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

Then you and I had an urge and we felt gorgeous wearing engineer hairnets over the lone situation.
Pickerel babes greet one another in fluent

Pickerelish. Parents want to lose their young

but can’t, stuck in schools, diagonal peach cones & rods of violet.

(As with fish
there’s salience to nodding agreement thought-

fully.) I get all my ideas from media

studies, yet inorganic brainstorming

like this is easier-to-sleep-w/-&-pulsate

Interpretive tactics are nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to
...I won’t do it, nah, thanks.


all right, let’s start w/ the open air in complete command of nothing. From the outside the sky is in a bolted shape, w/ blips w/in a simplex-repetitive top layer, tethered for interpretation.
We’ll ingest all at once. Absolute-ly
blind tessellation, inflating while we data dive

exhaling the meaning / meaningless problem activating our trial over the last half century. W/ quicksilver-glass-and-steel penthouses for investors, tech talent sleeping together.
82: Sing:

I swear..

...I’ll say it again, there’s dedicated speech to overlook, a high-five as you whisper this is a second emphasis, both natural and gross.
Adorno says strained rhetoric is a precious jewel but even true words have always been devised.
And therefore there’s no escape beneath the social parasail of rhetorical infighting. Plain speech commits us, forces us.

And so does love. You are as fair in speech and knowledge as in hue.

Devised in love, that’s the plain worst case, and here we are — let me give you a hand.
Never disagree
with inferiors. Superiors. Never.

Never point to silent contentment
with its branches lifting suspended glare
defining a nearly invisible, rotating opinion column.

Opinions from math deliver good news, stately motoring already had its faint say.
Now you can text and drive overtime, behold zeta functions befalling hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.
Song: If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back. 
This is an integument first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’  
“is” frontal opportunism.) When you’re young  
nepotism is also rampant in meaning maybe.  
Maybe not as opaque. Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts sneeze in total makeover  
as 'this' recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing to add. 
Don’t pick on anyone else...


Microscopic levitation in words got modulated. Had to be. Modulated is like coming out to predict your views, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact explanations and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold. 
Then we are off, taken off, clouds keeping our eyes immune to causation. Tiny ones.
Here it is. Seth returns as a world-famous impersonator
and hypnotist, but there’s this twist, you’ve been studying
in Europe at the Posh Hairnet Institute.
I like it. Life and death issues. I’ve been abroad.

Comatose in Vienna. Just for a while. Foolproof.

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

I like it.
57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests as you require.  
Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of movement from the inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to spend ...  
and to question my jealousy ... 
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of desire diffused at any cost to render your mouth a sobbing precious world-without-end.  
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be sad, I think no ill. Adieu.
If you ingest grief, parody is aqua foam, orange foam and broken glass. Now I’ve said everything I know about the nostalgia evoked by kissing your foul hand. 
No meditation spanning surfaces of the woods, no 
massage. No favor of bullet points. So
there’s nothing to bifurcate to render your stinking degeneracy. 

May you come down with writer’s block and slump back into your rotten messianic parole.
Tonal jumps signify charity in a spatial
float off...

repurposing one’s alter ego, raising stakes
according to odds makers for daring.

Don’t show us
your simple skill. Make it work.

This is becoming god’s country.
A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall

And me, my feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases...

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.

I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless, inexact I degrade and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My fingers are supposed to cohere in two fair hands I cull from hearsay. Raising one exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness raising two...
My counselor affidavit registers deficiency of discovery and revolving pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with myself.) 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters chose Trump. Yet this is the latest case.  Everything I note here is integrated. Remember those days? Remember those databases centered on surplus insertions while John Kennedy sober on the ground kept looking up... (Reminds me when democratic ideals could get by on appearances.)


When you got up your voice was 
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling 
Flat into dust in 4 dimensional motes. 

I don’t know how motes, much less how 4 dimensions rush 

And flounder into corporate’s mountains. I only hear 

Stupendous vibrating = Sturm und Drang, 
Atomic dust controls anger /
Now a low wage bet how severely narrowed minds are wed.
Writing in a scratchy voice for a glass room that rings of convoluted propaganda, in grease paint. 

With brush and paint we wipe dirt off a crescent metal, easy to put off, feed and embrace after the climate changes. So writ, writing in paint. 

Paint on, tell us about your grounding in propositional aesthetics (picked up from affiliates who you think are just like you but aren’t).
What is curious style? Taken whole:
“Give in, dig it.”
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
Taken your lead. Word processing in sheer Palatino
All the time, staggering prose!
Tomorrow I’ll
Tap out more deletions I forgot to lose —
Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a simple turn of the ignition, no big deal... A trek over scrubland back at that bind where you and others were fed all the data beyond evolutionary limits. All in an identical manner, everyone repeating one message while sugarcoating skyrockets and financial news slides by in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can we demo our depth of skill?
Just cause won’t be brought up. I deduce you’re packing another head scene to make me love you again, this time giving no cause to hate. True love, O who or what depth of yours gave the lie to sway me as more worthy now to love you more?
“Stages of violence yearn for a whereabouts.
The sneakiest conditions disperse — thinking of you (did I?)
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate us to oppose lesser facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.
Without speech, intimacy is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
not a word on process.
Jumps to universality mature into familiar beads of anesthesia: Takes my place being places — 

Meantime, we’re here for discovery thru inflection in lap pools of condensed matter from the aquatic world (an event in tropes). 
The named oceans are dated, right, left 
Pouting, getting better! When they come to — there will be perorations re-
framing rainwater within fairer scents rimming sunshine in suspension, ripped, 

Amputated chutes off moisture! 

Grape vines burst out, nonlackluster. Though I love grime, universality’s guilt-
making — Fortuna carrying me thru, unphased: She does this to deplete me of hope. 

1st choice for a sonnet is to solve for x. Be funny and coalesce. 

Dear multiple choices forever: Send a message I can wolf down. Convey a sense of urgency that’s superfluous. Put anesthesia off.
Favorite restraint? = get it done / don’t talk to me.
I wouldn’t say “favorite.”


Midnight, one o’clock. Slow as suds. 
Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get you done — 
maneuvers. Explanation intact.
“Stages of violence yearn for a whereabouts.
Conditions look dispersed — beeping you (did I?)
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate you to oppose other facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.
Without speech sex is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
So few words on process.
Some had swing..

The scandal passed, hardly worth the coverage,
otherwise excellent. You saw that?
We got back into the van.
Do you own your swarm’s jackets? It seems relevant
if filed haphazardly under the swarming file,

“Single file,” say;
her jaw trembled

while we run the jewels.
Sonnet 120:

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

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

— I suffered in the same crime — 

From the unknown risks. As first-time infringers we don’t mushroom, 
Ignored. But we seem hellbent when two or more reach assistance, 
So we need oversight.
One had the idea surviving —  
vibrant feelings on a moving day,  
a day washed in over time — (if we need one).   
What does one need now and for what?    
Does it matter, that light and grey question?   
Do you test, tease, defame among the best?     
I ducked your punch, closed the distance.   
I told you, no, I have to bolt. And add a second one.
Showing results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive motion went further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass  
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..  
Sleep has no idea of here and now when everything is the right answer 
.. all on your check.
I hate caps on pens in use.
Copy that, madam.


