Variation : prototypes, scars, male processional battle 
gear, skye terriers, background media & sexual  
exercise under conditions surrounding our desire  
to adapt compliments for insurgents to go dark enough.   

That’s how you hang staring in the mirror —  
A few of these items won’t balance  
until you think a way to scan your proceeds, listening until you  
stage the best into stressed & refined inelegance.  
All informal — creepy — with eyes half closed.
Lilac is a devoted zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it. 
So a redraft prompts special inquiry, tho tentative, after all meaning of structure. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you’ve been on deck long enough, you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. Data diving. I’m happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and objurgating..
48: One only care, a trifle..

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

Tho a treasure you are left prey
Of tomorrow’s falsehoods before the fun starts.
But your thirst all for it, all arms.
I feel you over my chest, my dear care, you and I playing a best-of-vulgar, thievish
Long shot in a pleasure ritual for the true prize outlasting how we come and part.
It’s snowing, nothing personal.
Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders
descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)

hustling all the time, awesome!
This is off season & with these swabs we are free to cut nothing down.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, a mad(wo)man’s or tyrant’s thoughts wash over time —
For starters: Does one test, tease, defame to extract the best from competition?

& the answer in another season whenever that is if ..
.. is it time or times?
Gardens hold what is commonly loaned.
Meeting here feels like preparing our cabin in the launch.

Bad behavior, showing anger, the beginning of learning — more easily understood as work- 
permitted off time,
she’s too many promising variations like this citrus ring where sawdust

hell tore past our pungent sentiments often for hellbent pleasure
while we’re thinking otherwise over a brunch.

Very late it began to be less cloudy.

Lamps buzz daubs of sound, almost a lotion
to countermine blocked views.

Her neck and collarbone burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems progressive and cimarron.
Meantime we’ve moved off the mainland. 
No unknown futures present newer phenomena, fenced off.  
We have no perverse incentive to take more chances as we talk thru our replacement woods.  


Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage 
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.
We invented the night birds.  
Had to. What we thought we understood  
they enjoy making ‘dumb-  
great’ from the top  
terminating in celebrity stalkers, gawking in peers’ backyards —  
Following orders so conditions inflect non-criminal immunity  
to sudden desire with intimacy.  
Inessential consequences of my behavior are writing.
I’ve got a pet name for my tongue. A jerk.

Surely as there’s a drumbeat in the heart of theoreticians, there are lightweight near-truths about their achieving access to felt qualities.
Jerks’re brusque. Their new job title, urgent. More house to watch ahead for sober handlers of airedales w/ no equity motives. But I’m underhanded getting to axioms we can manipulate;

no right, no wrong?

or / & like crustaceans you & I give in, to forgetfulness, according to an eclipse.

Our gabfest takes place over the fields for each of us in the multiverse
up in a weather balloon holding beef jerky.
17: We don’t want to be a second late — I’m hellbent to get you down on paper, to write the beauty of your eyes where numbers number all your graces (even as poets lie) — hidden with half the story in time to come.

Tho my paper yellows with age... by your grace you should live twice. Yet who will believe these half-true touches are living parts of you without touching proof, without your offspring stretching all the way into the night, keenly inanimate now tho alive all that time.

You say no way, I only half like it, bleh! / This poet lies
...lies, but no less truth than earthly tongues filled with living rights to an antique song...
Unfinished sculpture. 
I am is still here, the body’s heroic purring could not be put off. (One hush dissipates the other.) And one sorority reviews egg whites in their spare, bubbly zeal to outpace an apparatus (not properly issued to commentary).


Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage 
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.
Spell it out:
Crucibles, dignity of appearances don’t mix. The dirt on this is your
personal, sustained concussion version of unintended charity... 
or untended or..
But here’s a perfect ‘out’ —
How lost on the trail? What trim?
We’ll word process away impetuous, costive, unflappably happy,
brusque — the donor’s shimmer a blazer of complacency. And so better.
Leaves us crying for the boinks in your pleasure, O
and little to pay you except wait.

