Espionage and copy work through communal ethos-retrieval are distinctive features of the medieval era. It’s not unironic in the least digital data assembly enables our return to that ethos. Work produced now is parallel to others along almost innumerable dimensions (once factors or facets). And if most of that work is still authored, we can posit a flourish of production (including poetry) over a measurably short time will totalize individual product into, arguably, 2nd-tier relevance (with a few nonconceptual exceptions, of course).

We were used by demolition pros,
sliced, etc. Oh
You were fantastic,
an arms race in refuge.

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

Polarized as boats
keel and cover rubber planks
across their reflection.

Damn, can’t complain, when the children
left we had chipmunk ..

Tasted next to nothing, also a white winged crossbill
went berserk, wet bubbles ..

Hold on /
dress up or not?

After siesta I had no idea, no credo of here and now
when everything was almost an answer —

More measurements distorted your big frame —
We never quite matched up

Climbing into casual spectacle dozing, ritually putting
our lives together .. We’ll be back right after ..

Sonnet 27: You’re wearing a scent of rosemary to bed looking on in darkness, looking down —
I’ve been here waiting for far updrafts to work over my mind —
my eyes open wide, I see you more clearly now.

Your shadow always makes night beautiful and an old face new.

Mercury is wow! pensive, coming back, back... no..

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 game together...

Funny place..

It’s a slide shot. Kind or not. We have functional emotions and this much-traveled camera lore with affects.  
 
Countenance is material. Cold drafts are escapement, spray 
forming part brightness with a pulse, 
part average dare.. 
Enfeebled? Sleepy days of assented-to hours loosen us
from these biodata — taken to interiors,
into sussed, sonic focus.

Sonnet to looking forward:

Hoping nothing won’t happen, I cover my throat. Duly of course sounded. A few facts crowd around figures that are un-garbled when least derivative; ephemeral objective content triumphs. It’s kind of a snob racket. (C Bukowski)

We weren’t exiled or orphaned, we decided to pursue other interests. Plus, it started again, as theory, pleasure is to ethics as the roundup waiting in any landscape, waiting for mistakes (1) and (2) jounce.

Spontaneity backs up most position vectors.

Gloom is paralytic. I don’t detect a drop of broad mindedness toward any arched dynamic or versions of it — better when and how you love or even when you nibblingly slobber over a numbed one’s body of rare happiness, feeling better. Hope of this implicit in the simplest rejoinder to the proudest Dionysian.
Dionysian = could pull off brocade, puffy energy, cute, can’t think straight.

It’s up to future officials to unpack Zen’s base ironies. Where are they now, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to supplies flowing out since they make love too much — so and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, too well and staying relaxed can lull you into a slippery tranquility. 

This’s Zen-not-Zen up to when?

I thought we wouldn’t get back to sleep.

Dawn. I was going to call it “Draped Profile.”
Held from both sides.
Distinguished in feel. “Pronounce it.”
That’s good.
Now draw the strings. Ok
— what do you know!

It goes off the air base,
Hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, blue, pale
— lavish as doves

Which are no more
Swept with visual certainty
No matter how we change in love.

36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho seeming one, 
you’re one of mine. Yet you get so far then stop.  You’re not alone.  
You may not be my one delight — for you are not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love as it divides us into blotted hours, alone. I confess — or let me confess both respects are separable, each shamed into a love of one sort with altered effects —  
 
Your love, mine — honored remains from our nervous systems that distort our public love, it seems, set to break (but do not so) into two, borne alone radially.

What is curious style?

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 has in. Its clear long jumps and pull-ups in tone signify irony and distance about avid prep and galley stainless. The gestalt is to flare up yet relax a while, stay urbanely offhand and sound normal, not superior in any overt way. I’ve been saving a few hours for you. Do hang on. Dig in.

Body copy! with olfactory consequences:
When he blinks there are lightning bouquets. What do I sniff? Here we are,

and his aroma is unisex, partly, chiming mad as manmade quakes mushroom.

So. Ghosts roam changing directions with panicked ants. That scent ..

Voice operated judgments — 2 very different outcomes will equally square —

I could voice a tight fragrance, watching my breath. But let’s try again with no commas between the whereness of the tongue receding on the palate.
One, 2. Together, our inside voices take a few bites then punch it out waving not so perfunctorily, no toe moves, no steps at all — freaky in bed for tangled waves of standard-bearers. Waves and something else.

Zephyros, a sex addict shoots thru the property’s high impact surfaces, speeding in cones rejoined with strings of baleful, tempered banality, burning talent with a see-thru suspension over the ozone.

It’s a privilege to be singled out 
..once there was a C-class ..  
 
We stay onboard  
 
Suffering, complaining, 2 out of 3 observers let off, depleting the shipment.  
Surnames are ..oh forget it, huh? They’re randomly conjoined.

The government could be in trouble. 
I hate to be asked the price. A fortune.  
I’m boiling and sad, practiced together.  
— Wish it was just bad counsel all right..  
There’s word of solid drama down the road,  
a binary fission when you’re only expecting  
deepening rudeness, so we’re attentive bound for well-armed  
crazy-not-good disturbance ...

I went to hell with you.
You gave me hiccups back on floor six. Now my senses are restored. The unoccupied mind is long overdue.

And I’m back in my vertigo seat, reading over and writing my disciplined boilerplate, my editor’s marble thought structure swarming with pleasant memories.

I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground, our encampment after  
Ridiculous, I guess.. juxtaposed, dative..

One will need a clearer message for individual agency. There’s no humor in discretion. So forget it

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

Complaints and sworn declarations,
I forget meeting you.

18: Allergic to verse? I believe a temperate art is set to make more mistakes, we say, rough comparisons to too hot a month this spring. Say, all summer you are more than nature’s change in course, growing (untrimmed) — owning the day in every moment — and knowing when to shine there, to seethe.

And often seeing how hot eternal summer is, then fading all too short ah
Whew. Now we see you in fair poetry, an art
from fair and far as long as men can breathe.

We just saw (a few feet minutes from now) however
Your address changed. We could have done it differently before you discovered the user
charts; the parent company was yours before you stole from them.

You’re not going to be delirious are you?
Just for a stretch of disdain..
Robbing me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer... Good for you.


Good for you — Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs, 
Tho pragmatics circumvents the conscience to mend things — 
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..

Wool flowers
Are harsh.

Ducks flying down
Splash my roots..
They are flattened grey
Popping on mauve

As kennel light
fences barks

Yet impassioned so
Nowhere

Wind-
In-tent-flap sounds.

I count 9 windows in the dark.
I am here.

A horrid plurality system turns a wall of calm over to science for good profits then greed, forgiveness and clumps of renaissance and their round robin prototypes that sell the smear to the cerebral cortex.

The plot’s motivated by small sums of justice. We’ve still not captured how justice is crammed w/ underdeveloped moral emotions and pillow talk — luxuries that bind, ushering in more non urgencies of a grueling yet quickened mind over entropy.

Info-tainments advance by themselves, lovely distractions, shooting the steepest mountains w/ slime. Thinking back, they segue w/ riveting inclinations in our self interrogation while commuting to work where we share high fives and broker a plan!

Everyone’s welcome. The emptiness that was 
 
one fine day... 
 