What’s my business? Aperture systems led me to holding Volatility models from tv, vocalism in a sense. Hidden risks shift weight (merge accounts request). CVS photo counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, he back. Instructions are errands; I’m my own boss.
With every rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational than ever.
Now a little drunk I look up at elm crocuses fighting odor, climbing a trunk.
Its heirs apparently. I feel cleaner with you. Clearer as 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 retested for flu ...
You and I in slow, we hope, radon decay
Torched with prayer. Or thereabouts.
67: Smarts don’t matter. You had a wealth of smarts. Advantage achieved?
I’m laying myself off. Shall I? (Not that I’m smart.) I’m imitating an exchequer, an evolutionist of avarice — loose ends everywhere giving wind upright advantage and an inflection point — long since moot — wherefore roses in shadow seem false, laced to society. Out in the open is where wind and other loosenesses keep their youth only on the gain side, impious beauty and true presence forward.

And that goes for the lively sun shining with its blush-to-blood over the street, bankrupting grownups.
What’s my business? Aperture systems led me to holding Volatility models from tv, vocalism in a sense. Hidden risks shift weight (merge accounts request). CVS photo counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, he back. Instructions are errands; I’m my own boss.
Marxist-self irony:  
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers.  
Eating and breathing them too.


$ transfer: I’m sleep.
An only hill / a huge stage
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights, debates that decay:
A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best

When I perceive dogs and woods in salt air
Together, like them and like us.
Can you dig stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.
I have decent rooms and vegetarian board. Living large is an art prepared without a couth manual. I hope you’re both open to a former way of life stocked with interfering colorations of air as in a plush, intimate drawing room augmented with coarse bouquet. Like Elizabethans, say, we would see there were lots of tulle and offline making of amends. Music sounds on alert changing uniforms for the weekend with some breathy, lithe, spooky edge.
Trixie, again, leaves for what was once a finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse. Like you who said

The archives are at risk.

Last point, I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews “encircling travel” — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisos, integers-to-be and no buzz to kill. 

That thar buzz beats my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.
95: Hidden pretext takes over. A story of dispraise, an ill report but in a kind of praise per the report.
What would be less fantastic? An enclosure of stainless vice. A full shelf of great privileged, lascivious plans.

Naming your name tells the story. How sweet — you’re every blot and sin in one, widely preached against, seldom commented on against ill odds, for shame. One spots your pieces of sporting nonsense, beauty’s manly tongue negated, verbs rounded off randomly, veiled, knifing my love out..
Stop waving that grape juice ...
That was sentries ago. Ever since
That inference never comes up when language gets tired.
Yet one’s eyes fill with manpower.

The climate showing my cards — a friend led me to one,
A sure bet ad infinitum.
He smiles with no doubts about my bluffing knowhow & innocence
... the rain keeps raising our minds’ oceanfront, bringing it all back.
Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio”
I am touched by everyone now alive,
softest jazz, lower right, your lips moving up, down,
talking design shit. Someone’s naive mirror sale, for example.

Someone’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.
So, with regard to static and its ovular window, stasis —
it’s not who grinned first that counts, but also where
and however. That’s my middle point for the interim,

realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”
As you had to know, I drive a Steinbeck but dream in a Camus. 


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

can be objective and lack will. Rain,
an incident unveiled as ambition. It’s in the eye

as a catamaran of process.. this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time
on a crazed errand-stream
to contest the following.

“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling,
sane behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.”
I still can’t turn that down. It can’t mean just what his language implies?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.
Mr Frag-mento almost forgot this. Permission to speak freely, señor? That means you, vampire. Maybe I am foreshortened taking up prerequisites in criminal governance.

I won’t cry to lessen the gravity. I should but I won’t. I’d still like to sign up for a language freed from its instincts and nodules.

For I’m an agnostic about most anything important, Transzendenz und Wörtlich or shaded for that, and my voice goes flat coming to terms with reminiscence, musical structures, being filmed in your presence. Back to you.

No sniveling of munificence. You know how security gets tight during meta-enslavement of the family tree and other engines, all watched and settled since the simian takeover. We’re all in, mostly, on the take.
Sonnet 61:
Simple enough picking up a pen . . . land and those living on it have data functions; similarly I see you.

I watch your synthetic imagery through writing, the vigil and force applied putting your youth

into a piece, since the grown man does not come by himself, regardless of your beauty — the river bank plied by far off

metaphors and substitutes, one at a time — less formal, too near home it’s like taking your dictation, taking after your love of my love of you.
We leveraged the social papyrus to miss you.
How long have you planted thoughts with no gender balance?
I agree. To be reviewed is to be published.
Shit. Ahem.

Teaching can’t be taught.

Well, 2 out of 3.

I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.
I’m a woman. Or you. We have all the training we need listening to Jim Carroll — oral chemistry, the beginning of rage, this is my body. Almost the same as hopeless, the only oasis was just passed. I was more at home with early stage fright than deconstraining tastes at war with passivity. 

Then you and I had an urge and we felt gorgeous wearing an engineer’s hairnet over the situation.
True, false, is it a gaze or maleness?
Yes. It’s a speaking animal that needs you, remember — and
Time’s up.


A finite presumption. My last gay bar,
crayoning hearts and drunken smiley faces,
pledging boundless love, packing up my belongings,
You be the new C.E.O.
I’m having a pitch dark 
brainstorm so obvious 
why stop  
Only, let’s call it implanted intelligence,
O baby  
all the way unnhh..   
O yesses encompass in advance  
— crash. Al-  
So let me see..  
dreams are on a map  
where throw us into the program.
There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for sunlight.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.

Finalists quit general practice — re-up for industry with no honor system.
Actuaries unmoor. Affection looks like vicarious advice. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer merge in our skulls, an emotional syndrome that’s broken

down, yet a lost cause. I’m driven somewhere then by love
to sketch sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes closed.

There’s transactional friendship, as well. It’s a slog like sloganeering or craft (flashing an observable sign to consciousness). To postulate, craft is to slogans as sport is to kicking down signs (see above). Don’t get me yakking about today’s news. Uncertain, odd sounds are cool, and we’re all for them and against impingement unless they mess up our transactions.
Sonnet 78: 
Disperse my rudeness.  
Captain scientist, see what influences we’ve advanced, doubled? See what more you can do! Your eyes throw us down a hole and we keep there, cover me up. You are all my art. Learn / teach my rude ignorance. 
Only these exceptions: I wasn’t talking to you. I was singing on high to the fair interest of the sailing corps. Ah, same time, so often I’ve invoked you as a muse, I’m afraid I can’t keep working with you looking over my shoulder.  
I hope I’ve been clear.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply.
Our lot’s in a hurry.

