9/8/25
Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.
Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal i.d. or trance. The opium is waiting, for a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal i.d. or trance. The opium is waiting, for a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
9/7/25
— Let’s be fair, I’m not sure the partnership was an accident, joining boosters of equity.
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.
It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.
Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discursive fruit until only style prevails.
(Yay..)
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.
It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.
Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discursive fruit until only style prevails.
(Yay..)
8/25/25
You have a libido viewable within antic constructions...
A log cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,
A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt where metamorphoses are cast off.
Just for the deep ride we round this into latinate tendrils for amnesia’s willfully
Fixed width.
Spirals discharge. You were great, shook up, yoked.
A log cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,
A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt where metamorphoses are cast off.
Just for the deep ride we round this into latinate tendrils for amnesia’s willfully
Fixed width.
Spirals discharge. You were great, shook up, yoked.
8/23/25
Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in mocking forms. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.
I thought as a lyricist you’d follow the leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —
(I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bark, bar repartee.)
I thought as a lyricist you’d follow the leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —
(I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bark, bar repartee.)
8/22/25
8/21/25
Amerigo fell into swelter in untamed aromas
that led his black olive dogs to you, making clear
his off rhyme, his blank stare =
a blast furnace expending heat.
Amerigo pulls the curtains revealing the dog-permitted street
where pet people pass by in their walk-on roles.
My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s vision of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo —
Another wish unfulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with more choices and repose.
that led his black olive dogs to you, making clear
his off rhyme, his blank stare =
a blast furnace expending heat.
Amerigo pulls the curtains revealing the dog-permitted street
where pet people pass by in their walk-on roles.
My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s vision of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo —
Another wish unfulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with more choices and repose.
8/20/25
Solitary dark
when air pushes ..aside
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.
When struck a lightning rod emits ballets of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes into itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.
when air pushes ..aside
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.
When struck a lightning rod emits ballets of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes into itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.
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