numbers, all of us.. so many!) ..
*
This is an impressions album. Or it was. Youth is so impressionable.
Ultra blurry, anamorphic, interatomic movement grows smug in writing it down. Large and tiny instincts proceed within mixed episodes and a school of red herrings..
Encore..
Like nowhere else in space,
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the era or epoch of the perpetually alterable
— a smack of already regretting it conjoins an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ mixed brays.
Music, if viable, of bee vapor. All our neighbors are mirror bees. Am I not one?
This is an impressions album. Or it was. Youth is so impressionable.
Ultra blurry, anamorphic, interatomic movement grows smug in writing it down. Large and tiny instincts proceed within mixed episodes and a school of red herrings..
Encore..
Like nowhere else in space,
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the era or epoch of the perpetually alterable
— a smack of already regretting it conjoins an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ mixed brays.
Music, if viable, of bee vapor. All our neighbors are mirror bees. Am I not one?
We break for the Beijing Olympics. Secret ballots have to float free to find an atheism of situation (rap), steam and rush-formatted white sky disappearing like factions of multiplicities (an ear for sax). Rationed effects (sub-procedures) become more fearless (less indiscernible) when crossing boundaries within codes of conduct. The main event calls for open hearts, the color of glue or bone, an addiction to no one. Late afternoon to another who, like you, partakes of epiphenomenal symmetry.
12/21/19
Landscape: Driving over taking stock of action figures.
What’s my business? The apertures told me to spin off, and that led to my holding
all these amusing volatility models from T.V., vocalism in a sense.
The point ahead is to enable the passing tourney among seductive locals
to nuance hidden risks shifting weight (merging accounts request).
Modern proceedings like these day after day, not stopping, not finishing
What’s my business? The apertures told me to spin off, and that led to my holding
all these amusing volatility models from T.V., vocalism in a sense.
The point ahead is to enable the passing tourney among seductive locals
to nuance hidden risks shifting weight (merging accounts request).
Modern proceedings like these day after day, not stopping, not finishing
See, is it a pigeon?
It’s a true albino!
Incandescent, I was thinking. It’s hard to pick up ornithology or meanings of jazz composition — also, a table for the counters of instinct and learning in the shortness of thought. Then there is objurgating.
As I’m happiest procrastinating when stairwells mesh and go nowhere between you and expulsion, for the hole in my cohesion is closed.
Turn here, there’s efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, submitting to your own perks.
It’s a true albino!
Incandescent, I was thinking. It’s hard to pick up ornithology or meanings of jazz composition — also, a table for the counters of instinct and learning in the shortness of thought. Then there is objurgating.
As I’m happiest procrastinating when stairwells mesh and go nowhere between you and expulsion, for the hole in my cohesion is closed.
Turn here, there’s efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, submitting to your own perks.
It didn’t happen. I’m glad you’re here.
Capitalism never hesitates feeding acid to the innocent then addicting them through continuous discretion. It follows that each victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill me freely halfway through the outer knee O —
Windmill robots embracing the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone.
Neither dead or alive, a windmill robot in your imagination has a request,
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.” It’s an infinite standard for an emergency lexis until... who can say?
Capitalism never hesitates feeding acid to the innocent then addicting them through continuous discretion. It follows that each victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill me freely halfway through the outer knee O —
Windmill robots embracing the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone.
Neither dead or alive, a windmill robot in your imagination has a request,
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.” It’s an infinite standard for an emergency lexis until... who can say?
99: Stay on the hunt, tough to please, stand up (ouch)
even as vengeful tectonic plates annex
our fears, shame and despair.
To you, a purple violet seems grossly dyed, your soft cheek
raining havoc for lilies.. marjoram, my love’s breath, your breath. (Uh.) Here’s where you and I lose the scent. Ever
-yone does. Clouded (ouch)
flames ennoble the sky to blush through
my lover’s veins, your hands, both of us among thorns ..
condemned for pride, I’m going on my nerve stolen from you.
even as vengeful tectonic plates annex
our fears, shame and despair.
To you, a purple violet seems grossly dyed, your soft cheek
raining havoc for lilies.. marjoram, my love’s breath, your breath. (Uh.) Here’s where you and I lose the scent. Ever
-yone does. Clouded (ouch)
flames ennoble the sky to blush through
my lover’s veins, your hands, both of us among thorns ..
condemned for pride, I’m going on my nerve stolen from you.
Affordable Noh. That’s both of us w/ big hanging wolf eyes. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to spook when we meet, somersaulting in.
What went around then came gasping, the more irregular the verb...
At fight camp all you bring are wet marks over your shirt — there you go — cadet-ed!
Inductions to your other habits —
The gleaming haze drags down sculptures of felted helium
A little like nerves done over by spinning in warm wind.
Noh stuff.
What went around then came gasping, the more irregular the verb...
At fight camp all you bring are wet marks over your shirt — there you go — cadet-ed!
Inductions to your other habits —
The gleaming haze drags down sculptures of felted helium
A little like nerves done over by spinning in warm wind.
Noh stuff.
I’ve been on a nihilism binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a structuralist’s degree.
I won’t cry when it becomes everything without a message.
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..
There’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door from nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.
I won’t cry when it becomes everything without a message.
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..
There’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door from nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.
Are you thinking of me?
I used to believe so, along w/ the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart
opening slatternly to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy
violinists in quartets w/ olive hats — Startling w/ their quarter-jodhpurs and
instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.
I used to believe so, along w/ the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart
opening slatternly to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy
violinists in quartets w/ olive hats — Startling w/ their quarter-jodhpurs and
instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.
12/20/19
Some time back, long before punches of text showed up on the phone, there were snores from ancestors with frequent coughs and grunts crowding together in caves. Back when our bodies taught us phonemes shrieking to signal pain, humming to sign comprehension and varietals of cognition — folks like you hit upon logic that’s crazy fancy, headed for greatness next morning.
It’s different from the evening on and someone with hands on flame hits back. Teamwork.
The thick grasses go out on a date, back dabbling in craftwork while we roll thru them. All this acreage owned by production-geared landlords, prosaic at base, that is, a-theoretical, factual. Nearly broke, misunderstood.
It’s different from the evening on and someone with hands on flame hits back. Teamwork.
The thick grasses go out on a date, back dabbling in craftwork while we roll thru them. All this acreage owned by production-geared landlords, prosaic at base, that is, a-theoretical, factual. Nearly broke, misunderstood.
I could live next to a place with water views. I would continue feeling deprived per diem.
Like smuggling triplets, ocean sniffing is never private, I gasp before the beach driving home. High tide a big data glob crashing to earth.. on the armchair that night after the super moon — diodes in crimson, finding a soft spot for another fluke look-see next door.
I watch a dying beach in a long line magnified ashore, ironically revived!
Like smuggling triplets, ocean sniffing is never private, I gasp before the beach driving home. High tide a big data glob crashing to earth.. on the armchair that night after the super moon — diodes in crimson, finding a soft spot for another fluke look-see next door.
I watch a dying beach in a long line magnified ashore, ironically revived!
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,
also 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 through the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.