No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
Did you catch the interim report?   
Operetta’s core keeps an eye out, part of industrial knowledge that considers prototype approximates in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard. At first.   
Moving forward we have all of an hour to take in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume) indoors then out. 
Lights up — we take ourselves down a stretch in the libretto where we preserve disparities. You deserve it. 
Sweetness is vacillating as usual after hours on clear nights. Robbers, cops 
Though fragrant, turn opaque  
And poof — still  
..could rain.
Back in the day when the fair-minded had complex appetites,
when pragma-morphism brainstormed about innocence

— in the larger context there was no recidivism to retro fashion.
A song about innocence was a meta proposition.


Is that how you see yourself?

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

                                waiting to come up
half in sleep:
steadfast in geometry to grant the horizon a horizon, the whole body.
Nothing new, a feeling continues you could write until you drop ... 
a feeling from here buried below the half familiar animation 
I’d like to pull off, 
replacing one half with
a hotel ensemble for stripping down, never talking. 

When it comes to speaking one on one I have to be 
charmed and not worry about what passes through me. 
(Me, of course, is an expansive subset of being charmed, a trinket I believe.)
Ballet’s focus keeps an eye out
Watching us spin like sentience
Stuck in an unhappy medium —

Sweetness itself catches every care
Giving cause to baby Mozart
To squawk in opera

Moving big parts from minor sorts
(Observing only immunity) —
Clumsy hours of letting be

Naming your name — and that’s
Why baby reserves his dissonance
To guard shapes of light and volume

Nested in a keyboard to determine
Your name in performance.
74: I agree to your bail. Security should have conducted a more scholarly pat down.

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

When you have a chance for review, I think this will be due you. Layers of my spirit are made yours & any remains have no life to leap to, no death, either — carried away then having some interest in what’s going down on this wretched yet contented earth, all it contains, even this line.
Simple and poor, that’s a traffic violation.
Work through naïve discourse —

Keep methods observable as mayhem —
Call this ‘transactional’ force
Unlocking — on sight — your pervasive hesitation.

Make it dorky and intimate.

There will be subtitles, various languages. You may dream while staying
awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.

Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
Sleep has nothing to do with nothing.
Matters of on-switch:
Mind and body worship conforms to system leaks.
I’m too ugly to be molested. That’s true. Who knows

I kissed a cat. Once.

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

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

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

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

Of aqua foam and orange foam and glass.

Even more I like meeting mates’ life-changing kisses —
Kisses on progress. To reach the fallen dominoes..
I’m going to leave you in the middle of the city where you belong, you robot of a dog.


Just because you feel nothing

You’re leaking results before ‘thinking it over’;
IF I have no idea that holds you,
THEN how does an idea
Of idea an

-ticpate stipulating proofs for missing the ‘and,’ ‘or’ and ‘not’ of binary practice?
This cloaking device avoids detection. Slanting, lost, an hour later we’re beginning to ride over borders, borders are still porous, just look at this phonemic adventure! I need some topper wipe.

You’re turning me on.

Reading pulp, there’s an interlude between devices where I wish you’d taken up singing of thingness.
You don’t understand until I do.
The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
A saga you (as any of us) can pump off & on — so on

-Coming then coming clean is another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[old paranoia]
73: One will die; one sees all sunsets fade to ashes of black. 
But I’m leaving our night choir behind. Awake making love with you where yellow leaves still shake blowing past bare boughs and twilight, glowing, seeming content, consumed, consuming to expire.   
Death is a nominal fallacy like twilight now: To love you as if that’s true... and stronger — that’s my late take away. I don’t understand the cold fire this time of year in the west, whereby the sweet birds sing then sang, etc. 
Simple and poor, that’s a traffic violation.
Work through naïve discourse —

Keep methods observable as mayhem —
Call this ‘transactional’ force
Unlocking — on sight — your pervasive hesitation.

Make it dorky and intimate.

There will be subtitles, various languages. You may dream while staying
awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.

Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
Sleep has nothing to do with nothing.
We dance a cobra balance in our DNA.
The color wheel nurses a fine ethos in our genes.

I have the same problem buying oil.

I see your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark it happens fast.  
We wanted to go to  
This point, stabilizing the home office — over the ocean  
W/out oil in the water — ‘or personal contact.’
This original copy has been duplicated.
The rest is history, throwing leaflets.


— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.  Runic, compared to poetry now. 

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one Halloween rule. 

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy poetry until only style prevails. 

Voices in funnels, a trickle down of their futurity, 
Dropping your sights — now rising  
— the fastest way to earn points. & yet  
We’re surrounded —  
I write poems for children, your progeny  
Forward a debit resonance disproving their successors —   
We’re effects their voices bell without words.   
Make a difference,  
Steal the steep treasure,  
Baby Wateau vanishes 
& the cake sale fails — vanished out of memory & sight as I am now.
Too many ideas inside — I’d,
You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe later I’m
Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own

You know — more than 1 I,
Things, myself, lots to hide
Yes or no, and I’m me too
So I should give you shit

Because when I speak you’re
Stirring up other ideas
What I feel I
Think I feel, oh, Ma’am!
Man! You’re telling me
Nothing new here —

A stupid thing, knowing this.
Re-examining all my meanness,
Italicizing my failures. I’m ham-
Fisted attempting satire.
Snooty, freaky, I gay love it.

plodding from the Portuguese
62: No remedy surmounts heaven where detachment is trimmed. Swimming there uproots a whole series, bright, tanned & then defined by sympathetic parody & indeed praise, contrary to less gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded by self-love & this choppy vocab of possessive affects. There’s a hint of falsetto. Shields up. I’m reading the last place you are true, here in my heart, shifting iniquity to self-inquiry & I read you. Stay with me, for I will never stop.
We already have what we ask for.  
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics:  
We gave it up at the Office.  
This is hardly ever for the 1st time  
disappearing in molecules like other words, just molecules ago.
British require eccentricity as a lovely part of identity.
Americans excel in artificial eccentricity focused on trying.


I’m planning to ditch the Academy  
and ignore X to reinforce ignorance.   
IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. Can I have a parochial amen? I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind divorcing you.  
Our alienation has been recorded and jocularly shelved. For cloying effects, I think one sprig is picking up and driftwood looks epigrammatic, the upside unrelated, pale, immaculate. I’ll cut you off one side of the division.

I’m not about to let you starve. Marry me.

(Shifting back to pre-friends mode...)
72: When love is missing, shame is worth nothing. .
You devise virtuous lies (dear love) .. I picked that up, false, smug, cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name may be buried where my body is. .
the body I pray you love.. ..
I’ve just noticed you haven’t recited a thing, Gabby. .
Let’s rewrite your true love untrue. Make it count. .
Tho even in this I fear sarcasm.
Feeling cornered. Blue moon as it were.
The music seems headstrong.

Everything we light on is structure to write ..
Light always exchanges positions. Thank you.
Your mellowness operates a transferrable mind.
That line raises a lark, also structure.

Rules write themselves from .. Me? I’m
Immersed watching the light.

Then a synthetic stint, a few light chunks going someplace where
The senses look futuristic in the right light, so a constant.
Lots of us are gifts  
and land across our example   
while we watch the wind taken   
that the waves under you lift   
Tho see-thru as doves   
which today are nothing more,   
swept with a visual certainty   
no matter how we change in love.
Can I call you privately into the moment — 
Hadn’t surfeit and raised eyebrows happened months ago? Years?


