Every cent in our scheme could be fungible.
But not in all cases. This brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good investment prospects drive you all over. Recent example — no longer victims,
you and I grabbed the momentary offer as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse —
A moment to stare out the top windows, a lamp over our shoulders to herald the swindle in American wind farming.
1/16/25
30: Losses restored?
Often there’s near loss of a precious friend — I think of you — words we had or not — all our words forewent consequences. Our moaning sessions went bad like grief, since we know sweet woe summons up dim remembrance of the past — wastes of time.
Yet I take liberties wailing... I have a dream of fairer housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where sorrow ends. Some of us are headed there. My treat. Would you like to come?
Often there’s near loss of a precious friend — I think of you — words we had or not — all our words forewent consequences. Our moaning sessions went bad like grief, since we know sweet woe summons up dim remembrance of the past — wastes of time.
Yet I take liberties wailing... I have a dream of fairer housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where sorrow ends. Some of us are headed there. My treat. Would you like to come?
1/15/25
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.
1/14/25
Since we gave up on poetry, singalong vaulted to the top of the agenda. Leaving office had a double meaning to off-center the filing (filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept versed in for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, burningly turning back, looking on while the wax dims.
75: Every time I visit you in your mascara I become lucid about the fear you strike. Day by day you’re in my thoughts, food to my life. And I see your brilliance lives again, sure enough; it always has, fudging strife and abasement. There you are.
I came to poetry later than you.
Pleasure then the transportation of your soul take place about here and now.
Nothing for me. I feel I’m a pursuer of no delight, uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..
Starved for a look, now, counting it best if the world
see both my fear and pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, in your sight...
pursuing you in peace, all or nothing, with you alone.
I came to poetry later than you.
Pleasure then the transportation of your soul take place about here and now.
Nothing for me. I feel I’m a pursuer of no delight, uninvited to the Worry Dance, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..
Starved for a look, now, counting it best if the world
see both my fear and pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, in your sight...
pursuing you in peace, all or nothing, with you alone.
1/13/25
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
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.
O Headwaiters..
I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside
everywhere. Coordinates
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.
151: Our berserk contacts squeeze topical structure into gentle shadows that are too numb to know what consciousness is.
We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over all of us, even the poor, soon excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded type doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When social scientists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross 2nd prize although ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over all of us, even the poor, soon excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded type doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When social scientists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross 2nd prize although ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
1/12/25
What’s curious style?
Engineered simplicity holds tho
Taken whole:
“Give in, dig it.”
(There’s a new policy to highlight deletions.)
I’m waving on a wave’s behalf,
Taken your lead. Word processing wind-in-tent-flap sounds
All the time in staggering prose!
Tomorrow I’ll
Tap out more deletions I forgot to close —
Engineered simplicity holds tho
Taken whole:
“Give in, dig it.”
(There’s a new policy to highlight deletions.)
I’m waving on a wave’s behalf,
Taken your lead. Word processing wind-in-tent-flap sounds
All the time in staggering prose!
Tomorrow I’ll
Tap out more deletions I forgot to close —
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.
1/11/25
So a redraft morphs into an urgent inquiry tho tentative. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you joined us, expecting these long hours. You know how we leverage missing you, talking about it. Happiest procrastinating, I’m indexing suspicion and objurgating..
Publicity is the soul of justice.
That’s a great question.
Publicity is the soul of justice.
That’s a great question.
122: The longer I live it’s right in front of me, above all, beyond all, your gift within my brain.
There’s a glow in seconds before razed oblivion, fun .. and explosive. Wow.
Or much like staying in the now, yielding thru nature to receive you more, more of you.
An idle life abandoned. I’m forgetting about it. How?
You and I remain beyond date and time in my heart and brain. I won’t be funny or make a stab, score or tally... Every day I’ll subsist to import your love into me .. Again.
There’s a glow in seconds before razed oblivion, fun .. and explosive. Wow.
Or much like staying in the now, yielding thru nature to receive you more, more of you.
An idle life abandoned. I’m forgetting about it. How?
You and I remain beyond date and time in my heart and brain. I won’t be funny or make a stab, score or tally... Every day I’ll subsist to import your love into me .. Again.