And what’s the charge?
I don’t know that much about you [hi.. ] but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling torture.
Half a day goes by and

You are [hi..] unattainable,
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, [hiccup] this is serious.
Soft fear and recurring despair, the flip end to formalism ...
Refrains in descending order of indefensibility...

(a) Poetics is democracy.
Ablative evasion throughout autocratic poetics, as in general prose, foregrounds style, motive, subjects for closer attention.

(b) Friendship is a job (like comp) and, more elevated, craft (signing). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory that kicks a singing agency when the agent is down. Don’t get me wrong I hold free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend (that’s down). What’s it? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, much later.
145: A fiend’s tongue taught me to greet then end each day with nothing woeful, nothing sweet —

Once I don’t hate you 
I find mercy to renew my argument and sing.

For your sake, I hate hate.
I see chidingly day follows night...  your lips’ gentle breathing, a languished state yet explosive.

But today I saw your hand in my life ... a great doomed sound altered, flown away.. I’m totally saved, from heaven to hell, flown straight to your heart, Jezebel, never to hate, “not you.”
Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio” 
I am touched by everyone now alive,  
softest jazz, lower right, his lips moving up, down,  
talking design shit.
His father’s image contains everything he knows. How can a bantam weight =  
feigner? his dad asked in freeze frame over the mirror phone.   
(Dad’s next book is staring out the window, saved-up.)  
Amusing I suppose. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis  
in a compulsive battle over the ultimate smiley face —  
it’s not just who grinned first (dad) that counts, but also where  
and how. This’s my tongue giving his lips (the son’s) a brush up  
realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”
What can be done to language? I register nothing. Never again? 
Boredom is poor experiment, our knobby supervisor said. And that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And 3rd cousin to dream: Knower and known are clean osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind the suitably flared reptile frontier.  
Time I guess to air-lift foolish eagerness and cover it with worn Keds and Swiss Army knives. I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to any concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,” btw, “never death.” After dying, the process is plugged to death, a ‘never,’ as in never never.

I consider head scratchers neurolinguistic balloon product managers. Once or twice removed.
Prayer behooves you, it often says. Prayer for those who talk shite no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 


Fact: eye contact is more defensive but our strategies around it are consensual. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane sense that’s forbidden. (And all we did was tie up our shirts.) This is how contingency shows up in prayer, making patterns to and from alterations sited within a figure/chicken-ground/egg round robin.  At the same time I’m forgiven I condemn and mourn meritocracy. For all men are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice geometry to respect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland for nothing.)
Concision in detailing method is a catamaran of process.

This is how morning began.

Getting there we wait in long lines for Twain. The Thai are hardly speaking. I turned to a companion and asked if he was interested in how poetry’s put together.
He thought about pure things as style surrounded by syntax. All at once.
69: Kind eyes are deeds.  That’s the world’s outward view.
Other parts of you I can measure watching you bathe  
crowned in tawny daybreak synthetics.  
Others in common accents commend your beauty in seraphic white.  
We’re all right! Two more loiter, intent.  
No smiling. We’re wearing harnesses w/ panoptic properties 
extending our blood-pull orbit toward the camera.  
That’s outward praise.
This could have been a sonnet for all lit bares within
visual poetry. I never use that word now.
In better versions through algorithm, pathos =
appropriating outsourced research.

A nonempirical approach compels argument where I’ll...

I’ll try for an overweight blunt invention
of the non willed state, or what some call civil

efficacy for streamlined intake. Soak up the view.
Dispatched for 
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo  
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible  

July light  
and suddenly just theory  
awing in a wolf’s regime,   
There’s brush  
fire toward mosquitos — shot  
through the throat, asking too much 
..dropped by my boyfriend,
we all do dark things sometimes...