I forget ephemerality, I forget narrative. 
I’m drunk on the environment;  

I’m a working temp, a role promised Hermes that threw him over the cliff.      
A perfect station plays Schubert for a kettle of heavenly fury,   
searing, puffy, relaxed and succinct.     
Angel, let’s run some #’s.     
To pass out when we wake is ample.      
I’m at your side placing puts   
on the periodic table, a rising market in wanting you (I do).   
I forget farewells.
I could laugh. 
Promoted to intimacy  
it’s tormenting therefore and it’s sinking in, remotely  
parallel to kissing your mouth (...trying to). 
The rest of the language problems raised are see-through like my waistcoat  
where I show you  
an authentic wood with kites  
on a decal of shade trees.
I’d like to thank the Academy.

Goliath, Duchamps, Sinatra!

Parallel constructs warned me of overrefined emblems and complexity’s sweeping reproach. I’m not religious. Not by a long shot; I took note of what you like from the beginning and became pope. Your pope. I acted on a few ideas we had in mind. Then I left.

Oh, construct servers... tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams —

How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime economic inferences undercutting American literacy?
9: No form of you
Feels anything but used, average.. a spent, destructive sort of guilt, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed in issueless fears of political experience / current status / winning outright =

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

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

Terpsicore is ascetic, improvisatory, sherbet hued, Erato, a voice of suspicion and many hisses, Clio, her last commanding notes tumbling as rumors circulate. Melpomeme, all blues and mistaken early on, every beat ridden like a whale gainsaying oomph. An echo of flame, ailing Calliope still makes love in public (especially the flying public). Her echo requires a stop-start pattern of marriage songs, blizzard, and dance.

The lines break up around Clio's supplicant remains. Polyhymnia was rushed off, bombing on stage.

Did Euterpe get paid for that?

No, no one pays for her sabotage, her exacting dignity in rebuttal or her tongue-in-cheek feelings moving on.
Denis the Menace grew a pair this summer. I now have a boyfriend. We’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over in a slow sweep, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having chapter delineations.. just paragraph breaks. Just so, the sky collides in the air, a hue of golf balls. 

That color discontinued, for historical justice.   
Days are broken into first seasons separated by sensual regions.  
Our supply chain deals fatalism as an element of allegory   
shaping and twisting regions of all desire, except a ready   
-made means to change Denis or the day supplier feeding us collisions. 
Gassing ahead of message. Gas, food, lodging.


He called the universe a positive word. 
Reading and living are continuous variables 
That ontologically under-simulate his ten senses.  
He should be furious w/ the authentic world w/ dogfood boxes. Be  
Angry at literal keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his new parts pull up  
A parallel prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,  
“A voice and nothing more.”
I remember those breasts.. 

A geometry that respects the brain, 

Fred Astaire kind of shit. 
When I win, I’m 

Drifting toward us, 
It’s a back-drift 

Under your blanket. I’m 

Over you now. I’m half-awake 

Falling asleep in the speaker’s presence. 

It’s deeper than that really.
Glass dial:

It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer grabbing knives & spoons v. your intuition that expresses it.

Let’s unholster & dance across the room / the lumberjack in me & you.
The color wheel graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley faces. We speak our mother tongue, fine food, to no product hewn.
Sonnet 105: We express your idolatry as science.
Fair, kind, true. Three at once.

Amazing to love you in praise of science. Sum of sums!

Amazing to feel influenced by your themes, your scope, o many songs. 

Your idolatry 
affords us your love of a lifetime. 
Take care, and take your time; 
likewise, inspire small talk and wonder between you 

while keeping your sum under surveillance. You
look good together.
Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice. Practice,

The big meal. Inductions to other habits of yours —

Just because we’re surly, externalizing ideas.

A gleaming haze drags cloud sculptures of needle-felted wool

Like nerves warmed over by spinning in freezing wind.

Not yet. I don’t forget the scent of snow and sunlight, of your utter loss
— of whatnot in over the counter after-loss and scent, yours.
You & I wonder about summer’s eternal 
possessions, the buds, shade & a day if we could see 
staying chaste .. it’s on the house.  
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold.   
In those same terms there’s too hot  
a reliance on eking a living making out   
Optimizing the center where death dies.  
It will take more than a single changing course  
to snatch life from time, breathing it in & out if we could see. 
Will you call upstairs and talk?

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


— Here it comes...

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

Then what?

— There’s a media trial.

Another trial?

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


Let me grab a pen and clamber over here to the landmark network... you’re right, this isn’t the window for me.  Before the heat dies, if ever, I’ll try praying in all directions, improving parallel math skills for our window cleaners’ carnal satisfaction as we pivot from top panes to a ringing merger of gripping madness.
Reeves has a libido viewable within Buddha construction 
From a cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,  
A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt when Buddha’s metamorphoses are active.  
In plain verse we round this off in latinate stencils for amnesia’s fixed width.  
Spirals discharge. Reeves was great, shaken tame.
Matins in 4 new minutes —

Capitalism never hesitates beating then shooting the innocent into opiate space but each victim goes broke, often sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee —

This is done doing it over —
Never doubt..ew..there’s enterprise in victimhood, each higher up will argue. There’s one problem. Only cash in small bills in exchange for a free ride. We mean it, tho, let’s discourse, subject to chance ..

A Deux Magots adaptation:
Robots embrace shrill,

a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for the moment.

The masters picked that up from them.. wolves running through snow melting into wolves ..
91: Who owns property, names, anything under formalism? We boast
of our skills, growing up 20th century, years before feeling wretched with wealth
taking hold over general malaise, as adjuncts measure it.

Some glory in hawks or hounds, horses, other particulars.
Your love tho better than a lease on pleasures that..

never last — having you now I feel richer, prouder, above the rest
— yet I find your body force above all that, and your love my true wealth,
a source of joy.
Angst roughens up indulgence.
You know the side effects —
We’re 1/2-way there. That’s when aliens evanesce.
Their loneliness and excruciating pain
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..

I’ll tell you what awaits all the weary in The Bible. Locusts.
No foes, no spite — 
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting 
To there uproots the photon series, exalted then stiffened into parody.. 

Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray 
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nil and showing 
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.
Violence resolutions have been approved, schematicized for good and 
remuted as gossip to evade a “mating strategy” to partner our 
heirs’ viewing planks. O Headwaiters..


Sway your head. That means dance. 
Don’t hold it in. Talk to your doctor.   
Try something cartoonish. I’m whirling around, pens and markers in hand in roughly 4 minute stints. Learning something about what I mean, high jinks soar belying despair over entropy, a quiet smoke, losing gravity! 

Privilege the not status and function.
Read this. (I did.) 
It’s half a libretto.
Each year corrupts the interference ultra-field. The elders have rules. Stay funny and
comfortable is one.
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert / handkerchief.
Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy never to see you in the eyes of men?

What can we do without sleeping around in our active subculture?