                    A mercury-brimmed scree 
 
insubstantial in unexpectedness 
 
to dawn, ‘disappeared’ 
 
into the leg o’mutton of oblivion :  
You behind the scenes evaporating..  
— we owe you nothing  
                    falling out w/ your daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer precipice..  every day becoming ordinary knowledge  
 
of parallel ebullience  
 
                    waiting to come round up ideas sprouting from half-sleep,  
 
holding w/in geometry to grant the horizon the whole body.

Everywhere there’s fog off your chokehold. I give up, nowhere better!  No ripped off melancholy, no lecture / rap / blues, no shelter against the curious. I’m lying.  Part of what I do here. Throw up my hands!

One style is no style, a luxurious quest.
The one style.
If you’re stagnant, you’re dead, pure, metaphysical evil. 
I put a recalled toy in my mouth, more profitable than narcotics. 
Doggie style, god thus is mirrored information.

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 within sun and moon.

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

writing truly from love of April’s 1st-born flowers, gems, and richer, rarer hearsay — our search skyward with gold-dipped candles fixed in air! Up there we rehearse how you and I write together, and then how I believe I’m truly with you, in love.

You and I go over the Spinoza graphemes. I also was thinking it’s hard for us to get foreign sports equipment or a new o.s. without indices of suspicion and objurgating.
If you agree, I’m happiest procrastinating. We have a pleasant sencha. It strengthens our attention for doing so little.

Random influences could fill in our cancelled checks. Filling in on smart hills, cute and cuter butterflies having at butterflies, why?

A new problem set:
Work through naïve discourse —

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

Make it personal then bring your breathing back up from
the deep... smiling as an art of life.

The jet gate opens to the drawing room, once a factory outdoors where snow & sunlight close their distance. The old new & new strung out on sectionals, an untapped atmosphere of oblique, puckish Swiss.. The Swiss playing the stunt of relays between workplace & dogma, everything everyone can live by w/out being sequestered or brutally charged by material objects : so by these shortcomings we softball in harmony around some helpings of sky & helpings of Swiss.

Mueller on investing in Trump: 

Absence of thought rules for executive authority. ‘For’ or in place of. That is a summary. Correct. Felonies are edged with intricate crosshatches over pastel word clumps, busy and redacted, hacked into non-exculpatory fudging. True, soft or hard, p.r. pellets change our misimpressions a bit.

Pattern a busy, contingent thoughtlessness that’s slime,  
generally, as it’s all over me.  

Next, he’s a waste of time. 
Am I threatening him?

The contours are to look urbanely offhand and sound normal, asymmetrically curt.   
  
Pulling a change-up tantrum repurposed into conceptual deflation.   
Psychotropic bios are commonly diagnosed as parallel discourse twists.    
  
Now one concentrates on the next available thing   
Until one like me goes broke; summarily I’m screwed.   
I then center on perception (whether beauty or wit), sustaining losses out of causticity.

The French have other words for inversions. See what their friends are playing. Find friends.

Absence of thought rules for higher authority. A busy, cool thoughtlessness that’s slimed over again and again, maybe. 

It’s a fact eye contact is defensive but our checklists and strategies determine most of the contents. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane senses. (And all we did was tie up our shirts.) 

This is how contingency shows up in texts, making sense from alterations that are situational within a figure-chicken / ground-egg round robin. 
I retract my falsehoods. At the same time I condemn and mourn meritocracy. For all men are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice projective geometry to respect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland for nothing.) 

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.

‘Heavenly alchemy,’ your words.

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 contradiction 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.

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

-Coming then coming clean, another part of our closeness.
Lateer, new police!
[speak of paranoia]

*
You don’t understand until I do.

Dear Politico,

I promised you a ham for quilting bombast.
Now, the ham’s faction’s hatched..
Have yourself a good time. We’ll have you over when the rest of poli sci gets to better thinking, Aldous Huxley, say, augmented with a good bouquet, plus a full deck of historical raiment dealt to the underemployed in object placement, decoding automation... (so they’re subject-objects as well as objects).

After that, there will be nothing coarse or raucous, for now, good talk! we’re fine, we’re down with “no real choice.”

For a recap, I color within lines. Drink? I take my latte to bed 
And set it on the stand, tagged and released. 
You wailed it, Yosemite. Morose I am.. and optimistic.

Spacetime. Slash pauses.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while evangelic angles of light are making a fracas on our way home.
Vaccinated, I have a merciless itch.. what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
Other instances of ourselves / Passing the “casting

of cities,” thinking past us. Way past.
A normal 2 years B-4 messing with U. Why wait?

Some witches stand way out in a group, my mutt  
& a star couple born of passion, sparkles  
that go the distance without going  
against my finer inner pooch whose lion’s share of  
derived practices crank open to show  
neurotic coherence. The mutt’s  
face loses color; she’s hoarse  
& as dog-eared as Caligula.

34: I have a base feeling of comfort in disruption. One point of a number that overtake me in a way —
Together, you and I define arcs of ironic repentance but worked out in a series of tear-shedding disputes. Just so, we’re still cloaked in loss. Loss of shame, loss of grief. A salve can heal my storm-beaten face but not the offending wind smudging our wounds into a double-cross of rotten smoke. Why?

It’s not enough I lose, ransomed to disgrace. I’m scared; ah, no relief as such. Not yet. I don’t travel well in new grief. I hide from your face even as it’s shedding dry tears, breaking promises, still breaking me.

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

Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there we can move forward back to detect undertones that encompass our naïve expertise.  Yours and mine.  There are a few nasty hues in our nesting place. And a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and greed. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up the visual cortex — pasting-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — color powers enduring benefits like tooth and nail radiance.

Poetry on the style page (where it stays). 
*   
 
A thought I’ll put aside: a poem is a sonic record of felling trees (for the page).

You need to review hedonism before it’s retouched ... 
& there’s nothing wrong with my commitment. I am massively committed. In national interviews, if I have to give others the finger, even faction members, I’m committed. They get it. You’re the problem. 
 
Your friendship is a job (like sloganeering) and, more elevated, craft (sign). To illustrate, job is to craft as practica to theory or open animosity (a sign).  
Also review free speech. It’s cool for sure and I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend. What’s it? There’s no work-around to the observer influencing the observed except for you later — it’s much later.

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

I’m a working temp, a role promised Malthus that threw him over the chart boards.   
 
Now suppose a perfect Darwin of heavenly fury,  
searing, puffy, relaxed and succinct.   
 
Now his angel.. let’s run some #’s.  
To pass out when we wake is ample.   
 
I’m at your side placing puts  
on the evolutionary table, petite in wanting you (I do).  
I forget farewells.

A valid socialist government is not that hot in Slavic labials.
Apparatchiks wear pilates for motives, eager too, speechifying shyly  

With rabbity, squeaking voices, sounding like biblical  
French — French is just plain meaner. And they negotiate cash for
Rapprochement. Keeping one’s posture simple on the corner of utterly out of space.  I

Am still there  
As well. My views are not incompatible with theirs.   

Only there’s a redo for the first republic that we fail completely, openly.

Sonnet 3: 
 
Now is the time.  
Image &  posterity aren’t everything. But they call you back. Same for dying. Let’s stop Pisces & disdain. Face to face, mark self   
-love as no fond option. Unearned. Yet thru clear windows 
April will renew another golden time taking form, 
Beguiling as light flows. “Could you be more specific, my 
Episteme?” April in its prime calls you, repairing you,  
Your ears, your face, fresh forms of golden times remembered.