It began as parallel ideas. 
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect  
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping  
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series  
As a glow that’s cool and regular.
Beside Panker observation tower, from which one can see in good weather the far over Baltic to Danemark, the Forestry House Hessen Stein lies.
In former times vertikal foresters got their Ausbesserungen along with sailors for a Senkrecht. From that forest messengers with sailors on Hessen Stone glow.

Today one can eat excellently and jazz friends here come also.
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have spoils subtracting song 
— idle song converted to argument 
with little or no honor, yet sings to the ear.

Worthless to speak of darkening power, but surveys add up. 
Numbers and verse surveil life everywhere. Time and again 
you return, lending my base subjects light — you’re faster than time. 

Return! you: your fame and skill redeem our fury within what time spent, 
if not, we’ll love only vicariously, a despised waste of life in satire.
To commune sounds handsome, also calm, also a bit bendy. In the same call he reverses prerogatives — or his voice does. (I’ll table the difference. Each.) 
“Cloven, we are incorporate... ” 
His message mixed but never better aligned. Together, all across our call center (our hideout), learning the ropes, perusing scraps and parts of hope.  
No fins of infinity. Nope.   
Halloween patterns clenched exponents where attachment is rimmed.  
We have no major issues.  
No shady aftermath inter-scope.   
And to think a way out, we can blur the ground and yield authority to a bowl... really a vase. Sit and watch dogs turn smoky brown tracking vans in drizzle, tarnished from sight, playing against a stack of storm windows, within a composure for light a translator can’t reach.
A portrait should be backdrop to it. This one of you in the back. Undressed — except for slacks — up-waisted like Updike. Look me in the eye and diagram conditions of spatial sentences (touching both elbows behind your back — 
Not out of calculation) — I now know this will be ok conditionally 
For big amounts ashore are fudged — we can watch it come true to one side — tempted by re-mechanized perils, untested, untried.
Nothing better rubs me back within its reach. It = your grasp, my central aggregate.
Prayer behooves you, it often says. Prayer for those who talk shite no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 


Socialist by nature, cashing in analytics, 
Not sure discourse product pertains. 
But reading or composing usually subverts expectations.  
We’re dealing particles of thought paying homage  
To finding a subject,  
Finding how nature moves discourse from oversight.
After glamour there’s revisionist power. The virus is already inside us, wo-  lfed down improv crap, we’re pre-wired or is there a fee? 
Radiance now is the lather of swing. Remember deliverance?  
“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?” Everything works. 
In any time and place of our choosing: Act gathered, nothing there.  
True love is a physician with a way of relapsing.
Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.
The door to the exchange left ajar

Fizzy purviews haunting what hang around samples from The Inferno. A wave beats my eye off.. Structured improvisation vibrates thru volumes of time. I’m chatting up my repressed side to save us from scrapping our early decisions. The charge is to fail to remember the (mission) exchange.
Sonnet 40:

When you read this, my injury appears prior to who prompts it.
Not you.

We were informed of your deceit in our sleep, a line from Aeschylus.

We’re playing with new features and a few we move in any direction.
But not you.

Take all my loves, my love. You steal from me and vice versa since all of us are in use.
Billions of highly intelligent beings with high degrees of morphic freedom
interest me only so far. More curious is why we approach poetry in English
primarily in terms of understanding it.

As though propositions and semantics were key to poetry’s necessities.
Not you.
Pantoum: given a key, you lose it
  — shifting your attention but staying in touch. 

I forget functioning ghost towns caked with tire tracks; 
I draw a blank on hothouse interiors and decades of Tonka trucks... 