Last, best, fair in gay love. I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure and going out. /
According to slung
Allegory, it’s called Stepping Up, Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.
Everything I do is sin. One after another, piling up.
Yet the nuclear self lingers thru the year; he’s that fellow (and a fan, even now).
We grow. “Absolutely.” Them.

Nothing’s more authentic than having unadorned communal assent.
You’re holding me, middle of a welding
Machine-of-light, until our vertebrae burn. We grow. Them.
81: I forget so much memory is empowered by mistakes = my gentle verse.
Verse versus my taking umbrage feeds distortion = breathing from a common grave

Fond pleas fracture time... your & my memories, all our deaths & morbidity — all survive.

For in men’s mouths death lives in thoughts of dying,

Thoughts still read aloud by tongues also re-rehearsing life with the dead. Haven’t I

Lived to breathe your epitaph? Or do I lie?
I’ve checked data on height variation, they’re disgusting. I’ve also been reading Cliff Notes for Le Morte d’Arthur, which I finished last night with the help of two pitchers of Skyy. Reading Mina Loy as well: she abandoned three kids in Italy to take up egg crate sculpting in NYC. I’ll have what she’s having. That’s how I found a Mina substitute, she and I married for weeks. Skipping school mostly in bed, she has to have sex, but I don’t because I want more than anonymous gratitude.. Well, studying the contextual nuances of human height is hopeless. Let’s say this one datum took me forever.
Atoms of the future = the 1st head turns in which a detail is explicative in several ways at once. 

Clockwise = second head turn: 2 or more meanings re-solved into one experiment; foul results = few explanations.

Counterclockwise = third turn, in which there are 2 or more salient experiments.

A pulse of light of the right duration = 4th turn, alternative explanations but none good enough for clarifying experimenters’ state of confusion.

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

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

Measure = seventh, and it’s official. Unbending full argument and verification of dogmas, examining contradictions, transforming ungated minds turning heads toward amplified democracy: All are counted, dirty outdoorsmen and women, kicking big toes, skiers, sailors, all on board.
To chide its beauty has to be done but it’s too one-sided. 
It seemed artificially important  
The screech then was spherical.   
A seagull.  Now 
No one’s there.     
I missed it.


Why tonight?  
My day jewelry drove down surface tension and gave us enough balls to take off and run.  
No jurisdiction encumbers where we hurt — 
Show me holding the moment once.   
Once and be done.
I’m a year or a season late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode; can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’m writing an ode to winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

I drink to downsizing false negatives
off soulful atmospheres of displeasure
then falling back and breathing while your
rescuers get authenticated.
“Great I’ll hold...”
2 out of 2 observers were cut off. Pretty please on a wet

And during the break we plunged into a new arrangement.

It’s forbidden to talk now. It could be ethics,
since authenticity acts against self interest.

Stealthy climaxes based on nothing.
Claymation teeth marks leave an elegiac scent.
77: Blank careers contain these mind games refereed in shade. For work, we look to a future far from outside realia (always at ‘work’!) or at minimum, we should feel enriched, taking our joint profit as clear if vacant progress to eternity. Vacant. These precious minutes uncommitted, often both urbane and in bad taste, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
For work, we’re enriched mostly within glass buildings. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and social media, empaneled or at minimum propped up as official progress (taking both sides). Blank leaves in our journals, we know. Learning gives us memories, too many minutes wasted, all overrated. Let’s show how we commit to your book, to nurse your brainchild delivered now as a time share of your stealth, your voice,

your beauty’s imprint.
We are one species homo erectus

meaning taking many different steps at one time all over time.

For now, I may have taken a 24-hour cold tablet (they pulled them off the market for humans) and my brain is boinging forward into TV-noir starring Max H — remember the ex-sprinter who played him? While the show was popular for three weeks Max’s asymmetrical haircut began to give male pattern balding a tolerable hipster pass.

After Max was canceled you noticed him doing a few walk-ons, standing before monotone backgrounds in a few series then commercials. He stood fast and sunk, like these sharp pellets slicing through my blood, sinking me south by southwest, bullets pointing down and out my feet.
The 10 polisciences exist. (Do tell.) So ours is a great America. Can we go for a ride?
Btw, we got here on big feet.
That’s what it feels like or sounds like, not always is.

So it’s no. Also, you know what .. we just can’t do enough. Sleeping 26 hours would be a flaw in my socialist secession. It’s a sorry concentrate: Until we went broke we were indebted.
Now an international scale opposes the light in our constitution. Analysis is scary-loud,
yet there are comic possibilities as federalist dreams itch to colonize.
I was pumping gas 
& going to say  
metabolically we’re all for one in suspension  
of disbelief  
... sparkling pen  

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


We like newness in a way and reallocation schemes when both of us leave stroke marks. Like
how I graduated from this shame of yours and mine, this pride

in the battle between the sexes. (The rich won.)

Can you place our names? I row a canoe for my alter-ego, frequent asides and decorative indeterminacy.

With full employment, I got to anticipating mind control as disingenuous.
Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable.
That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m the one picking out, piling stuff in the garage

(to accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.

Like chairs for the departed (maybe not yet).
A beautiful life sentence:
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.
Food also knows where it belongs.

The stage brightens.
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?

Knowing the ropes to scale now
clearing the theatre of solemn comforts,

Stern, all the food pecked over, even down
to our place, last place, last row.
152: Selfportrait in loving you with hedge clippers, fighting blood sugar.
[Zygotes follow commands. It’s a collective.]
I remember hedges thru 3rd parties, their deep kindness.

Sunrise. Whose-ever rhyming system — Uhmmms call up oblong homonyms,
Playing back strings to pop songs — the RNA of things they seem...]
And to enlighten you and me I’m

Mashing oaths of love into phosphate genetic tags, keep-saking you, me, ourselves!
Cold drafts are escapement and spray
forming part brightness with a pulse,
part average improvisatory dare.
Diluent? Sleepy days of assented-to hours loosen us
from these biodata — discharged to interiors,
into sussed, sonic focus.
Substitute snow falls like sea foam over snow.

Read the inspection label. To continue, asymmetry solves perfection.

Snow lists a mood replaced as the driveway met you. (You’ll always be dad’s inside, animals looking at you.)

You don’t get to snooze.
Snow is a collective meme that takes its singular form learning to drive.
Fire, ready, aim.
My product is a li’l soggy.


Since you brought a pizza —
What about these machinations to effect scandal involving us and sociopaths to raise your own
slave-owner stature, fabulously?

That aside —
Colder rain or snow has had a profile that can only be screwed up during dry spells.
Either form is widely construed as partially audible, plundering suspicion within either’s asymmetry.

Rain or snow, the great work cuts straight through restructure, mistreating more remakes and models to abandon.

Either or they all do. Precipitation becomes a shadow soundtrack beyond logic. Tattooing condensation midair — epic sums up the thruway and instrumentation when you have glimpses of it.
Mercury is wow! pensive, coming back, back... no..

You’re saying no to billing days first, no to virulent, callow graphemes, stance covers for a copyist. Cut the trad crocus, low opinions and bloodied mesh. No aplomb in nature, please. No chiastic haunts. And no golf property.