Ours was a taxonomic relationship. 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax  
With a starry equity of neurons. Our vocab strove for beta worlds  
that heat up while young at the edge yet a lost cause.  
Vicarious is not strong enough.  
And titles cost. Avalanche. A virus.  
Cherries Hamlet.

Copenhagen interpretation:
Our active models are you & a perfect sweep I can live by w/out being 
sequestered or bitterly charged for my own shortcomings 
distended in harmony around some parts of sky 

I understand as profuse clouds. Understand like take in. 
Huh? Is it fire? Up in sparks’ glow 

the moon made indispensable for smearing its light 
that travels down in a tiered border-like scrawl?

After Rimbaud, Pound was nuts. When it comes to the poetry, some think thank goodness. There’s no defense, today, for calling Bollingen panel’s perceptions “objective,” and it seems reasonable to imagine a few, such as Eliot, were willing to overlook a man so “situated” — that is, despite Pound’s anti-Semitism as well as his insanity, he was ensconced on the “legitimate” bases of shared esthetics, the shared part left, even now, unspecified because it’s easier left out.

So far: There is still no nastier event in poetry since top dawg Arthur Rimbaud snitched on Paul Verlaine & switched off poetry to run guns. (What about that prick? Rimbaud, I mean. Can you rap over Bourdieu & Weil’s take on renunciation of the Dionysian crafts, poetry & lovemaking, as a coherent strategy in Rimbaud’s case? The system upended — production so restricted it pro forma led to killing the craft? leaving oneself out by reference to internalized, thus rerealized, revised, social norms of cultural legitimacy & self-perfection!)

Fun and determined, senator. What shall we dredge up today?
A friend notes, 

Tonight’s salad won’t contain much nor belong to much itself. 

Or 
tho its taste promise is delicious to us, to tell it so to its face = sucking up.. 
taking nothing for granted 

..we’ll leave the d.r. to taste maligners = our foreheads are void just thinking that way, why? — as if adapting to a contest among decentered pests! 
Dioramas later, 
soaking up positron equations I might short out 40 days, lent to us (our hobby and bent!) disabling us to commune midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes? 

Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing political-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.

121: A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments the sport of being & being extends
to reproach general evil and vile absence : I am &  most men are not that bad, not that adulterated 

if we reckon our being accelerating just pleasures, and ok — 
straight, rank feeling has a point & I see how others see it. 
Count your own abuses, bevel-ers.

I may count on my thoughts, not others whose eyes seem false —
I think it good I maintain who I am.

Whom will we discover? How? 
Do you both laugh? Per rules,  
regs of sounding it out  
it’s overdue.  
You’re back in vertigo  
 
yielding authority with no proxy.  
 
Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon  
: any of your remedy gets exaggerated, desert marsh light = a bespoke presence...  
What’s this the (x) about?  
You say yay (for x). 

Caspar continues, 

I’d rather not trouble you with my impressions of resource hoarding, so dependent on flow of daytime into night. Shades at midnight can ‘almost’ whisper faintly but I botch capturing even a fraction of their directive. My willingness to keep watch through the evening keeps up only to find your granting me permission to maintain my distance. I’ll let you go then. I knew you would understand.

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 only half-know where architecture takes us. Poetry?

Today I threw together one or two objections about genome selection and freedom. 
 
The pilots that disappear on our radar had kind eyeholes,  
a measure of their gamblers’ vision, along w/ curly eyebrows  

of course, promoters of the foreground paradox of bad reasoning. Raw  
 
proxies responding to scale
 
in the background — and to sweeten arbitration (less explanatory data) —  
young bodies keep booking fights (proxies responding to scale) on what’s inheritable, determined.

Feeling is feeling. 
It’s said repetitive motion has gone too far  
and some at all levels will be enclosed, not spoken of,  
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting  
some lives together & keeping nothing.  
Trained staff encourages sampling,  
sharpened, feeling a moral duty.   
 
That was the life of the party speaking. Highly attentive,  
morally camouflaged. A gun fired.  
 
So you get it now about dualism, you can make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. The ride feels small —

43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Like skull with putty.
Urgent, dizzy, all agreements come down to earth time in dreams, darkly bright, best seen darkly directed.

The more you put on earth, you know shadows, shades, colorations are imperfect (un)seeing, but blessed (made more adhesive) and happy when I’m looking on you.

It’s much clearer in the light. Yes. That quick. This is a speaking animal in heavy sleep, remembering regression —
all days are nights and nights bright days. All time’s up.

The will to quiet is the flip side of getting a lit 
-tle piece to burble, crying doubly inaudibly  
for more power when a robot loses its job offer after a thoroughly successful war on the homeless...  
I get scared how the losers meditate their spinning up to the new hostile  
surface, w/ no message. So there’s nothing left as surplus.

High time to define sex come of age, pleasure long-
stood. Helium released. Populations drenched.
A circus repatriated.

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, my example).

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 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, the conditions of production.


 
An empirical analyst accounts for the double performance of her enterprise.

That time of year with smarter definition. 

How’s that if your electricity is out and you forgot
the pre-existing theory profiled in the west, 
ferns and moss growing either side, every-  
thing about the yield blowing in its whereabouts  
news that seals up all the rest of perpetual unitary joy...  
 
It must expire. 
 
I liked getting you to this point nourished by discovery. 

Discovery entails voicing new speech from old, 
 
Knowitall.  
 
And [...there is no inside [...] only what’s already here [what I breathe] outside, which is continually immature, impulsive...] [and]  
 
To observe what’s streamlined and compressed, aiming fast —  
I’m scared. Good morning to write up an accident or two that don’t matter, made tactical as we circumvent voice commands, remaking spatial morality into chance agency, no vision, no dash, no longer having to know.

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 one line.

Time runs out. 
I stay in position, authentic / inauthentic;  

I model your attitude and your facts  
yet  

fear overextending them if  
or when —  
This is when —  
Huh? Now you know I did it.  
I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.  
Poetics, a subset, off that, of epistemology,

A flood of text molecules offers ‘relationships.’ It’s very simple.
This isn’t the time for that.

No. Let’s.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are!
explaining entrepreneurial ignition inside a collaborative framework.. 

O adoring you as an all-in enterprise assumes a moral politics where clouds of electrons boost us into magnetic orbit.

As Isaac passes from consciousness within physics to desolated marsh,
walk along with me. / Where to?

To the battlefront. Nightly measurement skyrockets (blasé for improvising
at first, then it coils & feels there are authentic possibilities) ..

I admire your parents (ghost punks), friends, enemies’ enemies, strangers, also ..

Charitable informatics is garbled when this derivative. Avoid rejecting
criticism, keep your smart object-waves under wraps ..

(I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in,
forward, back passing thru the 1st position
of the sprout.)
It’s written (odd, eh?) that was enough. O May!

It’s hopeless, my life like my sweating over you, nondestructive, unextreme. I crack up when someone mentions reincarnation, but next time you’ll pick a family from a line of tenured scientists in the non-snickering future. We on the left are depressed because ours is a classless de-corporated shtetl — no need for socialists? time will tell. Tho, maybe there’s no option? 