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,
also 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 through the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.
We repeat there are rules to doing morning:
Sleep in without a rehearsal,
Coax a situation back.
You're only human, Fu dog.
How can you care modernism, a despoiled inheritance for architecture, beguiled, diverted, is flatly unlike poetry’s pocketknife connections to the past. Apparently tomorrow is more appealing even if we know where architecture takes us. Poetry?
Sleep in without a rehearsal,
Coax a situation back.
You're only human, Fu dog.
How can you care modernism, a despoiled inheritance for architecture, beguiled, diverted, is flatly unlike poetry’s pocketknife connections to the past. Apparently tomorrow is more appealing even if we know where architecture takes us. Poetry?
12/19/19
Ah, you’re driving me to a convenience stop — hints I don’t care.
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you how we’re doing. Force the window.
There’s a piece of karate, a fragile backspace we erase, open it to how
turbulence wakes... and your eyelids more active, blinking. A sign your
push reaches a pull where time management is good hearted, unleashed.
I’m just commenting on efficacy in speaking clearly, knitting your brow.
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you how we’re doing. Force the window.
There’s a piece of karate, a fragile backspace we erase, open it to how
turbulence wakes... and your eyelids more active, blinking. A sign your
push reaches a pull where time management is good hearted, unleashed.
I’m just commenting on efficacy in speaking clearly, knitting your brow.
123: Lament — I defy you and your truth —
I trust only the lasting timetables born of our desire. Nothing novel. Nothing strange.
Our continual haste, our poor retention, our briefer dates give me the butterflies and more butterflies chasing more —
as 10 to the 10th more wind up as polygamists barnstorming thru
a winging-it hemisphere where I can never forget you. Not you!
I trust only the lasting timetables born of our desire. Nothing novel. Nothing strange.
Our continual haste, our poor retention, our briefer dates give me the butterflies and more butterflies chasing more —
as 10 to the 10th more wind up as polygamists barnstorming thru
a winging-it hemisphere where I can never forget you. Not you!
The small of his back sends me packing.
Sulking with a hygienic view forward.
— On an Old Testament.. I pledged a wholly hidden idiom
Of renderings, spotlighting what’s
Missing!
The cracks should be bridged with the view outside, pears and Fuji oak, null
Passages in fog, moos of approval. Lots.
I then bring us over to our original towel, leaving what’s left to chance.
Sulking with a hygienic view forward.
— On an Old Testament.. I pledged a wholly hidden idiom
Of renderings, spotlighting what’s
Missing!
The cracks should be bridged with the view outside, pears and Fuji oak, null
Passages in fog, moos of approval. Lots.
I then bring us over to our original towel, leaving what’s left to chance.
You won’t win. It happens fast. Less than a flash... the kisses you depend on disappear. Past and present, neither play of emphasis false, soundtracks on pulleys, suspicious... these tracks overlaid w/ speech you keep delaying. I’m so sorry the music became an investment vein to punch into and pull-quote from.
Sorry, there’s a fool’s guarantee. All you have to do ...
Choose love as a buy or rental option, both equidistant from love’s phenomena that travail and make surprise visits within quanta. (Too many to tell.)
Choosing love creates an entire platform to spin off slower tangential constructs plucked out of a big number of now-defunct emotions.
Also suspicious, emulations of you, standing up without sticking too close, detouring into aah
choo! the roof of your mouth unhinged keeping suspicion lukewarm to the bridge of his nose.
Sorry, there’s a fool’s guarantee. All you have to do ...
Choose love as a buy or rental option, both equidistant from love’s phenomena that travail and make surprise visits within quanta. (Too many to tell.)
Choosing love creates an entire platform to spin off slower tangential constructs plucked out of a big number of now-defunct emotions.
Also suspicious, emulations of you, standing up without sticking too close, detouring into aah
choo! the roof of your mouth unhinged keeping suspicion lukewarm to the bridge of his nose.
12/18/19
There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
I lower your voice to approximate the closest parity.
Somewhere, what’s a sociopath?
The truth is a manifold vacuum. And we’re feathery.
Shorthand abstractions like these comprise unforgettable totems to our touching and holding the moment, surrounding it with illusions of taking off, spinning or spun, upset, out of control.
100% our touch.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
I lower your voice to approximate the closest parity.
Somewhere, what’s a sociopath?
The truth is a manifold vacuum. And we’re feathery.
Shorthand abstractions like these comprise unforgettable totems to our touching and holding the moment, surrounding it with illusions of taking off, spinning or spun, upset, out of control.
100% our touch.
There aren’t any warnings. Tensions were apparent.
Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to the co-op, wrapped in steam. You were saying..
That was said. The minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switchers return to a sacred lotus position. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never happened.
Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, nationally, floats me into the future, new windows frame up vague change, like converging plebiscites, better to pump out to the fog’s grasp.
Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to the co-op, wrapped in steam. You were saying..
That was said. The minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switchers return to a sacred lotus position. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never happened.
Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, nationally, floats me into the future, new windows frame up vague change, like converging plebiscites, better to pump out to the fog’s grasp.
Ted Greenwald
3
Cuneiform 2008
Here are the bizarre details, page 25, second stanza (of two).
Is it Peggy or Sue
I think I love you
Looking worldlessness
Remind me what's your name
Four ideas capture crucial goings-on in one’s pleasant complacency with clichéd language upended, in this case, by the deliberate problematizing of early rock ’n roll iconography, splitting chaste Peggy Sue in two — there is the shameless rhyming of Sue with the next line also ripped from an early r ’n r songbook as is the last line; and there’s the masterfully silly statement that spins our entire cultural orientation on its heels, forcing speculation the unstably-named Peggy, Sue or, in fact, Peggy Sue is not only worldless but stuck in the eerie, pathetic State of The Worldless.
Welcome back.
And if you think page 25 is a lucky pick, turn to page 27, second stanza (of two).
Going to make a difference
Greens, cooling off
Projectile confidence
With birdsong
The first line is again boilerplate, a bloated participial (or gerundive) phrase uttered millions of times an hour; the second line, culinary description or acute art speak — either way greens are consonant with the brash birdsong in the fourth line. Once more, that odd Line 3 rips the ‘scene’ open, pitching its payload our way. It’s not always so obvious that the third line re-orders each stanza, but frequently this is what happens, supporting one interpretation of the title 3. More satisfying is Ron Padgett’s idea, blurbing that 3 “takes the mind in at least three different directions simultaneously...”
Another basis for the title is that the collection has three parts. Poems cited above are from “Going Into School That Day,” pieces whose lengths alternate between eight lines on right pages and 14 lines on left pages, and which borrow “words of self-described redemption spoken by the late Salvador Agron,” as Greenwald explains on his copyright page. (Agron was a gang member who killed two teenagers in Hell’s Kitchen.) The two following sections contain pieces of parallel discourse strategy in different formats, “Anyway” with six-line verses, “Dawn On” with poems of 27 lines each. The language in the later sections is as watchful (“Looking”) for the everyday and as defiantly juxtaposed as that in the first section. Here are opening lines to the first poem in “Dawn On.”