There is no personality, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by another’s labor, overlooking our exciting first bakeoff together...

Funny place
for a dance, Mr Baker.
104: You’re fair doing this, my friend. And.
I saw both of us stop dials, and reset the pace. Fear, danger, for one of us,

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

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

since I was shaken by the beauty from your eyes.
I feel I have eyed your figure before you were born.

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

You turn summer into spring’s first guided
tour — such a future can never be old, never overdone.
There’s nothing like sax in inner cities.

I’m a sometimes solo tenor altho
I play with a numbers fielder who is also sax director.
And the future holds those who attend. But it does not impinge on the field.
Lyrical vagueness leaves me pockmarked, just a feeling.

Why was this week’s sax sectioned off? What inventory are we?

The future trails off.
Should we have 
a message?  
We’re talking to what must  
be figurative breakpoints listed under fate and fate’s consignments. Example.   
Just kidding. Since the launch of modernist housing  
empty messages remember nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame and no literal disapproval.  
Granted, we have  
a message strategy.  
A politic paranoia recommended for laying back, cool and stable in an emotional tri-level.
My best friend is my most erotic partner. It’s a corporation
...nothing to do w/ simplicity.
His music brokerage remains in aerospace
W/in no sound
Where there is none
Other than this last one.
No other devices for half a year.

The more I say this the closer it gets.


No variation. 
No truth, research suggests shorthand abstractions,  
buckeye elements around indirect objects, street names 
more indirect than research shows.  
Minor formalism holds the moment free for a moment 
winning or won, upset, out of control yet  
surrounding aggression while keeping in touch.  
100% no truth.
To a lark,
Like torsion in third-level calc,
your obliqueness shows up around access
to authority. It’s far off if you can’t say why.

Your prefixed, scavenged opacity
fills with sangfroid riches of dark matter,
cloaking them with lark pedigrees.
[Earle Brown in the audio ground...]

Mashing stencils into phosphate keepsakes

Her voice changed into a meaning,
All meanings are the full meaning.
It’s no single fool’s doing, making it easier to borrow. Clenching-tight

I’m sorry so sorry Can you sing that? from a reveler on a roll who keeps forgetting

Every day you get changes your life.
11: 1st choice for a sonnet: to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce;
An x factor takes up our lives as yours.

We feel bursts of fresh blood, increased by your wisdom and living endowment.

Wait. Later, with or without x... it seems cold here, a waning world away...

But so like-minded so fast —
We convert life to folly ..

The world you call yours we make featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, living
Thought in waves agitated, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing to help harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se, nature will age, perish, decay.
But we keep x in mind, cherished love..
The more you and yours live on .. we are given life back .. what you give.
Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion
..my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love.
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless.
It feels impossible.

Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming
hands that boss,

maneuvers. Explanation intact.
When shopping from your texts I find solid proof 
Showing stunning results for innuendo: You’re good. Good doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Outright theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive purloining motion went much further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass   
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..   
Sleep has no idea of here and now when ordering everything is the right answer
.. all on your check!


We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with a given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to civil democratic union with ideal permissions built on headwinds — dormant crescents, lowered apostrophes 
with as it were or without lyric buzzers. Good buzz can scar others, you see, yet you see nothing but these facts were slaughtered by pushing somebody else remotely.
Free in summary.
Sooner or later Chickee got uncomfortable knowing the gender question has a peculiar tripwire: in one tumble of silt and salt waves a queasiness signs on as gender is the one query no one ignores, also a quest ill-equipped to be entirely fulfilled. 
Thus, Chickee is my guy.
Have we no will, no interest to shed our platform ambiguity?

Rainy Sundays or any day we break for the shadow olympics observed or imagined on the ceiling: Rationed atheism has long been the main event. Sectarians find a balance of situation (organ music), steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing like totals in multiplicities (music for copulation). Late afternoon to others.

Factor in a plug-in for artisanal calisthenics.

Body resonance turns into a prism on top of which you can finger-point to the horizon, magnified and askew. So note what happens.
Better yet, get a friend or two to write for you, pretending they are you, falling mute, covering your lips with my gloved thumb.
55: Nor aside, a period sonnet doubts purity, softness but addresses war and enmity  
for a living record. Yet the fun workout once was of a soul, a soul a tone beserk.  
So why am I dwelling on the bloody ending like a warrior groom?  
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than that, still brighter than the wealth coming to me thru this poem...  
You and I find our own contents, oblivious to posterity, they’re uninvited — their statues
overturned, and we brought our own guests — memory and death. I...   
Even closer now to death... I burn with quick flame for wearing out memory’s sluttish velocity
— I’ll not speak nor ask (or shall I ask?) more, should I?   
War wastes time, a powerful judgment at rest once at work.
Fat chance gestalt code-switchers stutter trying not ..
Wordless dialectic is never strong enough. Yup, I repeat, smiling
with optimism that’s rewriting while it flips,
changes genres in lewd sleep.

Those organized by dreams triumph in their mind and body worship.
First vicarious, then conforming to a belief system.

And now it’s just fading maybe?

Or maybe it should.
There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore.

And there’s a hypertonic struggle to housesit too much information. You know it exists. Bad antecedents. Human body fat jumps, worth $100,000 a gallon.
This is the good gold.

A life is charged for care. I’m otherwise a coffee head! But no more, let’s pare it down.

Have we ever done anything but tamper with the weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, Ladytron. You seem so fake-excited in the sprayed periphery, staying in balance inside a soft radical vapor of bigness that’s quashed.
We’re all buckeye strong. Very disturbing.


Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our shared agenda. Shared or snared, just like them, say. Leaving office to wolves has a double meaning to off-center the filing (and filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept back under my appendix 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, fortune (Fortune) itself burningly turning back to watch the wax dim.
My style is no variation, a luxurious quest. A stiff explanation.
If you’re stagnant, you’re just undead, pure metaphysical pre-evil. 
I put a recalled toy in my mouth, more profitable than narcotics.
A few years ago poet and critic Peter Schjeldahl wrote of Yale Art School dean Tony Smith’s directorship of the Venice Biennale (1968), finding Smith the “most anti-academic of academics.” Per Schjeldahl, Smith opposes “rationalist theoretical tendencies,” preferring “artist’s initiative and the viewer’s intuition.”
I appreciate Schjeldahl’s pointing to intuition as a key exchange element between artist and viewer, poet and listener / reader. Evasive as it is, intuition becomes the sine qua non for influential reading, much less reader response. The contrasts of a projected plan vs chance become the quanta of exchange between writer and reader. Expectations influenced by a reader’s experiences contribute to an initial schema for intake. That plan is set in place. The text, if poetry, changes everything if the reader is ready for chance. The narrative operates in spatial dimensions for irreversible transport, influencing future planning, giving chance agency position for change.
97: Before apologizing, winter is fantastic, like pre-summer for wanton beginners, a civilizing pleasure messing up eternal categories, removed by you. Your absence offers a waiting room (decoherence), libations & it supports how I feel from within. & speaking of the pure land, it’s freezing. Barely recognize the place.
Frequently there’s a bitch
for whom you kiss that person.