You’d still love political verse, but with reservations because of all the dirt, skid marks and resonance of decay, “refined by distance.” I made sure you could tell.

The inscription read you’re my business. This means the writing is clean, architecturally intact, mirrored in meantimes.

But calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with top notes we won’t erase, some jittery appliance in the occipital lobe, active against the ‘human grain’ when touch management is unleashed.

I’m just commenting.

The inscription read you’re my business.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went:

There’s a bright debate — where eager heartbeats bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out,


Drawing youthful bounds along dark zones of propaganda

And owing to your interest… this won’t constitute a holy date or sacrament. Or only one of many as notated by back-up flutists.

My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples
Gain longterm advantage spreading the plan. Imprisoning refinement.

144: You and I model language as living matter — the love we have re-involving impulsive energy coursing through particles of appropriated wit and spirit, especially given appearances and language given itself. Still. Never in doubt, you and I despair over synthetic transmutations of savage intelligence as if it were only that, as if poetry weren’t a history of subjugate pride and fiendish procedures.

Stacked tonal aspirations. 
Not a problem — for a relief pitcher staying blithe in the win column, changing into a tenebrae-stitched uniform, eco-conscious and cool in response to one’s frantic cells. 

Lilac is a favorite zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. 
Here we are, talking about it.
I feel so socialist. Validating market snapshots, optimizing the center: 
More than a single system, 

A huge agnostic discipline 
About attitudes behind morals. 

You know this open and shut — 
Take it down / or thumb thru 

The balance left over. Inhabit the brim 

To the point you don’t have to know anymore yoga than 
We know now — less than nothing, the inside of zest.

... the rookie is burning on the outside, his only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy from theology, wellbeing and actionable conditions, missing how far you are beaten into their projections.

Feet on the desk, smoking is no manner of genius.
If I’m right, Beethoven’s later sonatas are brighter to a significant degree. 
He had to keep up. Or 
it was simply beautiful.

The status quo models verse as living matter re-involved with impulsive energy coursing around flecks of appropriated ideas, especially when it comes to appearances, tones and language use itself. I might call this artful transmutation of intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t a history of folk enslaved to procedure.

An outline of foreign service starts at once, as its top ashes flow upwards, looking sketchy as well as appealing to tastes abroad. I hope all are happy. Don’t be sad. Bag a good one. 

My foreign friend flicks on the sunlamp
to countermine zooms.
Her neck and collarbone are burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems partible
emitting an innocence that lasts.
That’s an outline. 

46: Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand abstractions
like unforgettable elements
in our sight, touching and holding the
moment, dividing it with
illusions of taking off for the
unknown, a mortal war
spinning or spun / upset / out of control yet
just outward parts of how our eyes impanel freedom and my rights
to your appearance, to your quests and thoughts, your inward heart.

I’m just saying theocracy’s imputers are icy blokes with no sympathy for phantoms, emanations or specters brought up in an ‘alien’ language. And to clear things up, there’s a scent of acacia and frangipani coming from their smart landlords, the ones in black culottes.

Oh, here’s their release from last night. Don’t smudge it.
I speak with doctrinal knowledge, your holiness, smudge and beware.

A flood of text molecules offers ‘relationships.’ It’s very simple.
This isn’t the time for that.

No. Let’s.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are!

To explain entrepreneurial ignition inside a more collaborative framework.. 

O adoring you as an all-in enterprise assumes a moral politics where clouds of electrons follow us into magnetic orbit.

It’s come to our attention a proposition digs into science or it does not.
It was amazing to meet you and your idea. Anyway


it was amazing to meet your funky penumbra, to be influenced by street life needlepoint 
and other class resentments.


I was astonished to communicate with inky musculature evoking nighttime.

Oceans then deserts.


‘Quoting’ here. I can’t stop. It’s my job.

That’s what it seemed.

I do my best and worst work north of you but best or worst does not exist if unobserved.
And I still get picked on — now in a major way.
Yet business proceeds — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured abs.

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of abs.

The vulnerable and maligned muses were not held enough as children on a moonscape of beaks. Ever notice? Certainly I wasn't. Now I have to make excuses for friends of mine buried below their own livelihoods with no heirs.

They’re donning synthetics, and only half familiar, and just too intense, plundering the transport of their ambience. 

Hands up.  
There’s a beyond just passed an easy show of hands 
beyond orgasm overdue an hour ago (one mild altercation took it 
into a shade of de-constraining tease). 

A heyday of hands.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went:

There’s a bright debate — where eager heartbeats bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out,


Drawing youthful bounds along dark zones of propaganda

And owing to your interest… this won’t constitute a holy date or sacrament. Or only one of many as notated by back-up flutists.

My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples
Gain longterm advantage spreading the plan. Imprisoning refinement.

106: In love, a practice of counterclockwise seems like not much at all, only sustained focus, innovation of hand, foot, lips, of eye, of brow, nowhere expressing all your beauty ...

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

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

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

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

I’m fifteen. We can do the roundtable math rather well, yet not entirely. Free-range sunlight in the clerestory of our lair... where elements of bloodthirsty aplomb are obsessively off-key. Safety in timing carefully disguised as bright and furious, knowing the advantages waiting a beat.

I’ve good news in bed. (But) I’m getting ahead.

Can you clarify why? For what party in sleep?

Breakfast past midnight is smokin’ yet a lost cause. Like The Inferno and Nerves and every shined wonder since. I have nil to learn engineering the tilde of speech desire.

The whole sky is celebrated. All sorts.


Why make so much of fragmentary blue in here and there an owlet or purple jet streak?

Noir is for life. 
In America, of all places!
For all appearances nothing lurid due at signing. 
It’s filmy out there.. 

Questions of motion and change belong in the verbatim over 
 

-supply. That is, which lexicon will be appointed most enabling.  
Ellipses point the way out & will continue — how we express and re- 
express ideas, simple or not.  
 

Big, multiple ideas are broken down or/and up; discrete yet continuous 


constituents, subordinated data emerge, important as big data, simple and not. 


Simpler the better. Poor poetry yes, scansion none the less. 

I’m fifteen. At that time we can do the roundtable math rather well, yet not entirely. Free-range sunlight in the clerestory of our lair... where elements of bloodthirsty aplomb are excessively off-key. Tragedy in timing carefully disguised as bright to furious pace setting, knowing the advantages to skip a beat.

Good news in bed. (But) I’m getting way ahead.

A decade from now no one’s famous. Some
Earning a doctorate in leisure studies. A verse opera under no circumstance.  

I keep my mouth shut & tune in,  
Escalating with all my parts to inhabit opera’s received logica.  
I’m retracing what I think I’ve learned, I’m  
Concentrating on song colors, naming obvious primes,  
 
Pushing the most indisputable among broken arts,  
The self, defiant, truculent.  
 
My drink — or my aftershave — is lime Fanta  
Leaving me in an atomic infinitude.

My head turns, divided by leanings pertinent in several ways at
Once. 


Clockwise = my 2nd turning flushing two or more rationals into one 
Albeit with an amplitude of bobbing subheads. 

Sonnet 93:

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

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

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

What have we if our heart is in another place?

Top moment — I saw your approaching motion
my once satellite du monde in real vacuum.
Now you’re smiling, shhh — more observant, with a more observant love.

Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless..
It feels impossible.

Likely, that point becomes welcoming
hands that boss

parliament
maneuvers. Point taken. Explanation intact.

Knowledge suffers a bit, finding things out, 
Traveling through each of our genes —  
 
You learn to enjoy yourself when abroad. 
Who’s sick over us and who questions any vulcanized backlash? 

No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless:  
 
The future would give more / no more 
Than thanks and laughably no thanks.  
 
I thought of you.

A cubist staring into the mirror — staring back at her tapestry, a big girl with a pineal gland attending what’s neat in the future, and she finds me attractive!
Then the fuzzies of taking on a tapestry matter .. 
G forces gathering momentum in shade. 

Nice, brushed off the immense highway.
A moth / its one rule for flight is mostly uniform.

That is mostly a bolt out of cloth.
Never defined by dressage (quantum mechanics).

Wind angles down, shaken nice.
It was nice
That changed a lot.

The questions are mostly the same,
Em, I’ve misplaced em.

The hitch with supervised simplicity,  
You annoy others (meditations in telling).    
 
I don’t mean rampage in any civil sense,    
I mean surgically knocking other chanters    
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them    
From the inside, slicing up!      
 
I was kidding I’m not religious.

“I heard talent, beauty, money come by their own right;
by your putting them to the test they take ‘full effect’.” 

We mean knowledge puts up with wandering, finding things out, 
Unleashing each gene —  
 
You enjoy yourself on weekends when abroad. 
Who’s sick over us and who questions any vulcanized backlash? 

No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless:  
 
The future would give more / no more 
Than thanks, laughably no thanks.  
 
I thought of you.

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...

And 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.

I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless inexact I wave and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My hands are supposed to cohere in what I cull from hearsay. Raising one hand exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness — raising two, always a wretched misdeal.

Walking thru panes of sunlight —
how many hours are we talking?

Fog over my hair.
Big-eyed instincts?

Nothing new. A feeling continues you write until you drop ...
a feeling from in here buried below all the animation.

The half that’s not familiar but we’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with stripping down, not talking.

Speaking of you, with you, I like walking, being
charmed and not worrying about what passes through me.
You, me, of course, are an expansive subset of charm, trinkets I believe.

When blood types were fresh no one faced blame. Now I am bleeding to see or set up the 1st position, be shown the dissolved needle and my as it were haystack with no frontiers, knocking the moment down with glances, nods, inspiring small talk.. yet keep it under wraps.

Deep-rooted. Soft-voiced. How now, my anapest.

I cannot stress enough 
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho  
 
I put off our resonance to give us joy.  
The boat’s cortex held out. Altogether.  
 
For what party in sleep?

A note on aging.  
 
Smacked down by a coordinate from outer space,  
 
Keanu Reeves isn’t reckless, iniquitous or anatomically complex, 
though monotone to the gills like a slower yet more self-subtracted Rod Serling.  
 
We reach elements within erotic catalysts where touch management is unleashed. But Keanu is suddenly beyond diagram while the crew calm down. There’s a dual nature to visual depth that makes thought disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of escape. 
What’s semiology? unless we un-gnarl affects to figure it out?  
 
(I don’t remember whose or how.)

Sonnets are sizably ok —
Let’s get through
any ostentatious breakout from pensiveness.
Your lab door is open.

Lab animal overboard!
Freaked by what lunch with you
meant and does, you’re under whose
thumb? Handsome, on the other hand
your partial mind is a floating
weapon. That’s why this syntax
can relinquish human polarities
as sonnets set traps..

throbbing red traps, another the color azure, bright, digestible.
They just coincide.

57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests  
 
all at once. Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of move ment from inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to expend ...  
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 world-without-end, a sobbing, precious mess.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I think no ill. Adieu.

2 quests for careerists.. Just who are we to say we should listen to what you are doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English into prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive for eagerness to do what we are afraid to be?

This is a formlet of pathology — 
 
I’m doing ok 
standing in waves stinking of pleasure — 

a dream of immense peering through  
as if I were an action that couldn’t meet with your approval   
 

yet whose estheticism enlarges.   
 

Diagnosis is a mystery. For you.

What makes chosen words dressed in black?
Adopting the air of mock superiority or even on-point (albeit fleeting) superiority.
Most rainbows taste like batshit, but we keep licking.

At speech therapy you wear wet marks under your shirt — there you go — sent, 
Slotted for long scream divisions raising heads and  
.. bright debate  
 
Drawing boundaries along dark areas of youthful propaganda. And ..  
Our dual-cosmos line of argument self-inflates as a weather injector, fouling the atmosphere into Beirut colors, pebble and pale lucent grays.  
 
At this point, colors burn up, each measurement raging over acres of matrices, giving more access to haystacks you call the multiverse, which looks most imprisoned now.

Captain your thoughts
then opt for a safety
school. Push shyness aside,
spiff up & sign the skee-ball of smog-
sniffing affirmations.
Regulate an embrace multi-nationally.
Es geshah am helichten Tag —

Never feel sorry for the diva
who has brains and eats
them.
Hypoxia — poor make us sick, The.

88: Patriarchy expands fraternal allegiance. & you & I so belong.
We’re well acquainted with our own double weakness. Well, I really enjoy it. 9 out of 10.

& we’re both right and wrong.
What do you look like now? It’s right to ask? With all my loving thoughts I can set down our story, bending my weaknesses against myself.

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

Another time, we meet in this version north of the town offices 

shaking tidal vapor thru no wait, no  


fewer than ten seconds off the slopes 

— 
 


meaning above the steps coincided with the light  
 


clipped to the powder base patching this thaw  
 


— spirals discharged, wind heats the ground and trees open.

Follow instructions.

We got in surrendering our fingerprints

humming to each making a windfall. We

toast anyone else reaching first grade


w/in one’s center, letting months and years slide.

Cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching the seasons float in willpower.
Their work multiplied by pre-adapted prejudicial vapor. 
You think transparent rhetoric all-purpose, all calm, never resolved, 
Because you’re only one sailor, one swab 

In a climate of drumming opinions and best practices.
Your bacchanalia talked up while slotted in. 

Sailor tattooed with an addiction to visceral consequence — swab 
Reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, sailor.

My cohort flock to travel benefits. It’s in the evolution of avarice, loose ends everywhere giving wind sheer the opportunity. Looseness keeps younger bodies moving forward. And that goes for the sun shining with its belle-lettrist metamorphosis in the street, damning grown-ups.

Rationed compliments ensue secretly, 
Honest accounting disappears like functions of context (text frame procedures) — 
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes 

— Travel well.

The light (you’re sensing) 
failed every midterm before —
too on edge over invisible proofs. 

Income bulking from your dad’s 
condo? You move 
to become walled-in there ..

Check out the view — baby flights 
of gleamed birds in the rough .. 
enough! 
Enough is not idiomatic enough in condo years. 
Too much room freshener for today’s estimating: 
still, seeming seasonable as subterfuge supplants higher
dimensional hindsight, requiring autonomy to hold off. Dig in ..

Edens of chiastic inquiry .. into no word yet..
how yet no such word impedes coincidence in love.

90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model passivity discharged by shore conditions. Only don’t drop in.

The pond holds scraps and parts of nesting authority, an after-loss. Rainy tomorrow. I join you to re-reference an arrow and bow made out of many purposed m.p.h. gusts — and this is my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.