1/10/25
Feeling comfort in disruption is one tall order. Two feelings or more (identical in all respects).. Together, you and I define an entire affability arc of ironic laughter, a genial haha in slippery zoning disputes:
Abstract attitudes are buried below our strip-down (the whole of reality), then relatively unspeaking, as tho history was a full set of hahas without language.
Abstract attitudes are buried below our strip-down (the whole of reality), then relatively unspeaking, as tho history was a full set of hahas without language.
32: You’re reserved outdoors, for your love adds layers
And exempts us from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..
That’s once I reach heights of happier men but none like you —
Engrossed, Satie plays, giving away what we’re better at
— gosh! I read an earlier generation in tears warms up today’s loving style.
Poor from love, a prior class struggles thinking it’s for real.
The struggle, not the tears.
And exempts us from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue..
That’s once I reach heights of happier men but none like you —
Engrossed, Satie plays, giving away what we’re better at
— gosh! I read an earlier generation in tears warms up today’s loving style.
Poor from love, a prior class struggles thinking it’s for real.
The struggle, not the tears.
1/9/25
I’m a bad judge of character. I just shoot.
Having a Bud with you..
my rage came to a bend..
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, attracted
to light, staying competitive.
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over
for snap love — now snap over the mouth.
Having a Bud with you..
my rage came to a bend..
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, attracted
to light, staying competitive.
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over
for snap love — now snap over the mouth.
68: Flowers shorn off bowers, what beauty was —
I’ve lost my head over you
as if I’ll inhabit my death head before you die or show up dead to you, no way alive..
‘Without all ornament,’ I stay abreast, knowing whether nature’s
bastard signs are still vital, not recreational, charting a map of nature’s full store.
As if before golden tresses Arvo Pärt appears chafing: making no summer of green, of flowers, reborn from no second
life — oblique as the antique you ‘of yore’— now I myself, truly in attrition, missing both Pärt and you, composing as tho I am no way before you, both of us alive.
Your beauty is living and still new to me.. a second life, new as roses, as ‘a second head..’
I’ve lost my head over you
as if I’ll inhabit my death head before you die or show up dead to you, no way alive..
‘Without all ornament,’ I stay abreast, knowing whether nature’s
bastard signs are still vital, not recreational, charting a map of nature’s full store.
As if before golden tresses Arvo Pärt appears chafing: making no summer of green, of flowers, reborn from no second
life — oblique as the antique you ‘of yore’— now I myself, truly in attrition, missing both Pärt and you, composing as tho I am no way before you, both of us alive.
Your beauty is living and still new to me.. a second life, new as roses, as ‘a second head..’
1/8/25
35: Your slightly shabby rooms are elegant.
A scent of acacia and soft frangipani, sweet but no trespass at all.
You’re triumph.
Don’t sweat over past comparisons. Done. Good-bye.
I’ll muddy up your love of skiing once and your playing chess against yourself, may I?
It makes sense at that, loving you is a civil war — sensual to a fault —
Roses, grieve no more.. nor silver fountains, nor clouds, no eclipses!
Good-bye everything.
A scent of acacia and soft frangipani, sweet but no trespass at all.
You’re triumph.
Don’t sweat over past comparisons. Done. Good-bye.
I’ll muddy up your love of skiing once and your playing chess against yourself, may I?
It makes sense at that, loving you is a civil war — sensual to a fault —
Roses, grieve no more.. nor silver fountains, nor clouds, no eclipses!
Good-bye everything.
1/7/25
I’m a bad judge of character. I just shoot.
Having a Bud with you..
my rage came to a bend..
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, attracted
to light, staying competitive.
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over
for snap love — now snap over the mouth.
Having a Bud with you..
my rage came to a bend..
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, attracted
to light, staying competitive.
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over
for snap love — now snap over the mouth.
151: Our berserk contacts squeeze topical structure into gentle shadows that are too numb to know what consciousness is.
We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over all of us, even the poor, soon excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded type doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When social scientists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross 2nd prize although ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over all of us, even the poor, soon excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded type doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When social scientists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross 2nd prize although ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.
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