She’s the bird notes
with a contract to bore within

— loyal to her lookout torn from a doorway
in a sparse analysis of roundtable math..
don’t pick on anyone else...
I usually renegotiate after a bonfire of love, & like glowing sparks, not a note of cynicism vis à vis whom I adopt. 
It’s better after I begin to wake I’ve landed. A roundhouse in green leaves is great. I merge at the top, half asleep.. 
Moreover, we’ve landed. A roundhouse in the sun.. the left knee just there then took a variant position in a sequence of arm scratches — 

an honest hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity until it goes away, released at last into newly impartial states, witless after a while, undead.
Jumping ahead. A decade from now no one’s famous. 
We’re forgetting nothing moves the needle.


Monkish antinomy dawns on me once 
Before blasted onward; discourse & chaos go hand in hand, utterly psychic as we are  
— having seen it, married it earlier.  
& I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing  
My love as a fever costume, stretched black poplin, black as hell in a trance.
— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.
If you’re not here, anything Apollonian looks flab prone.
A broader context refuses to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done
.. On my behalf Apollo can break laws to shoulder perfection or save a life, once or

either way is fractional in the bigger context / e.r.
Freedom is impersonal. With more throwdowns of perfection up the hall,
binary fission about meaning what is not said
or saying what is not meant.
Verlaine and that other guy,

2 birdbrains, explicit about nothing or nothing much; no / yes?

Ok, we’re more willful, stay in control — a thousand bees stinging our feet —
Wanting as well as gaining nothing — shhhhhh.. I cant
.. I shouldnt ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
You never can tell. I wont.
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 have some part.

You appear in every august shape we know.
Etched into my cufflinks: Hell hath urgency.

I’m envious of my clients in purgatory. Not dying is not wanting to die.
My place is to stay in line & not lose my place in hell.

I’m in while trying a couple of poses from the repertoire of
A working stiff, the same post promised Hermes that put him over the edge.

I’m at that temp edge placing cash puts — Gauguin went to Tahiti! —
& no other bets on the periodic table, messieurs, petit in wanting you (I do).
Like fury.
Exquisitely handcrafted 
meditation retributions..


The air is sawed off, wishy and doing better. We were dangerous, once.
Smooth rhetoric is purely blur. It’s too late to make it sparse. Now we’re appalled. Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake.
We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no shit. None of mine.

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, rotary forces of moral freedom will drill 5 feet down underground, a strafed, ethical spectacle falling into proverbial and natural coherence like mumps, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll .. imagine caress trails.

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

Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by good, socially secure posturing. After dark trials.
Adam made 10,000 mistakes — and can’t ‘correlate’ the enormity of it,
since evolutionists even now are running back to his antique bedside to dig up more about causality —

Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn, I say. I’m

Eve, off our boy’s rib, a financial planner ahead of my time, always.
I’m still not finished, she says.
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke out first.
71: We don’t remember your life, your name, for I no longer mourn you. Why would I? Forget about me.

Like a surly freeloader / poet, I overhear captions within sullen robot clauses... giving vile warnings. It’s vile — compounded when I think you read this line into my thoughts. I’m only the hand that writ …and I plan to negotiate more cash for rapprochement after I’m gone. Hey, don’t worry, my next line is not incompatible with yours, for I love you so.
Don’t weep with your pant legs up, banker..

It’s a bitch comedy

Since oogling permeates our antinomy.

Meantime, finally —
You had every opportunity to reset the agenda —
Keep it together. Or pry.
Neither so-called dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary bracing for normal heart spasms until climax, numbed in shade.
What’s this eyebrow to?  Eyebrows pile up like the snow of socks after a sit-down inside the capitol.


Random figments can’t say what happened that day (ekphrasis) but I know we slept over because there was a soft on the ears mattress to lie on. 
The mime sequence where you and I speak out was overall spoofy. More, there was a modulator from a board of moderation. Behavior like ghosts’...
I am confused, 
claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop bleeding  
is not a complete thought, lacking resolution, useless but still settling in  
meaning in a way — a rain then raincoats of moods shifting, one’s thank you for pastimes as warm-bodied as visually queuing up for everything.   
It ran in families.  
So you get it now, assigning completion to our species becoming cathartic  
is no-yes, always vending graft over dualism  
with hand and finger gestures where we get caught chipping away at how we can stop.
There’s a pebbled shore for this.

Resolved, the body is loaded for 3 seasons at a painting crossroads:
It’s more relaxing than filming bricks,
bowling tenpins or being w/ anyone who routinely

does things that could be awesome if intentional.

We left our module then to look over your curricula.

Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..

Videoing = painting / reporting: imparting lyrical data slathered across a middle

ground, a themeless entertainment vehicle (driving us to sleep).
36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho seeming one, 
you’re one of mine. Yet you get so far then stop.  You’re not alone.  
I may not acknowledge you as my love’s delight — for you are not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love that divides us in blotted hours alone. I confess — or let me confess both our loves are shamed into love’s altered effect —  
Your love, mine — separable remains from our nervous systems that distort public love, it seems, into two, radially.
To remain disciplined on our new celestial motion weekend

Calls for comfort and drill ...royal style.
Take over.
A white lie calibrated by the ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale dialectic —

battery powered to sow more male seduction / technology / outreach where all the jazz wears off.
We came herein with falsehoods we picked up earlier, and we sank together deliberately mismatched, yet we were ignited around the finger tips by deep compatibility. Vibrating skin, excitement for the best fibbers to the youngest, abstracted as figures of speech, savants, godsends.
“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why  bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.


Love, A cool looking problem solver, a Japanese statistician, slow-motioned to me to go for the moody and unexpected.
Doesn’t it freak you when categories are givens you don’t need to work out on your own? Some of you has given in to optimism— there you go, retreating to emancipating intimacy, more and more sound-oriented than bent on millennial dance.

And that reminds me, great sex is immediate, overwhelming, terse and of a Castilian order. A hundred influences contained in one = you at the piano as the dive floats with Balanchine stand-ins.
The effect is real. Real enough 
to be defined consistently. 
Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary. Form follows structure. 
In a way nothing’s for keeps. 
2 spiral arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions) several hours forward.  
Nothing’s inference, compressed form:
a ‘crown’ of contradictions veer dimensional rhetoric —  
Can waving time like a moony branch  
supersede nature,  
a piece of research asks. It’s asking a lot. Why open  
atoms under quivers at the edge to sleep?
Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. This is the place for airborne definitions. Here you find remuted meaning, good as hearsay to evade a “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly?

O Headwaiters..

I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside

everywhere. Coordinates
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Adding

that noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure it was theirs), amusing
vim, aerated and shaken out from the inside. Each had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, great riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking you
then not knowing.
It’s pie months before Thanksgiving.. To set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. The verbatim relishes living among a slew of lucky design orphans from an alien vicinity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age.

(Welcome home.)
We need a balance for everything foundered in obsession. Come in. Please step inside where the balance should be.

A dog actually ran in here just now shaking his tail, what deception.. In the sentence before — it wasn’t determined what sort of dog he is, but now I know — bad dog.