Blame for his mockery — Orpheus thought a musician would deeply apprehend radiant, interactive forms (and defects, among a few variants) — soberly, his having liberally looked over ornaments of beauty, alert to surface details, part of his work week. It’s all hideously exciting if you’re fair, unstained and the sweetest. 

Justice for all is as the crow flies only made to look uncalculated, seeming so it’s said. Liberty with caution, minuscule, unexciting.. again. 

Hoping nothing won’t happen again, I cover my throat. Duly of course sounded. A few facts crowd around figures that are un-garbled when least derivative; ephemeral objective content triumphs. It’s kind of a snob racket. (C Bukowski) 

We weren’t exiled or orphaned, we decided to pursue other interests. Plus, it started again, as theory, pleasure is to ethics as the roundup waiting in any landscape, waiting for mistakes (1) and (2) jounce. 

Spontaneity backs up position vectors (thinking and acting). 

Woe is paralytic. I don’t detect a drop of broad mindedness toward any arched dynamic or versions of it — far better when and how you love or even when you nibblingly slobber over a numbed one’s body of rare happiness, feeling better. Hope of this implicit in the simplest rejoinder to the proudest Dionysian. 
Dionysian = could pull off brocade, puffy energy, cute, can’t think straight.

Parallels to our own variables show us the assassin self is uninvolved on every emotional level — even on the level one holds to show and act with others, the ones bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.

For a recap, I color within lines. Drink? I take my latte to bed 
And set it on the stand, tagged and released. 
You wailed it, Yosemite. Morose I am.. and optimistic.

Your immaculate body becomes numbers and detached frequencies.  
“Pronounce” it —  
 
That’s good.  
Now draw the strings. OK.  
— what do you know!  
Mayhem  goes off softly  
So hard to shovel, soft to fall  
White, rose, pale red —  
 
A roving shadow feeling like  
A thermometer — legends say,   
 
Crossing fingers blood standing’s  
More feeler than hand,   
 
It shakes the nombril ray,  
 
A maneuver crest high just dimming the drowned thumb,  
A sculpture with a cup.

Interview w/ a rogue: Sorry, I have no association I can share. I was held up at work as singing birds flew by from everywhere. I don’t know why. When I was alive I stuck my fingers down my throat to empty it. I am yet to be reborn and am thus a saint.


A saint learns to kiss her life goodbye. After the credits an aggressor opens with a right cross. I usually fall asleep in the saint patrol wagon whooshing off. Rich, aren’t we? I mean in conflations of fate. 

Sonnet 94:

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

festering into our very own subjectivities,
which we can’t pinpoint or supplicate, my lord, husband...

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

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

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

[We’ll be right back. ]

I’m going on all nerves stolen from you.
It’s impossible to separate my understatement from your achievement; both are adolescent in a good sense, pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be performed. Next, a cool minimal database advances to burn out our swing — try (again?) living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. 

The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. What matters to me is finding and / or emplacing each close to noble attempt to be you.

When blood types were fresh no one faced blame. Now I am bleeding to see or set up the 1st position, be shown the dissolved needle and my as it were haystack with no frontiers, knocking the moment down with glances, nods, inspiring small talk.. yet keep it under wraps.

Deep-rooted. Soft-voiced. How now, my anapest.

One does one’s best and worst tautologies and still gets picked on — now in a major way. 
Business proceeds on spec — you stick in a little yoga. Then one runs after you  
thinking what a complete idiot. One is. One’s hair’s havoc, you’ll have it restructured.   
 
The contextual self, oneself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch the nonpleasure of symmetry-breaking terms.

Secrets of satire have to float free Finding an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) & structured Lasers & nanoleaf hexagons (& deep reeds for all-holds sex). Are you healthy enough for consummation in a gridded environment?
A mold of our dialog brings up others impressed, even as beauty’s struggle over time gets too slippery.
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history & waxing satirical, as the poster read, ‘time’ encircled on beauty’s behalf.

For a circular time those impressed with strong gestures talk that way.

Of all the varied and fabulous pieces by new composers I wager many are bursting with personae — because of what they rock to, also because many exuding confidence have gotten past graduate school, one’s corporation, a ballooning investment. 
 
One of the donor’s places resembles a Marine outpost with sweeps of property edging a subdued headquarters.  
 
Here technology’s refined flux appears noncontroversial.  
At sundown a leftist French brain speaks up, confined to a balloon:  
“If you’re anamorphic, within measures of comprehension, flux members too often adopt overheated lingo or low-to-overheated if you like.”  
 
Other balloonists, also French, shrugged to themselves in red embers; not really, they said.

Secrets of satire have to float free
Finding an informatics of doors opening (bassoons) & structured hiss-
Lasers & nanoleaf hexagons (along with deep reeds for all-holds dreams of sex).
Are you healthy enough for consummation in a decorated environment?
A mold of our dialog brings up others impressed, even as beauty’s struggle over time gets slipperier.
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history & waxing satirical, as the poster read, ‘time’ encircled on beauty’s behalf.

For a circuit of time those impressed with strong gestures talk like this.

110: What are resonators for but to effect command of offenses we’re uncertain of or we sold cheap. There’s nothing but our affection left, my best of love. Love’s confinement a desperate measure, and it’s true in reckless hands, yet for silent partners there’s depth to surface and mostly un-despairing perceptions (grinding teeth, looking on truth) of what won’t be contained between us. All of the above.

A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall
And me, I’m feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases..

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

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

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

What comes of the heart’s marquetry?
A clay-toned physique returns to land 
Shedding light tints in reverse of rotating surf.

Dresses. 
 
Now she’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, you might think it profitable to string her sentences together like paste rubies & artificial pearls deliberately mismatched, like John Waters’ suburbs, inexpensive & adroitly passé. Each sentence shines 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 doubled down, my other dress draped over bowls of Chesapeake crabs & crab traps, a near accident or an accident-in-the-making.
It went from cinches & dresses to pants & belt from there.

I’m for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is that indirect.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like an avalanche that drops acid over the cognitive machine age. 

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.

Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to interminable sex.
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both adolescent in a persistent sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly,

unspeakably, as libido constitutes knowledge modules, glistening aimlessly.

Candy will stop by later.

Ode to the dead (maybe not yet).
A beautiful meal is a life sentence:
Everyone’s in place. One’s in place.
The food also knows where it belongs.

The stage brightens.
Is it dark matter inhibiting our endowment?

Knowing the ropes to scale now
clearing the dinner club of lame comforts,

Stern, all the food pecked over, even down
to our own place, last place, last row.

No variation. 
It had to be known to you v. you know.
Already short of truth, analysis suggests shorthand abstractions,  
buckeye elements surround international topics, street names 
more indirect than rapid searches show.  
 
It had to be known to you while going blind.
Minor formalism otherwise holds us for the overweening moments, 
winning or won in an upset, out of control yet  
surrounding your aggression with your touch.  
 
Ouch.

Blame for mocking Plato — he thought a musician would deeply apprehend radiant, interactive forms (and defects, among a few variants), soberly, liberally studying floss of beauty in breadth, alert to surface details, part of the work week. It’s all hideously exciting if you’re fair, unstained and the sweetest. 