Dawn on
As, iffy
Be so kind, looks on
The clear light Friendlies
Embody the money, short for
Inscribe on to forever iris inside clasp
Suggestions unhinge putting something on if
Embody the body all on about
Suggestions unhinge iris inside clasp...
The longer pieces in “Dawn On” allow Greenwald to battle with a sweep of communally mediated ironies, such as “clear light Friendlies,” and pivotal thought experiments engaging repetitions in language and implosions in meaning as with the shifts in the verbs embody, unhinge. This first poem continues such repetitions, doing it blithely, “bubble,” “happily,” “light,” “live,” and this: “Love most about muse excuse / Come across, bait and switch ... Come across muse excuse..." These experiments are not over and may never get resolved, a State of The Worldless that Greenwald nevertheless kisses if not marries, since it’s all of a projectile, a “fussball bubble / Nod happily feet many language.” The invite is out there, according to Greenwald, “The clear light looks on..."
3
Cuneiform 2008
Here are the bizarre details, page 25, second stanza (of two).
Is it Peggy or Sue
I think I love you
Looking worldlessness
Remind me what's your name
Four ideas capture crucial goings-on in one’s pleasant complacency with clichéd language upended, in this case, by the deliberate problematizing of early rock ’n roll iconography, splitting chaste Peggy Sue in two — there is the shameless rhyming of Sue with the next line also ripped from an early r ’n r songbook as is the last line; and there’s the masterfully silly statement that spins our entire cultural orientation on its heels, forcing speculation the unstably-named Peggy, Sue or, in fact, Peggy Sue is not only worldless but stuck in the eerie, pathetic State of The Worldless.
Welcome back.
And if you think page 25 is a lucky pick, turn to page 27, second stanza (of two).
Going to make a difference
Greens, cooling off
Projectile confidence
With birdsong
The first line is again boilerplate, a bloated participial (or gerundive) phrase uttered millions of times an hour; the second line, culinary description or acute art speak — either way greens are consonant with the brash birdsong in the fourth line. Once more, that odd Line 3 rips the ‘scene’ open, pitching its payload our way. It’s not always so obvious that the third line re-orders each stanza, but frequently this is what happens, supporting one interpretation of the title 3. More satisfying is Ron Padgett’s idea, blurbing that 3 “takes the mind in at least three different directions simultaneously...”
Another basis for the title is that the collection has three parts. Poems cited above are from “Going Into School That Day,” pieces whose lengths alternate between eight lines on right pages and 14 lines on left pages, and which borrow “words of self-described redemption spoken by the late Salvador Agron,” as Greenwald explains on his copyright page. (Agron was a gang member who killed two teenagers in Hell’s Kitchen.) The two following sections contain pieces of parallel discourse strategy in different formats, “Anyway” with six-line verses, “Dawn On” with poems of 27 lines each. The language in the later sections is as watchful (“Looking”) for the everyday and as defiantly juxtaposed as that in the first section. Here are opening lines to the first poem in “Dawn On.”
Dawn on
As, iffy
Be so kind, looks on
The clear light Friendlies
Embody the money, short for
Inscribe on to forever iris inside clasp
Suggestions unhinge putting something on if
Embody the body all on about
Suggestions unhinge iris inside clasp...
The longer pieces in “Dawn On” allow Greenwald to battle with a sweep of communally mediated ironies, such as “clear light Friendlies,” and pivotal thought experiments engaging repetitions in language and implosions in meaning as with the shifts in the verbs embody, unhinge. This first poem continues such repetitions, doing it blithely, “bubble,” “happily,” “light,” “live,” and this: “Love most about muse excuse / Come across, bait and switch ... Come across muse excuse..." These experiments are not over and may never get resolved, a State of The Worldless that Greenwald nevertheless kisses if not marries, since it’s all of a projectile, a “fussball bubble / Nod happily feet many language.” The invite is out there, according to Greenwald, “The clear light looks on..."
50: A hip cast of super angels strumming harps, an encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus
Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far the miles to me are measured from my friends and joy left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members come on —
They are casually let go as they finish groaning bearing my weight.
Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind, Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:
Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are away while I am on my way at my travel’s end.
Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far the miles to me are measured from my friends and joy left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members come on —
They are casually let go as they finish groaning bearing my weight.
Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind, Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:
Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are away while I am on my way at my travel’s end.
Have we no will, no interest to shed our platform ambiguity?
Rationed atheism has long been a main event. High sectarian payments find a handy balance (organ music), ceiling arches in steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing in compatible multiplicities (plainsong for copulation). Late afternoon to others.
Rationed atheism has long been a main event. High sectarian payments find a handy balance (organ music), ceiling arches in steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing in compatible multiplicities (plainsong for copulation). Late afternoon to others.
I feel socialist. Rifling thru market snapshots, validating
The center
More than any single system, a tenet of
A huge agnostic discipline
About attitudes behind morals.
You know this open and shut —
But take it down again / or thumb thru
The balance left over from a computer breach
Of pure tides. Inhabit the tidal brim
To the point you don’t have to know more yoga than
We know now — nothing, less than nothing.
The center
More than any single system, a tenet of
A huge agnostic discipline
About attitudes behind morals.
You know this open and shut —
But take it down again / or thumb thru
The balance left over from a computer breach
Of pure tides. Inhabit the tidal brim
To the point you don’t have to know more yoga than
We know now — nothing, less than nothing.
12/17/19
The sun maybe
Burning you, other brilliant dislocations TBA, expected. Alternate forms go
Beyond predicates fixated on loud procedures
But in their giddy cases they look into a surfeit of space..
A sumptuous, soilless bend of the neck,
Angels — a happy title..
*
Maybe it’s only words, assembly, to hear you.
Angels are our absolute culminators, without our enzymes.
Burning you, other brilliant dislocations TBA, expected. Alternate forms go
Beyond predicates fixated on loud procedures
But in their giddy cases they look into a surfeit of space..
A sumptuous, soilless bend of the neck,
Angels — a happy title..
*
Maybe it’s only words, assembly, to hear you.
Angels are our absolute culminators, without our enzymes.
Sonnet 40:
When you read this, my injury appears prior to the one 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.
When you read this, my injury appears prior to the one 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.
A poem is like a naked circus person, say, her winter force
Through the green fuse to drive extra flowers —
That so?
Some say I’m a poet. Sweating,
A healer is one of a few who drive my green rage —
One who understands the responsibility emerging
Amid roots of poetry’s trees.
(Phosphate and fallen blood will calm her sores.)
And I dined under poetry’s arbors with queens and kings.
I’m numb now to reveal I’ve been offered wings.
Land-locked, our favorites bent by the same wintry fevers
And I’ve never been so impressed.
High time to define manship come of age, long-
stood. Waking up released. Populations drenched.
A circus repatriated.
Through the green fuse to drive extra flowers —
That so?
Some say I’m a poet. Sweating,
A healer is one of a few who drive my green rage —
One who understands the responsibility emerging
Amid roots of poetry’s trees.
(Phosphate and fallen blood will calm her sores.)
And I dined under poetry’s arbors with queens and kings.