I'll make him disappear.

And away with these shirtless demagogues from the previous slave-owners episode. 

We got them to break their fever but today I want you.
Bullied into autocracy. 
Hell is too big to fail.  
Fire the lilies in the field.   
This is a democracy. Hysteria as a rallying cry brings a revolution in ignorance and vanity.  
The ousted president drops to his knees.


After the decline of the 2(X)th century,
The state held sway on the 2nd floor near an ancestral cloaking device.
Eminent domain: Paranoia was passed out. Young & ugly you & I were next. Behavioristic info dumped into drinks
Not to arouse the unknown or undue, our well-being was of concern.
There are a few invitations we won’t forget.
& that does it for this hour. Meta-esthetics have postponed further equity for you & me together w/out & because of you, Señor Nasty = & no end to all observers laughing thru-out.
On a highway, gentle police lights
— Luxury vans flow in aid. Further uphill
Hauling “rays of light that seethe patently” — Stolen beauty ...and he gives!
(He can afford it.)

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

Then thank him —
There’s due process replicating our facial
Comfort in raw push-pulls ..

Touching on other behavior in a wily, rough
Translation .. (desultorily sexual) while you read on, reread
Brutality extending just to your cheek by jowl for the last call;
More intuition — “rhymed” with your near-virginity beneath your bodily

Disappearing into
I can’t make it. We’re staying in.

A nutcase with an exploding cigar spins around saying, I’ve been watching you.

I spent decades as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on ‘live people.’ 
My relationships are mostly strung out on sofa sectionals of pulverized dots —
He tells me I know this place better than my own bedroom, seeing he knows what I mean.

I can’t make it.

New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. Pummeling brilliance lives on in a pretty good phrase, a single word, and it always has, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined). 
60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, time feeds on us and ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

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

We contend and confound — in the main of light crawling to maturity
set on the rarity of natural youth and beauty.

Each changing place against slim odds.
Almost the same as hopeless in times of hope
Yet younger guardians that follow grow tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; wherewith their hold on the land is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

When? as soon as today.
Metaphor and life changing commerce..

Sugar Dust (you in a Bernini head replant) brings on the knowledge effect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching seasons float in willpower. I never understood insinuation. I never misunderstood it, either — a pulverizing divide teasing my attitude into admonitory tableaux sponged with your eyes...
Sunshine feels like a slap in the face. 
Milling around is jammed.  
Engines manage to hover. Pie charts and monthly market data are no guarantee of future thrum and rumble, hey and whoa — how awful, how much are we exercising to circumvent compulsory salutes and arm flapping? 
True, false, is it a gaze or rolling maleness? 
Yes. It’s a speaking animal that needs you, remember — and  
Time’s up.


The grounds for guesswork know what the regulation is. 
If we’re lucky, Euro notes rule our larger theory of commitments.  
Like pounds they bear full imagery, shiny 16th- and 18th-century ideals.   
Debts improve wasted sunshine through labor. 
(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand them over 
by your leave.)   
Don’t plan on further development.

Finish a stretch and clouds get confused. Confused as   
A rusted barge dries in the sun orange. Or   

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters.. 
Ok, these grounds are not Danzig. Proven  
True or isn’t.
But theory is something else.
I use bigger words than you,
pluralizing the spring flowers, the moons in autumn —
Classification by evolutionary collisions.
I think I prefer you all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.
Our national leaders and their propagandists know very well liberal capitalism is an inegalitarian regime, unjust, and unsuitable for the vast majority of humanity.

Grandeur is a deluxe quest and metaphysical evil.

I’m not a model, I just look like one. (Helen Vendler)

We’re the only nation that flies into hurricanes. (D.A. Levy)
23: My agent is in a rage. Imperfect
actor whose shortcomings balloon in ‘harmony’ & use. 

Imperfect — for love’s epistemology scampers in secrecy 
in so large abundance I weaken from fiercer ideas to leverage your silent heart.
Listen to my eyes, please. 

My dumb mien may adhere to expressive rules, 
pleading w/ you, entered into by trusting you first, always. It’s always 

your clear refinement where character offers libation, a rite
to love you, and I act on my own to speak —
To wit, from your eyes I can read love and you can hear it now.
A soundtrack with pulleys, leisure to sing... gazes overlaid
w/ speech you keep delaying. An investment to punch into
hapless quibbles over riv vu’s.

Taut shortnesses of thought bubbles, disarmed by suspicions, you’re
an emulation of a man —
no way flippant, standing up without sticking, you could prove

choo! Uccello on his roof car unhinged, bartending! That’s how you sound. If you stand
if you speak if you kerchief

— are you keeping suspicion warm
to the bridge of my nerves?

Payment hence remains. It comes from the Greek for feigned ignorance. 

For legions of believers 
Who are in this for praise.

The general of desire wait lists the system. 

Notebook open, wallet shut.
Piano strings! precise and going no- 


floating up nervous laughter  
.. an octopus taken more than once a day.  

Minutes after your work can be filed ..  
if there’s ‘work’ to ‘file.’  
Or will we be going anywhere?   
It seems like anywhere unless you know where you are .. 
just praying ..
Publicity is the soul of justice. 
That’s a great question.


It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?  
You’re at the door  
As I thought of you.  
Now an urgent delay for  
Social progress is in a pickle.  I meant
it goes for cheap and too far in other directions. It’s al  
-most curtains for the prom fitting, a horrible hot mess.  
The shortest path from here ignited by havoc, overworked 
and exhausted tailors.  

Thin dancers are the perpetual winners I guess.  
I wager we scarf the half-eaten take-out on the table. Slashed 40%!
A private-public distinction, extension 8. 
That dichotomy no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force.    
Keeping my writing up  
Besides giving empathy, suffering distress,  
I write on my agenda,   
A vapidly laden ship of ‘fortune’   
Once I launch it —   
I got married however without knowing the side effects   
— wait, I forgot why I called.
21: This is a loose translation, hemmed in on earth, drawing on sea, heaven’s air and your love. So it’s not about me but my verse muse. You planted yourself here coupled with sun and moon.

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

writing truly from love of April’s first-born flowers, gems, and richer, rarer hearsay — our search skyward with gold-dipped candles fixed in air! There we are rehearsing how you and I write together, and then how I believe I’m truly with you, in love.
Someday all this will be yours. Five hundred
City blocks that lean socialist along
An untapped atmosphere of noir swing. Add slovenly
Housekeeping and altho you steal from me, puckish flair
And snappy dialog
Bearing love’s wrong.
Beginning I was angry buying my first diary-balance-ledger. (Moleskin.) But I learned a lesson.
There was no progress in the interim.
Party management was unleashed. Specialties got molded. Molded like sister drummers and saxophonists playing to masked hostility & indecisiveness backing up inexactitude from what they voiced before the beat took hold.

And there’s no party.
There aren’t any warnings. 
That said, the minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switches back. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never
I can’t tell you I don’t care, on the inside.  
Midway, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague change, like a plebiscite, better to pump out to voices’ grasp. Outside, a normal life with submerged artifacts accrues Pascal highlights.