[...there is no outside [...] only what’s already here [what we breathe] below, which is 
Immature, impulsive...] [as above] 

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

Complaints and sworn declarations, 
I forget missing you. 
This is a.m. color I propose: Q-tips & smoke. I can pick you up, take a day off 
                   from everyone standing  
physical & prime for the stress of relays between a rat race  
                   & security IF  
you can trust an opposite sketch,
my 3-D models are you & everything else I can be w/ w/out you
Reach out touch base break the silence


Vacation. A violet mist. 
This is prison.   
(You have the evidence. Ugh!)   
Losers = worshippers of their detractors.  
Heaven is in our hearts with an eggdrop of credos and documents, from which large scale dull instruments get tossed.   
We drink to our loud mouths.
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 the wave’s behalf,  
Taken your lead. Word processing in Palatino sans 
All the time, staggering prose!  
Tomorrow I’ll  
Tap out more deletions I forgot to close —
Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth- 
Stratagems. Siphon starters. Add the rank  
I confer on the next available beauty, living and perhaps dying with one  
Until he goes broke — summarily I’m screwed of what beauty was.  
I center then on perception (for another purpose), sustaining losses out of irony.
Granted on a more personal note, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic for one more time.
The place was firmly democratized, sir. The beginning seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this. Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush nimbus-wet in devotion to their next decimal of the scenery. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when.
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?

Reading back: Defense owns — there seem — accents — these: 
such on put days, our 
moving & light, puzzling in place 
of morning winter smiles .. a chorus 
Emerges which on canvas .. 
noises w/ filled silence .. 


Here’s a proposition. Start over. Compelling work toasts knowledge construction — in the plainest speak — as well as finds, explains & reforms infinitesimal times-spaces. Your optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning the work, always. 
I added frontal motion to the story about those looks that intimidate, m’lord. 
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or ember 
floating down to our nose level. That’s cool — creamed just for sleeping with you, blackmailed..  
wandering into the new wrong theater guild  
chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming  
and massive parallel vistas projecting smiles and feeling 
invisible. Totally insane. Libido.
Your search had no results.
The time is split into categories of use for your work and for the sinister about-face of a system download added to our labor.
A life sentence for causing a ruckus.
Call when you’re ready.


Landscape — Antinomy in its own time: I should know. Something after poured out, dazzling its double structure toward filling empty assembly boxes you were bound to organize. 

Losing steamy light downstairs. And nevertheless you were rushing then pausing over more optical symmetry. An interim for you, pushing up and out. Before we got laid. There is little point now to hold back (cremate) a fixed melody tonight unless there is nowhere else. 
There emerge big panels observing basketball’s behavior.

No more can be threatened during silence at halftime (the sleep aisle). Fever, ague, intemperance, neurasthenia, the flu, the common cold, all would be otherwise more alarming.
So the panels keep watch and discover galvanizing their technologies turns overall survival into phenomenal physicality conforming to laws of odds, enhancing their final four values.
147: The float seems to learn amour’s fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with wares,” 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the radiant as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no captions.”  
Mad, a lover’s discourse throughout anticipated that base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave me now when there’s one move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please. 
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension
of disbelief. There’s a flipping out dance scene like martial arts, sparkling pen-

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming topmost
dicing / re-arranging rhythms pushed to extremes,
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
Here’s another centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut in plurals like progressions.
Iconoclasts count on progressions in a series, along with any allure of falling cornices
(they did).
Literally nothing was granted.
But it’s a poem.
Now months later, it’s good news
Also, since you wait to listen, not empower others.

Everything belongs hiding in plain sight, fallen unhinged, no limits. Not a one is
the point... an ornamental one; our brain / body fiber pierced 24/7, point two...

Terpsichore is still ascetic, improvisatory, sherbet hued like Erato, a voice of suspicion, hisses.
Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing. 
To traffic in deception, film your writing, take notes.