I’m numb now to reveal I’ve been offered wings.
Land-locked, our favorites bent by the same wintry fevers
And I’ve never been so impressed.
High time to define manship come of age, long-
stood. Waking up released. Populations drenched.
A circus repatriated.
12/16/19
This would be my most empirical debacle in the abstract to date — a Zoroaster bumblebee
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain its lack of manners, of historicity
are flaws like vetiver too broadly smeared over its mad parka-like body.
Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the surface in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain its lack of manners, of historicity
are flaws like vetiver too broadly smeared over its mad parka-like body.
Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the surface in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
Terry Eagleton’s formulations re text and production can be less daunting when edited to their central premises. 1) Production is the key. 2) Text is a production of ideology. 3) Text and performance are “analogous to the relation between grammar and speech” – a production of a production (such as a theatrical performance of a text, his example, or critical interpretation of a text, mine).
Speech is a product, not a reproduction, of grammar; grammar is the determining structure of discourse, but the character of discourse cannot be mechanically derived from it... In studying local color and relations between text and performance, then, we study modes of determination which are precise and rigorous, not accounted for in terms of ‘reflection’ or ‘reproduction’. We are examining, in short, conditions of production.
Speech is a product, not a reproduction, of grammar; grammar is the determining structure of discourse, but the character of discourse cannot be mechanically derived from it... In studying local color and relations between text and performance, then, we study modes of determination which are precise and rigorous, not accounted for in terms of ‘reflection’ or ‘reproduction’. We are examining, in short, conditions of production.
A poetry of drop scenes earns dumbfounding awards..
Folk-maverick,
you’re the counter-intuitive guest with a dark advantage.
Adolescent, a heavenly circumstance..
you go on telling lies keeping the upper hand over hosts in abstraction.
Our memory of the moment wasted randomly
by desires for a wider development. A hill that’s not
a hill, a gaze upon the sun leading to another byword
not in this sentence.
Folk-maverick,
you’re the counter-intuitive guest with a dark advantage.
Adolescent, a heavenly circumstance..
you go on telling lies keeping the upper hand over hosts in abstraction.
Our memory of the moment wasted randomly
by desires for a wider development. A hill that’s not
a hill, a gaze upon the sun leading to another byword
not in this sentence.
15: It’s your last day of youth when you throw trust out, clear sight and now telepathy — you’ll never feel his perfect arms around you again. Never feel the wet air on his skin, or wake up in his sap on his secret warm bed. You’re done, you don’t get a chance to influence, comment, try again for anything, not even for something you’re not. And I’m not.
I can’t do any better than what I’ve changed for love of you.
I can’t do any better than what I’ve changed for love of you.
The move-your-ass comment — I meant smell the juniper within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions)
& (look inside!) a few hours forward!
Dispatched for
chaos
yet
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo
understanding from Q & A’s in visible
almost august light.
Minimalist
& suddenly just theory
awing in a wolf’s regime ..
There’s brush
fire aimed at mosquitos — shot
through the throat, asking too much ..
& (look inside!) a few hours forward!
Dispatched for
chaos
yet
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo
understanding from Q & A’s in visible
almost august light.
Minimalist
& suddenly just theory
awing in a wolf’s regime ..
There’s brush
fire aimed at mosquitos — shot
through the throat, asking too much ..
This would be my most empirical debacle in the abstract to date — a Zoroaster bumblebee
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain its lack of manners, of historicity
are flaws like vetiver too broadly smeared over its mad parka-like body.
Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the surface in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain its lack of manners, of historicity
are flaws like vetiver too broadly smeared over its mad parka-like body.
Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the surface in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
12/15/19
Hours..drain..blood.. Something came up.
Breaking news: As my body is now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for organizing treasures in a small package, tethered particle immolation. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory.
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn..
Breaking news: As my body is now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for organizing treasures in a small package, tethered particle immolation. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory.
Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn..
Capitalist tactics are sustained innovation in nowhere equivalent to —
Ah
all right.. You sit languidly, the other side of the room, locked in capitalist circumstance.
You like to dwell publicly on crispnesses in whispers in the air. You chill the sorbet and warm the surf insidiously. Your sleep is spoken of in a language recognized by flowers from evolutionary distances.
We’re hankering to choreograph the open air in touch w/ the outside. The sky shaped in squares, bolted w/ blips on simplex-repetitive top layers, tethered for interpretation.
You and I ingest each square as one, at once. Blind tessellation, exhaling while we file phrases compelling investors, scientists to work together.
Ah
all right.. You sit languidly, the other side of the room, locked in capitalist circumstance.
You like to dwell publicly on crispnesses in whispers in the air. You chill the sorbet and warm the surf insidiously. Your sleep is spoken of in a language recognized by flowers from evolutionary distances.
We’re hankering to choreograph the open air in touch w/ the outside. The sky shaped in squares, bolted w/ blips on simplex-repetitive top layers, tethered for interpretation.
You and I ingest each square as one, at once. Blind tessellation, exhaling while we file phrases compelling investors, scientists to work together.
20: Like voices & solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.) — amazing particles (of some genius, you?) sleep it off in traffic, affecting hues up to the bridge lattice. You
& by you, inside nature’s face you’ll find warm things. All hues, charged, painted, brilliant to the eye. Passion that’s stuffed, not needing love, except when it comes altogether,
the work is controlled, less false & the life, almost like master-&-mistress gazing on as passion flew off.
& by you, inside nature’s face you’ll find warm things. All hues, charged, painted, brilliant to the eye. Passion that’s stuffed, not needing love, except when it comes altogether,
the work is controlled, less false & the life, almost like master-&-mistress gazing on as passion flew off.
With every rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational than ever.
Now a little drunk I look up at crocuses fighting odor, climbing elm trunks.
It’s air apparent, I feel cleaner with you. Clearer in noble gas and flux. I do.
Molecules will sue
You — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —
What a snit! Apart from love I am ashamed now
Breaking up with you feels like getting tested for flu ..
You and I in slow, we hope, radon decay
that stays unaffiliated yet torched with prayer.
Now a little drunk I look up at crocuses fighting odor, climbing elm trunks.
It’s air apparent, I feel cleaner with you. Clearer in noble gas and flux. I do.
Molecules will sue
You — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —
What a snit! Apart from love I am ashamed now
Breaking up with you feels like getting tested for flu ..
You and I in slow, we hope, radon decay
that stays unaffiliated yet torched with prayer.
Filming you again. Filming double quotes.
V. painting just your voice, a glass house perforated by action tones. Beating hulks to the punch as they pour the next vodka that makes us cry. A film with multiple data fields, a crew of stunning extras in malaise.
No ilk of valid colloids — No mimic measure, no ceremony “plinthing a drumbeat.” Also, no dyscalculia, no hindsight bias, and on purpose, no flavor.
V. painting just your voice, a glass house perforated by action tones. Beating hulks to the punch as they pour the next vodka that makes us cry. A film with multiple data fields, a crew of stunning extras in malaise.
No ilk of valid colloids — No mimic measure, no ceremony “plinthing a drumbeat.” Also, no dyscalculia, no hindsight bias, and on purpose, no flavor.
Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in a mocking form. It’s well after the game. My face — like the next — supports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponentially our wildest ambitions. Men in tuxes.
I thought you... you as a musician.. would deeply apprehend these leftover radiant, interactive forms (and opposites, among variants), soberly and liberally studying them in breadth (if you can still breathe), alert to surface details, part of the work week.
I’ve made it routine getting you to these next points in our ongoing gay sports bar repartee.
I thought you... you as a musician.. would deeply apprehend these leftover radiant, interactive forms (and opposites, among variants), soberly and liberally studying them in breadth (if you can still breathe), alert to surface details, part of the work week.
I’ve made it routine getting you to these next points in our ongoing gay sports bar repartee.
12/14/19
From the moon — the world becoming flat and falling across
The telling
(instances of)
Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic
Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from
Rain on ceilings (of)
The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),
It is (falling) across
Morton Feldman.
The telling
(instances of)
Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic
Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from
Rain on ceilings (of)
The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),
It is (falling) across
Morton Feldman.
The skinny on tall paintings is that they avoid defining many obscure or complex wranglings.
Yet I like an assemblage of contradictions.
Neanderthals constructed paintings in two rings of deliberately cracked stalagmites, 400 per ring.
First to impress their Swedish hosts, who were, second, workshopped into volunteer flotation gear.
The tallest paintings then remeasure your height.
Painting ideas. You had heard maggots eat paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paints that’re wasted, emaciated planes, junk and emptiness. Painting double quotes.
Yet I like an assemblage of contradictions.
Neanderthals constructed paintings in two rings of deliberately cracked stalagmites, 400 per ring.
First to impress their Swedish hosts, who were, second, workshopped into volunteer flotation gear.
The tallest paintings then remeasure your height.
Painting ideas. You had heard maggots eat paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paints that’re wasted, emaciated planes, junk and emptiness. Painting double quotes.
75: Every time I visit you in your mascara I become lucid about the fear you strike. Day by day you were food to my life. And I see the brilliant could live again, sure enough, in vetted dormitories, always have, fudging abasement with rich food and neater drugs. Sorry concentrates. There you are.
Pleasure then the transportation of souls and their wealth takes place about here and now.
Nothing for me. I feel I’m a pursuer of no delight uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..
Starved for a look, now counting it best if the world
may see my pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, on / off your sight...
pursuing peace, all or nothing, with you alone.
Pleasure then the transportation of souls and their wealth takes place about here and now.
Nothing for me. I feel I’m a pursuer of no delight uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..
Starved for a look, now counting it best if the world
may see my pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, on / off your sight...
pursuing peace, all or nothing, with you alone.
There’s a twisted but thoroughly staged oral tradition that’s like trail mix, so rhetorically honey-sealed and narratively palatable anyone with a few years of good high school English can have in. It’s clear long jumps and pull-ups in tone are deployed to signify irony and distance about food prep and galley stainless. The gestalt is to flare up yet relax a while, stay urbanely offhand and sound normal, not superior in any obvious way. I’ve been saving a spot for you, waist high.
Do hang on.
Do hang on.
Hate altered.
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better.
True physicality fills our minds with other matters even as
Our hair hangs down to the ground in a consciously mixed media rehearsal. You can’t throw consciousness out. It helps there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are shadowing — we’re working on it.
There’s body hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, accompanied by addiction to risk.
Work, work, work.
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better.
True physicality fills our minds with other matters even as
Our hair hangs down to the ground in a consciously mixed media rehearsal. You can’t throw consciousness out. It helps there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are shadowing — we’re working on it.
There’s body hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, accompanied by addiction to risk.
Work, work, work.
12/13/19
There are three courses of action for how I hardened.
Invariably it’s nightfall when I called you Aces. Second,
in a wood some paths were deep descents, big guy,
& looking out, Dr Franklin (you) scorned intuitive leaps
that led Watson & Crick to a necessity that’s always
at the beginning as, third, everyone was telling us we're
inevitable. Further up there’s fog but it’s nice
I can’t explain it. We should be home soon, it’s just
an ingathered feeling, nearest a dry hearth awaiting us
while being googled. What if I am a drifter
responding to a new season of enthusiasms.. could
you still like me, could you vote I liked this except
for you? & lie down with me & reach through. Pardon
me. Emergency. Anyway, excuse me. Pardon.
Invariably it’s nightfall when I called you Aces. Second,
in a wood some paths were deep descents, big guy,
& looking out, Dr Franklin (you) scorned intuitive leaps
that led Watson & Crick to a necessity that’s always
at the beginning as, third, everyone was telling us we're
inevitable. Further up there’s fog but it’s nice
I can’t explain it. We should be home soon, it’s just
an ingathered feeling, nearest a dry hearth awaiting us
while being googled. What if I am a drifter
responding to a new season of enthusiasms.. could
you still like me, could you vote I liked this except
for you? & lie down with me & reach through. Pardon
me. Emergency. Anyway, excuse me. Pardon.
37: ‘Feelings are empty’ .. still / they’re
entitled − here’s where many motifs help.
Despite our comfort and wealth
I told the boss he should go to hell
(after all), protecting shareholders from hock.
What’s a game emotion? the hang off it.
Some dispositions. Nothing month. T’on. The shadows ’n
the lame, the poor, the despised will have
none of it.
Not a one in the cards could bend. Simply phrased.
Emotionally poets always knew, a few ‘knowing
they have not made a point’ —
Should I continue to enjoy happiness at dinner
having great intercourse by
Missing your motifs? Any or all of yours? Enjoy how
people say they’re living to be admired..
Have a child? This wish I have..
How people talk?
entitled − here’s where many motifs help.
Despite our comfort and wealth
I told the boss he should go to hell
(after all), protecting shareholders from hock.
What’s a game emotion? the hang off it.
Some dispositions. Nothing month. T’on. The shadows ’n
the lame, the poor, the despised will have
none of it.
Not a one in the cards could bend. Simply phrased.
Emotionally poets always knew, a few ‘knowing
they have not made a point’ —
Should I continue to enjoy happiness at dinner
having great intercourse by
Missing your motifs? Any or all of yours? Enjoy how
people say they’re living to be admired..
Have a child? This wish I have..
How people talk?
Do what you want. Just a few things I dislike. Neuroenhancers. I’ll admit I’m curious
underwater as sea bream lifts, lukewarm, soft. Splash. (Preaching to the tenor choir, I love what we do together.) If lost
there’s a rule-of-thumb for chapter and verse with natural stenches & prophetic fallacies back on land...
Clad now to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing real business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory. “Mm,” one tenor sings. He was staring at my teeth, wondering how much they cost.
Let’s rewrite “Biotherm.”
In this chapter I fear sarcasm.
underwater as sea bream lifts, lukewarm, soft. Splash. (Preaching to the tenor choir, I love what we do together.) If lost
there’s a rule-of-thumb for chapter and verse with natural stenches & prophetic fallacies back on land...
Clad now to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing real business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory. “Mm,” one tenor sings. He was staring at my teeth, wondering how much they cost.