Justice for all as the crow flies only looks calculated, Plato said. Liberty with caution, minuscule, exciting.. again. 

Ola Academy — 
It’s a big screen with a smallish but upcoming role. No security or scalability, improvising anyway with few in the backdrop, a differential ambiguity that hangs over the ‘film’ business.  
 
Ghost anthems rise, fall. We’re dragged to their outdoor awards ceremony tho, moist, asleep.  
 
My own moments up for review leave us unseen. My gratitude, clouds of sleeping lovers in waiting — for quickening what I mean and waiting on more running on field in Henleys. And I want to note the Academy encouraged me to try wind surfing in black and white zinc mesh.  
 
In between, this tendency of ours must decide what blank is. Could I redefine it as a pleasant restraint moving onto zealotry to diagram your happiness? Or conceive of a spatial paradox with enough scholarship transference restored, taunting the authentic equipoise of a kiss.. 

48: One only care, a trifle..

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

Tho a treasure you are left the prey of
Tomorrow’s falsehoods before the fun starts.
But you thirst for it all, all arms.
I feel you in my breast, my dear care — you and I play a
Thievish long shot in comfort for the true prize, our pleasure
Outlasting grief over how we come and part.

The soul is a hypothesis, a sweet flying
iota of consciousness surfing terrestrial states,
this both to find and destroy itself.

We begged it to go faster and keep at it,
stick with a sublime subject or object, rally
for more than shimmering in a mega-lens.

If you can buff it up perhaps you should.

Because I’m a particle animal I can do it all day.
Rank fidelity, a gazing furl trying to gnarl
A sparkle to live autonomously altogether, no vision...
There is tho nothing like no despair.

We got a grip on. 
Times are an outrage. Good times, bad, treason’s treason.  
We’re tracking themes thru anxiety —  
for prejudice damn well plays w/ a formalist bias,  
a tradition of selfishness I’m loosely not interested in.   
 
Tax breaks for the wealthiest keep it humming.  
Due process is to look, also   
 
(we note now at the end to factual conservation)  
to be seen.

You & he wonder about summer’s eternal
possessions, the buds, shade & one day
staying chaste .. It’s on the house. 
It feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold. 

By the same rule there’s too hot
a reliance on eye pleasure, a threshold as well as disaster 
Optimizing the center where death lives.

Which path did the photon take?
The answer takes more than studied ambiguity
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still.

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

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



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


I was pleased you communicated thru love.
Take care, and take your time;
likewise, inspire small talk between you

while keeping the sum under surveillance. You look good together.

Celebrity stalkers are in the grips of mistaken identity, immune to sudden desire with intimacy. What have they got to lose? 
Bags and bags of money for one paid to reflection in infinite battle with consciousness.  
As a result, the named oceans are dated,  
Pouting, getting better! When they come to — there will be perorations re-framing rainwater within fairer scents rimming sunlight in suspension, ripped, a lot off  
 
Amputated chutes!  

In descending order of indefensibility...  
 

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


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

No orgasm. On second thought, call me. 
 
I want to remarry in quick fire in a church in white. Or did I?  
Marriage makes me horror-struck either way —  
Aghast in wake of our previous melancholy.

Beaten gulps, pouring vodka that swirls in an action film clip with multiple data fields and a crew of deft extras in malaise. Their theorems about pain are supported by one or another grabbing ropes, showing pain.

I’m told you’d prefer not to watch. It’s better using your own voice to ask a friend or two, pretending they are you, falling mute.

First question, true or false. It’s the one I ask myself. Technology keeps humming to a manageable stretch to when you left, even ruling you out. Out on the sidewalk you hadn’t left a name, either. And yet I stood close to you, always wrong. To leverage and grow are businessspeak. To get feedback. To understand.   
 
Fricative efforts add a bunch of O’s   
 
— language & body mania, aqua ions show their molecules in bulk, imitating an obsessive personality. The rapid strength of bonds between metal & water molecules is their primary dissolution.   
 
What can I declaim? Repeating prose clips may transit through a few (of those) loopholes to confront loopholes’ necessities, maybe.

Beating rhythms in a voice for a glassy abyss of convoluted propaganda, repro-ed in fingered pigments. 

With brush and oils you can throw dirt over the charged ecology — easier to pick up, un-feed and dis-embrace after the climate changes.  

Go on, as a corollary. Tell us about your reading in propositional aesthetics (debunked by snotty affiliates who you think are like you but aren’t). 

Jumping in, being with you seems mathematical, having our best bout staff shifted or fired who come to work anyway. 

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.
Adding 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.

Before the new rulers arrived, there’s flamenco.

Water worship, exquisitely handcrafted
meditation retributions.. It’s
no accident the hollow inside our pessimistic theory gets mixed up, the survey said —

our overlapping symbols’re way out at sea.

Your sea. Your flamenco in transition.

Our faith and consequences.

You are now failed. Don’t call before you go on. 
 
de Staël turmoil, under pressure for the ‘rhetorical’
experiment and critique to improve and integrate your soul. 

In one text, we’ll set up a bighearted appendix   
for you, with large type you find on a safety school cafeteria menu.   
  
Unknown to you, I’ll be chancellor of the swelling enterprise   
dividing my feelings into culinaru vendettas.

I don’t know that much about you, but you remind me of someone
who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far away or far off, quelling fear.
Half a day goes by and still you resurface.
You are unattainable.
You are hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Never disagree
with inferiors. Never.
Never field questions
about meaning what is not said
or saying what is not meant.

Failures in love are heinous, antique, never in 2 places enough needing permission, shuttered, untainted & bleak, drear & just dumb. 
Translations = ‘live serious & young’ ;
‘articles have been written on...’ = ‘long-lived, still this croaks’ ; 
‘snow falling backwards’ = up & up / course untainted ; 
 
‘the world of secrets has its own’ = dire patterns to succeeding circumstance. 

Second view, just scents — of freezing water and sunlight, of loss, of untitled confusion — underlie twisted (Have beaten)  and dropped topic headers (are brute).  Higher, I think, goes the max explorer. 

Hyper-manly references are scooped up from one segment of the sensate scale, motivated by an ambivert more than sexual need. Joe Ceravolo insists one follow along his line of reasoning (Supply it flowing out).  That’s enforced by repetition at the end, “in this rice Spring.” Syntactical Photoshop gives the visual imagination warm(ed over)  rice, in grief, and slushy leftovers of physical demands, audacious desire (Supply me),  and inconceivable, hoped-for spectacle (because there is in this rice Spring).  

Spectacle, desire — points of origin even slush ought not do without. When we find these, we know we’re closing in.

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.

It was nice meeting your ideas. I was reminded, poetry is science fiction or it is not. I just try for simultaneity as well.
 
 
In this one moonlight was made of lard... for it’s indispensable smearing glows.  
 

Often a partner in writing can be deliberately passive-aggressive. I’m kidding. By oneself, practice makes perfect, pell mell.  
 
What then travels down to Earth in a flummoxed packet of energy, wearing Burroughs’  
 
gestures which are precise. Bright monied eyes. 

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...   
 
Greyhound hurling on seesaw but feels fine,  
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s  
Bingeing is no ot so entertaining or serene. A maelstrom lights  
Up the foreground, no questions asked.  
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites.  
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox. 
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..  
 
Being scared is 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 to nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.