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

I’m a working temp, a role promised Hermes that threw him over the cliff.   
A perfect station plays Schubert for a kettle of heavenly fury,  
searing, puffy, relaxed and succinct.  
Angel, let’s run some #’s.  
To pass out when we wake is ample.   
I’m at your side placing puts  
on the periodic table, a rising market in wanting you (I do).  
I forget farewells.
Japanese are fascinated by pottery. 
Any dark ceramic with asymmetrical tenets is tacit  but could be looking up at a source of light, feeling talkative..  

maintaining maximum restraint  
to engage another’s psyche.
— since we have a method for choosing paroxysms, don’t expect me after all.  
Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform the boss  
You’re not serious, never are.  
You were turning state’s evidence holding on to meet  
                     even newer phenomena. (The ‘stolen parts’  
To run over.) Any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved)  
Or root causes won’t since you & I separate thru flexible equations.  
Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.
28: Robbing the cradle, baby: The big picture shows me my modest place. 
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —   
(Each flatterer, the other’s reigning enemy oppressed by grumpy distortion,  
fractured logic — Hex 39 — and their debarred morbidity.)  
The while you, babe — I always flatter you in long consent —  
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,   
happy, longer toil to stronger sorrows and griefs. So we never sleep, you thru me,
exactly what the cradle requests; the place rocks.
I’m reading theses in time and opinion.  
An interpretive opera with and about hoofers. Local accents are a focus
I listen for: Ya, 
It’s a question of escalating to inhabit received logic.  
I’m retracing what I think I see, why ya, I’m 
Concentrating on a few song colors, naming touching sounds.  
Oblique preeminent sounds patrolled in symmetry like a natural body
Like yours. Pushing the most obvious among broken arts,  
Self-defiance from normal states of meagre influence. 
Ha baby.
The gist in a slurry, plump, downy evanescing took the elevator. Up buzzers rise above affixes and urgent notation. Helium released — pushed in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the un-spontaneous summer physique. With his gift of sullen madness signing everything in burlap, compounded and oncoming in percussive isolation. The upshot. 
I like it when prose or song digs in and flails. 
That about covers it.  
( It’s that emotional core between personal and professional.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. I got sun.  

Got to run, prose.


Can we construct the weather to circle bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?
Yes, I think we can. Those seven now under the weather thrill to sleep, resembling one another trembling.

Pine assembled.
Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s really
colossal — masking your vanity becomes the tortured challenge clinging to verse. And.

To vanity, tyranny’s conditional surrenderer, 
I was thinking of god’s shoplift energy .. 
Hold on, I was handed this bag of sentences. 

And this is what I did not want to say.
— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.
Crime: The noun to which much is given. 
Can you spot the q and a between shorelines?  
While in the time and motion garden, a parallel door banged thru the night.  
I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground, our encampment after  
Ridiculous, I guess.. juxtaposed, dative..  
Anglophone atonal fuzzy. It’s so. We know it when we hear it,  
73: One will die; one will see all sunsets fade to ashes of black. 
But I’m leaving the night choir behind. Awake making love with you at day’s end where yellow leaves still shake blowing past bare boughs and dusk, glowing, seeming content, consumed, consuming to expire.   
Death is a nominal fallacy like twilight now: To love you as if that’s true... and stronger — that’s my late take away. I don’t understand cold fire this time of year even in the west, where the sweet birds sing, by and by sang back, etc. 
I’m new to housecleaning compared to you.
That’s how we have 2 arrays for work time & harmony
when we’re doing it.

The ass comment — I meant juniper
within a philosophy (of moving spatial dimensions)
a few miles per hour forward;

heated inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer dimensional rhetoric to here with you.
Our capital is redeemable, since our must-haves change directions and they’ll barely pertain, and why should they? What’s on our minds will be low on the must list, even lower than that. Off list.
We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance and manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are what we have in mind!) : The last step brand.
Did I mention Wittgenstein helped set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere the living supersede water towers and physicality itself, where there is no algebra, no privacy. The brand started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, his ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films that transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back.
You read that for some at sea sex is immediate, overwhelming, terse and decisive — A thousand and one friends back in the city in a boil .. polka boats bob as tho dots, you said.  This is a loose translation, drawing on elements of your life. You planted yourself here. 
You. You. How was it to record soundtracks for an unscripted sailing promo? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with data trees leading to nebulous, chaotic deculturalization?