Let’s rewrite “Biotherm.”
In this chapter I fear sarcasm.
12/12/19
2 weeks before Xmas. Back to work .. first it’s
Urgent we walk out and get wasted.
The mood then passes from desolating satire to
Constant put-downs you parrot like executive control
— Holding firm in the wilds where festive decorations will be slowly ignited
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration —
Urgent we walk out and get wasted.
The mood then passes from desolating satire to
Constant put-downs you parrot like executive control
— Holding firm in the wilds where festive decorations will be slowly ignited
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration —
We are a color of cunnilingus. I noticed, though, you and I applied for pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called Sparkling Affront.
Nothing was more or less than arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order of failure. We once left a lavish record of the male-female hush from hand to fingers to mouth: in epic hock, half-buried to our hips.
Our temperature raised the magnitude of repetitions into a shriveling median in the after-life or its meandering dissolution ...
An obtainable conspiracy, altogether, surely not a hoax.
Nothing was more or less than arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order of failure. We once left a lavish record of the male-female hush from hand to fingers to mouth: in epic hock, half-buried to our hips.
Our temperature raised the magnitude of repetitions into a shriveling median in the after-life or its meandering dissolution ...
An obtainable conspiracy, altogether, surely not a hoax.
I keep my mouth shut & I listen. This is how
One escalates with all one’s parts to inhabit received logic.
I’m retracing what I think I see but I’ve fallen behind
For concentrating on blank naming names,
Pushing the most obvious among broken arts
Of self-defiance. Lunatic
Love — as one shows now
Leaving me laughing under oath.
One escalates with all one’s parts to inhabit received logic.
I’m retracing what I think I see but I’ve fallen behind
For concentrating on blank naming names,
Pushing the most obvious among broken arts
Of self-defiance. Lunatic
Love — as one shows now
Leaving me laughing under oath.
30: Losses restored?
Often there’s a new thought of precious friends — I think of you (dear friend) — those words we had or didn’t have forego consequences. Our moaning sessions bad. Bad as in woe, even cancelled grief, since we know nothing sweet summons up remembrance of things past, wastes of time.
Yet I take liberties wailing now, bubble footed in dark briefs. I have a dream of fair housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where our sorrows end. Some of us are going there after work. I’ll pay. Would you like to come?
Often there’s a new thought of precious friends — I think of you (dear friend) — those words we had or didn’t have forego consequences. Our moaning sessions bad. Bad as in woe, even cancelled grief, since we know nothing sweet summons up remembrance of things past, wastes of time.
Yet I take liberties wailing now, bubble footed in dark briefs. I have a dream of fair housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where our sorrows end. Some of us are going there after work. I’ll pay. Would you like to come?
Withholding the time-inverse we reupholster & improve levels of comfort across consciousness / we, that is, the explicator in you & me. A chance laden balance.
That balance rotates with our fooling ourselves over variant hazards in our heads tilted
vertically to catch some sun. Inelegant in our cultish way we look down on square plots of thought outlines.
That balance rotates with our fooling ourselves over variant hazards in our heads tilted
vertically to catch some sun. Inelegant in our cultish way we look down on square plots of thought outlines.
12/11/19
Don’t we have an escalator to take (to meet up)?
Gavel to gavel hours and hours wasted turning the spit.
What we do converts to personality and stunt-craft.
What we have to feed on is open discourse W. B. Yeats calls the bestial floor. Please.
(This soon after a last breath, is it safe to mention Yeats?) (Maybe not.
I frighten no one.) Some of us are too profoundly false to save the day.
Tho not all of us refuse to understand further (to meet up).
It’s natural, a picnic in the wilderness.
The wilds... on all floors.
Gavel to gavel hours and hours wasted turning the spit.
What we do converts to personality and stunt-craft.
What we have to feed on is open discourse W. B. Yeats calls the bestial floor. Please.
(This soon after a last breath, is it safe to mention Yeats?) (Maybe not.
I frighten no one.) Some of us are too profoundly false to save the day.
Tho not all of us refuse to understand further (to meet up).
It’s natural, a picnic in the wilderness.
The wilds... on all floors.
Hot wind becoming sullen, backs into a slurry, plump, downy evanescing into fluff. The slurry rises above dropped gardenias. As if affixes. It’s dead-on in our notation. No helium released — thrown in reverse in spring — no trees light up. All months away! Better to heal resentments buried back in isolation again. Hot wind dumps more camouflage for everything in open trucks falling off, not flying up like 2 sorts of woodpecker that popped by while I was there.
Something came up. Anthropomorphism.
And what’s not mentioned expanded underground.
This is as lightning gains on fog. Lightning ‘understands’
it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no fad product.
How is it fire tears up senseless atoms in sparks fog glows around
and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed and remedial —
I have the same trouble when I shop for trafficked facts on sale.
Our uncertainty principles, you see, are confused by prior understanding.
And what’s not mentioned expanded underground.
This is as lightning gains on fog. Lightning ‘understands’
it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no fad product.
How is it fire tears up senseless atoms in sparks fog glows around
and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed and remedial —
I have the same trouble when I shop for trafficked facts on sale.
Our uncertainty principles, you see, are confused by prior understanding.
28: Robbing the cradle, the big picture shows me my modest place.
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —
each of us like the other’s reigning enemy taking umbrage from grumpy distortion,
fractured logic (Hex 39) and our combined morbidity.
While you — I always flatter you in my long consents.
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,
happy, long toil to stronger sorrows and griefs repurposed by your consent.. So both of us never sleep, exactly — I’m pleasing you thru me,
exactly, and vice versa.
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —
each of us like the other’s reigning enemy taking umbrage from grumpy distortion,
fractured logic (Hex 39) and our combined morbidity.
While you — I always flatter you in my long consents.
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,
happy, long toil to stronger sorrows and griefs repurposed by your consent.. So both of us never sleep, exactly — I’m pleasing you thru me,
exactly, and vice versa.
What do you need now and for what?
Does it matter, that light, deft question?
I ducked his dumb query, closed the distance.
I told him, no, I have to split. Added a little
from today’s Times calling Merce Cunningham’s
choreography Democracy in Action a refreshing run around
the unlettered clique-minded.
Last figurines / their aptness in transit
when pragma-morphism brainstorms over exit left.
Does it matter, that light, deft question?
I ducked his dumb query, closed the distance.
I told him, no, I have to split. Added a little
from today’s Times calling Merce Cunningham’s
choreography Democracy in Action a refreshing run around
the unlettered clique-minded.
Last figurines / their aptness in transit
when pragma-morphism brainstorms over exit left.
Let’s bring it. I even agree if
Conditions look not upper great — wanting you (I say I do),
Not out of calculation & how far & vast connivance
Take us. I’m holding out.
Daybreak now —
— everybody under lunar waxing
credited to whipsaw. Just a running joke transposed
from the window, licked, healed, eyebrow roughened.
Conditions look not upper great — wanting you (I say I do),
Not out of calculation & how far & vast connivance
Take us. I’m holding out.
Daybreak now —
— everybody under lunar waxing
credited to whipsaw. Just a running joke transposed
from the window, licked, healed, eyebrow roughened.