Refrain:

This is the last time.

No punishment without a reward, reverend.
Only your own revels meet you halfway,
Aftermaths of the hiatus, letting your adages cool.

What were we thinking?

Is this a document or did I make it up?
Frozen water on Mars is a smoking gun.

Another question. Smelling coffee gasses a decimal
Of where should I hurt?
Once more and be done.

The once conservative invention of worship is over.
A wall thus of calm is put up.
Love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing adult ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering consensus and political distance. We’re redistributionists, youth symbolically living to do it over but scale it off. Everyday politics practiced by young and old in anger, useless bruising rhetoric, forcibly asserted.

Cultural obligations shape who youth are, you know, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance with our future attributes.

Prayer: I can steel myself to make something up and call it mine... 
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent:  
 
I might add, seems textually modest as respectable Eurocentrics undress for survival, avoiding careers, soaking up the city among savages of their own design.  
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! May it help us solve you and me for X! when we let them.  

Own a bolo.

Bottoming out, your face is inside a very powerful camouflage (instructing you to use it). Your beauty and years.

There were balls of steam suspended in bacteria over our hands, discouraging others. (A boiling kettle contained prescriptions, it’s only a guess.) Better now if we not digress but file out a shade apart to trail the other copycats. 

At top the penis is everlovin-elastic to break one or more truths.

Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos and documents, from which large scale dull instruments get tossed. Artificially not important.

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.

We met in a torn design aka unstable. Pointilized elevators, for instance. Micro repair drones no one talks to about anyone. We can subtitle the rip a deformed hemisphere over, a seething blueprint. — the uncomfortable feel of any D.J.’s hand burst from a toy and symbol. Defensive narcissism. Overall.. it’s nothing’s personal.

Affordable Noh. That’s both of us w/ big ways of explanation. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to spook w/ pedagogy 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 flying haze drags down sculptures of felted helium
A little like nerves of drones spinning in warm wind.

Noh stuff.

When one came in I shied away from giving out the room temperature. What the median implies, I pledged you in abstracts for a hidden idiom of stagings and renderings, creamy highlighting of passages and lucid systems out-of-focus, a lovely coffee table-sized read.

Any cracks should be bridged with living fiber.

“Absolutely,” Theatrical Physics Adjunct concurred.

It’s open mic. Didn’t I tell you? 
Squatting in nourishing overview, there’s one off color equation 
of a deceptive simplicity  in love as well as pride, duplicity.  
Creationism = a lone boyfriend keeps faith  
better than one or another, believing neither.   
 
Separated from a source of meditation (let’s call it) you’d be sad too.  
The source is not sad. One separated from the source is.   
 
Or it’s obvious.  
Sadness is beside itself.

Adam made 10,000 mistakes — and won’t correlate the enormity of it, since evolutionists even now are running back to his bedside to hear more about causality —

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

Eve, off Adam’s rib, a financial planner ahead of my time.
I’m still not finished, she says.
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke first.

Collaborating on 1’s entrance essay: 1 firmly believes 1 can do this. The question is the same. 

Nothing went wrong?  
 
Part 2: Question losses, excesses.*  
 
*The answer is the same. Next, 1 did 1’s homework, which was study more for a spelling bee.

Scorched & metallic, sexual dynamism... it’s a quarterback problem. What used to smoke will come back as an erotic v-neck of lurches off dotted lines missing your skin. Had 1 a next will? can 1 spare a smile of understanding?

Edens of chiastic inquiry .. into no word yet  —
how yet no word prevents coincidence in love.

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.

I personally maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic one more time.
The place is firmly democratized, sir. Beginning once seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery running this.

Today it’s ur-autumn & with these Q-tips I’m free to cut nothing off.
Not even a con anarchist.
Since this is still pre-January, thoughts wash over time —
For starters: Do you test, lease, defame to get the best?

& the answer in a day wherever that is if ...
Is it time or times?

Unable to help you play a single practical joke, we hadn’t spoken for months, having found direction and refinement backstage of a human ‘construction zone’ perforated by mirrors, swindles, procedural lunges toward more pranks. I said I had had it. 
 
And Eve had. And something else.. 
The 10,000 mistakes by that boy who won’t correlate the enormity of it all as evolutionists run back to delve into causality —  
 
Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn. I am 
 
Eve, a family planner ahead of my time. 
I’m still not finished, Adam says.  
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke first.

It’s pie for you now to set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. Your verbatim relishes living among a slew of lucky design ideas orphaned to an alien auhenticity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age. 

(Welcome home.)

Yes or no, certainly. & all right  
All attempts to throw your voice were patently dumb & of a special force,  
Interventions & addictions too disproportionate  
To the unknown risks. As one infringer you fail to mushroom,  
Ignored. But our positions are hellbent when three or more  
Discover wisdom on unaligned terms. So we need oversight.

Showing results for lives in disgrace: ‘You’re profane. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Breaking in looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Good.’   
Then you told me borrowed methods will go further —   
Making money w/out reason is mass   
  
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the way we feel, there are vector   
Utilities for expressing uncritical value   
  
— national perfume! spritzed to scale over your credit checks.

I can’t make it. I’m staying in.
We can’t always gather this way but we do as we’ve done.
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. The brilliant live on in one flarfy phrase, one word fudging abasement in confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined). 

Sonnet 26: My life is charged by your sweet respect. A merit so great
I can’t sleep, given immunity, I hope.
My thought is tottered, all naked but fair. 

Dear you,

Finer aspects are lacking for a good generalist’s conceit. I’m wanting words to show you I am barely half a wit, words addressed deliberately to look made up, to look as if we need a hand skipping dinner, combing through jabs and moving high and low pressure points peeled back from getting our tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brings you and me home.

I don’t think driving in my mind can be boasted of by moving points but it happens so fast I don’t worry it gets easier.

Un-reproved, I love you till then.

I came for the invoices.

Ever notice? No one lives in that town.

Half-vegetarian, self-colliding fog drinks only from its disconnected, treasured demographic squandering energy.
We cannot mean erasure, remember.
Our nerve infused by regulatory propriety until we get up to dance founding paradox.

Name a landscape and give birth, rename it and you bestow an ecology of resonance and history.

We’ve heard enough.

This is strictly the governor’s business.

My cohort flock to travel benefits. It’s in the evolution of avarice, loose ends everywhere giving wind sheer the opportunity. Looseness keeps younger bodies moving forward. And that goes for the sun shining with its belle-lettrist metamorphosis in the street, damning grown-ups.

Rationed compliments ensue secretly, 
Honest accounting disappears like functions of context (text frame procedures) — 
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes 

— Travel well.

’Recursive perception‘ — 
For your birthday (bleak as mine, too) I came straight from the agency. My best wishes welded to the dirty space in which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, equivocal, in crayola.

Angst was everything.

Rationed compliments ensue secretly,
Honest accounting disappears into functions of context (text frame procedures) —
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes

— Vacation well.

The focal point is an entity with many focuses getting to foci. 
Isn’t that a calling?  
 
I’m filming pratfalls that seem hard to manage.  
 
Let me hold us in the dark... It’s a future perfect thought  
 
as your body keeps moving, clouds part, sotted with the urge to fit nothing in.  
 
That’s how being with you works asleep.  
 
               Slapstick.