12/10/19
Skilled decor, de-simplified or
wholly in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies with no precedent —
passing one to another.
A corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis and hermetic syntax.
Nice beachfront. The sky
amuses our ears and eyes, there are so few
and fewer bonds with the mouthpiece, semiotics doubting itself (if only a little)
— ‘whooshed’ seems an absurd referent and then less
and less so, here and there.
wholly in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies with no precedent —
passing one to another.
A corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis and hermetic syntax.
Nice beachfront. The sky
amuses our ears and eyes, there are so few
and fewer bonds with the mouthpiece, semiotics doubting itself (if only a little)
— ‘whooshed’ seems an absurd referent and then less
and less so, here and there.
I added frontal motion to those looks of yours that intimidate, m’lord.
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or volcano ember
floating at nose level. That’s cool — I’m 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 learning
showing up invisibly. Involuntary. Libido.
Manners of ambiguity?
To buy her lipstick.
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or volcano ember
floating at nose level. That’s cool — I’m 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 learning
showing up invisibly. Involuntary. Libido.
Manners of ambiguity?
To buy her lipstick.
84: Partnerships were counterparts, 1st a little lunatic, more than most...
Even worse, hotly culled. And who can say?
Let me copy what’s clearly writ, how writing lends some small glory, substituting for natural praise
— you’re admired everywhere! Fame dignifies your story.
No 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 fondly penurious compared to what is writ in you.
Even worse, hotly culled. And who can say?
Let me copy what’s clearly writ, how writing lends some small glory, substituting for natural praise
— you’re admired everywhere! Fame dignifies your story.
No 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 fondly penurious compared to what is writ in you.
A chance at a longer life.
The copy writes itself.
I pulled out a blank check and left it blank.
Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. This is the place for airborne definitions. Here you find remuted meaning, good as gossip to evade a “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly?
O Headwaiters..
I have a steady beat now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside
everywhere. Coordinates
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.
The copy writes itself.
I pulled out a blank check and left it blank.
Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. This is the place for airborne definitions. Here you find remuted meaning, good as gossip to evade a “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly?
O Headwaiters..
I have a steady beat now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside
everywhere. Coordinates
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.
12/9/19
The full amount is not enclosed: So this is not the other day. And I don’t envy fair days or foul — it’s interminably raw.
Not dying is not not wanting to die, a unique semantic potential assigned a repertory. (Dying is not wanting to die and to boot waiting not to die: countering selfmastery.) But I wouldn’t envy those not dying anyway, not if it was their best day.
Between waiting, not wanting, untrimmed desires crowd out an undercover, captive thought pattern shaped through long derangement oiling up baby..
at the eye’s edge of clemency.
Not dying is not not wanting to die, a unique semantic potential assigned a repertory. (Dying is not wanting to die and to boot waiting not to die: countering selfmastery.) But I wouldn’t envy those not dying anyway, not if it was their best day.
Between waiting, not wanting, untrimmed desires crowd out an undercover, captive thought pattern shaped through long derangement oiling up baby..
at the eye’s edge of clemency.
I’m shading my eyes with my right hand.
I step to the water’s edge.
What’s wrong with me.
The you I
tableau-sponged I’m now waving to with my other hand.
After all, the water spackled remotely,
burst. Mangrove gripped in saliva. Anything
to stay pure, immersed. Swimming
synchronized with the bellicose you. I’m slinking back.
I’ll leave you out.
I step to the water’s edge.
What’s wrong with me.
The you I
tableau-sponged I’m now waving to with my other hand.
After all, the water spackled remotely,
burst. Mangrove gripped in saliva. Anything
to stay pure, immersed. Swimming
synchronized with the bellicose you. I’m slinking back.
I’ll leave you out.
Childhood runs out, our taxonomies still
unexplained as temp permits.
...you know what I mean standing here, promoting pap acceptance.. you’re a diva in fact
with nothing to give back, not mad enough, feeling too little.
Feelings, too few.
One by one
wait for it. They
seem more promiscuous than anything not there.
Therefore here.
If we don’t buy this, we’re the product.
unexplained as temp permits.
...you know what I mean standing here, promoting pap acceptance.. you’re a diva in fact
with nothing to give back, not mad enough, feeling too little.
Feelings, too few.
One by one
wait for it. They
seem more promiscuous than anything not there.
Therefore here.
If we don’t buy this, we’re the product.
64: The soul is a belief system, which I have seen defaced,
increasing store with loss, done in by time’s fell hand,
the rich proud cost of grief and expressing it American English.
I hope you can let this go..
Time will come to take our love away, leaving me breathing, no form —
Structurally I seem sustained only by so lofty a hypothetical force —
But I can’t go on without some
interchange — a new episode within your telegenics. And
as we walk together, it will make no language difference what we believe, what the soul is.
I’m just ruminating on having you. Always a slave to you, I fear losing you.
My soul’s inscription reads you’re my state of the eternal state, my business.
increasing store with loss, done in by time’s fell hand,
the rich proud cost of grief and expressing it American English.
I hope you can let this go..
Time will come to take our love away, leaving me breathing, no form —
Structurally I seem sustained only by so lofty a hypothetical force —
But I can’t go on without some
interchange — a new episode within your telegenics. And
as we walk together, it will make no language difference what we believe, what the soul is.
I’m just ruminating on having you. Always a slave to you, I fear losing you.
My soul’s inscription reads you’re my state of the eternal state, my business.
Wondering about a weathering anomaly,
I write in my nature/head. Let’s hold a séance!
I snare us Joy to starve a fever. Is it raining?
Seven rooms (usually) with clay-toned physiques
fighting the relative fight waving to then receding on one another
— everybody impulsive, under an influence, which is filthy. Snow!
A foot of snow from the window. Laps of water are filled with light, snow rotating in reverse as if knowing how to purify offspring & manage forever in lurches of nibbling torque adjusting into daylight.
I write in my nature/head. Let’s hold a séance!
I snare us Joy to starve a fever. Is it raining?
Seven rooms (usually) with clay-toned physiques
fighting the relative fight waving to then receding on one another
— everybody impulsive, under an influence, which is filthy. Snow!
A foot of snow from the window. Laps of water are filled with light, snow rotating in reverse as if knowing how to purify offspring & manage forever in lurches of nibbling torque adjusting into daylight.
12/8/19
There’s a cool but thoroughly staged oral tradition that’s like trail mix, so rhetorically honey-sealed and narratively palatable anyone with a few years of good high school English can have in. It’s clear long jumps and pull-ups in tone are deployed to signify irony and distance about food prep and galley stainless. The gestalt is to flare up yet relax a while, stay urbanely offhand and sound normal, not superior in any obvious way. I’ve been saving a spot for you, waist high.
Do hang on.
Do hang on.
Pierre Bourdieu threw a projectile that applies this new year while top donor ‘families’ are in control — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of capital distribution are stopgaps like assembled heterodoxology while subdominant esthetic fields balloon and get consumed by baggier ideas.”
Speaking of baggage as distraction, Bourdieu went home to his Cajun kitchen and added, “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings as insights.”
The shortcoming between having things to say about ‘tastes’ back then, only a few years ago — and now — Republicans circling the wagons while checks and balances are nasally inspissated thru fear.
Speaking of baggage as distraction, Bourdieu went home to his Cajun kitchen and added, “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings as insights.”
The shortcoming between having things to say about ‘tastes’ back then, only a few years ago — and now — Republicans circling the wagons while checks and balances are nasally inspissated thru fear.
We’re released by ourselves into the water supply. Globe-trotters. Kissers, both cheeks. Up toward the heights curls come back. Bells in heaven. My eyebrow arched and I gasped.
In physiologist years this is a star-quake, falling and liberated by the carpentry in reading sensory input as the doctor’s tongue worked in circles. Then he darted straight in. I realized tension was flying from my face, dull and throbbing.
In physiologist years this is a star-quake, falling and liberated by the carpentry in reading sensory input as the doctor’s tongue worked in circles. Then he darted straight in. I realized tension was flying from my face, dull and throbbing.
Sonnet 86:
The future reaches full sail bound for intelligence, prized above a ‘mortal’ pitch, teaching us to surprise and grow, that is, write great verse.
I thought of you giving us cohorts aid.. Astonished, we see our pride flies away with others, out of control as it works around a crowd of familiars whom we teach to write.
Once our brains ripen, we concede neither to calm of victory nor to fear — at night I lack a precious affable character beyond my mortal self.. both that and a familiar’s ghost-morality strike me as too precious then, like enfeeblement, like death, like filling this line.
The future reaches full sail bound for intelligence, prized above a ‘mortal’ pitch, teaching us to surprise and grow, that is, write great verse.
I thought of you giving us cohorts aid.. Astonished, we see our pride flies away with others, out of control as it works around a crowd of familiars whom we teach to write.
Once our brains ripen, we concede neither to calm of victory nor to fear — at night I lack a precious affable character beyond my mortal self.. both that and a familiar’s ghost-morality strike me as too precious then, like enfeeblement, like death, like filling this line.
A dictionary of Indo-European roots lists derivatives for gno = know, can, cunning, ken, kith, kin, uncouth, notice, notify, notion, notorious, cognition, recognize, connoisseur, quaint(?), ignore, noble (known, knowable), gnomon (diagnosis, prognosis), narrate (from Latin gnarrare); & these less ‘probable’ links = annotate, norm, abnormal, enormous.
Poets, I guess, know this, so someone’s dismissal of another's work by shrug / hum is unclear thinking, a mark of unknowing. Patterns of dismissal show a settlement of ignorance. Ignorance comes easy, tho, among conservatives like me. First is not reading. I won’t buy the book, if given the book, I’ll sell it. Second, there’s reading just to find a formal quality (scanning?). Can I do this? What’s the vocabulary like? This reveals a poco inquisitiveness, but it’s all about willful typecasting, bracketing in other words streamlined for not reading further. For face to face ignorance, there’s not listening or not listening much or listening to find an opening for my chance to speak (hey do you like what I do?). Hanging around enormous egos like mine is just not fun, unless, of course, there are compensating abnormalities.
What I want are noble communities of uncouth poets who not only notice one another but stay awake & narrate Oh. If it’s abnormally sweet, you’ll be the first to know.
We have no boundaries and can go further even in unendurable weather.
— drafted 2003
Poets, I guess, know this, so someone’s dismissal of another's work by shrug / hum is unclear thinking, a mark of unknowing. Patterns of dismissal show a settlement of ignorance. Ignorance comes easy, tho, among conservatives like me. First is not reading. I won’t buy the book, if given the book, I’ll sell it. Second, there’s reading just to find a formal quality (scanning?). Can I do this? What’s the vocabulary like? This reveals a poco inquisitiveness, but it’s all about willful typecasting, bracketing in other words streamlined for not reading further. For face to face ignorance, there’s not listening or not listening much or listening to find an opening for my chance to speak (hey do you like what I do?). Hanging around enormous egos like mine is just not fun, unless, of course, there are compensating abnormalities.
What I want are noble communities of uncouth poets who not only notice one another but stay awake & narrate Oh. If it’s abnormally sweet, you’ll be the first to know.
We have no boundaries and can go further even in unendurable weather.
— drafted 2003
12/7/19
By the way, every right wing worm thinks every owner of a worm is subject to restitution
even as most tax experts evoke cuddly breeder values in brute ecrus..
I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.
I live in a container house near a few others
and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, abrigado.
I work on text.. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track,
nah.
even as most tax experts evoke cuddly breeder values in brute ecrus..
I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.
I live in a container house near a few others
and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, abrigado.
I work on text.. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track,
nah.
Social progress is in a pickle, a big abnormal mess, a product of our time. It wins all the half-eaten take-out on the table. 40% of obdurate hardly-ever voters like you and me. And how long can you live folding up conversation, shadows unused, perpetually minimalist verging on filth and circumstance? Who isn’t in one?
59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new — going backwards here —
Let’s vote Labor —
an ostentatious luncheon in ‘old world’ pensiveness,
beguiling brainwork, self-admiring praise.
I might say more, fool my brain mended by you and your composed image but
I stay in character.
O sure — we’re easily freaked by what antique words
still dig up and how re-inventions get composed, but we have to keep our wits —
looking back under whose
thumb? And am I yours?
Let’s vote Labor —
an ostentatious luncheon in ‘old world’ pensiveness,
beguiling brainwork, self-admiring praise.
I might say more, fool my brain mended by you and your composed image but
I stay in character.
O sure — we’re easily freaked by what antique words
still dig up and how re-inventions get composed, but we have to keep our wits —
looking back under whose
thumb? And am I yours?
Beginning to get the picture. Your flash is surface.
You wiggle like a borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & fan reactions:
trash affects we tautologize into cattle calls of glum purity.
At least our calls are directed to one area...
‘holding each other open’ foreordaining our mobile devices will moan to the surface. Your flash.
There may be many areas, too.
You wiggle like a borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & fan reactions:
trash affects we tautologize into cattle calls of glum purity.
At least our calls are directed to one area...
‘holding each other open’ foreordaining our mobile devices will moan to the surface. Your flash.
There may be many areas, too.
We’re for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is indirect.)
I’m also out on the bluejeans end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like the flu. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like a red mountain avalanche of progressive tools and bots that fuck over the machine age.
I’m also out on the bluejeans end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like the flu. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like a red mountain avalanche of progressive tools and bots that fuck over the machine age.
12/6/19
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.
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.
Looking back I think commuter bike paths tamper with green space.
Coming clean about adulthood is a neat precipice.
The surface (ubi sunt) has music twisting intellectually, pedaling in shorthand, gliding with objects ..
Duh wheels duly rounded.
Doing what I am here to do,
Does I can’t be responsible ring a bell?
Coming clean about adulthood is a neat precipice.
The surface (ubi sunt) has music twisting intellectually, pedaling in shorthand, gliding with objects ..
Duh wheels duly rounded.
Doing what I am here to do,
Does I can’t be responsible ring a bell?
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