9/17/24

Let’s see what we have at the top of the metaphor game.
There you go again. Tax and spend. Death panels. Lyin’ Hillary. Toxic concepts infuse social ideology and organize perception. Political samples direct voter behavior, especially wokes.

Joe is sleepy-crazy. Play along or rue it.
You guys go ahead.

I’m going to take my inside voice and ...and turn around and walk this way.

Outdoors I pledge you a wholly hidden idiom of renderings, highlighting themes out-of-focus, left to twist in the leafy apolitical acreage.

Director’s cut.
51: In motion, no excuses — war is unjust when only one side wages it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps going.

I’ll be an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly, deliriously our business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles, no excuses.

What time do you get off work in poetry? Should I know?
Speeding up when swift extremity can seem but slow

I hastened to run after you
as though mounted within the winds before even starting ..
New day! Matins yet ghosted, Starsky’s tongue in my ear
& all the bobwhites in Appalachia hush... off

& then — second — noise
of collared, greening hospitality where Hellenic

banter might calm a tax credit havoc.
                           Third, I stay nonprofit
worshiping everything that belongs.
All else is stress related.

9/16/24

Levitation in words has to be modulated. (They wanted this.) Modulated is like coming out to play, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact beats and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold.
Then we go off a notch keeping our eyes shut.
I miss you doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but be on time for signing our release pledge.
70: I don’t blame you. Much.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds look prime outside and you’re still passing thru, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval always ornaments tacit impurities of state. Heaven’s sweet hush.

Who are they who might envy you? Slanderers, even wooers — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to me, shatter me, touch.
To a spiritual father in the future,
Deal with our failures.
The ruddiness of brown shingles looks right at us.
A house down the street, the “sadly” restored one —
If you lit a fire there, for real, and wrote it down,
Our faces would limn how today is going.
Writing forced to the surface for an earthly face off.

9/15/24

To a spiritual father in the future,
Deal with our failures.
The ruddiness of brown shingles looks right at us.
A house down the street, the “sadly” restored one —
If you lit a fire there, for real, and wrote it down,
Our faces would limn how today is going.
Writing forced to the surface for an earthly face off.
62: No remedy surmounts heaven where detachment was trimmed. Swimming there uproots a whole series, bright, tanned & then defined by sympathetic parody & praise, indeed, contrary to less gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded by self-love & this choppy word list of love’s close affects. Also, there’s a hint of possessed falsetto. Shields up. I’m reading the last place you are … you’re open wide, here in my heart. Shifting from heaven’s iniquity to self-query, you & I read you!
Having only a sec, you never know the glutton that needs you.
Someday tho the fragile male coloration returns as a feminine force with tinctures and inaudible signs from a long history of decision making, preparing us for more retrospective behavior, more implicative speech and strict anger management.

It’s a blabbing amateur that needs you — until

his time is up.

9/14/24

If every frontal move forward were interrupted, we’d never get back to bed.

This is a transparency first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

is a relative of frontal opportunism. “It is.”) When you’re young
clemency is rampant in meaning maybe.
Maybe not as opaque.
Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts freeze in a total makeover

as all ‘this’ recedes — putting “it is” back, mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.
62: No remedy surmounts heaven where detachment was trimmed. Swimming there uproots a whole series, bright, tanned & then defined by sympathetic parody & praise, indeed, contrary to less gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded by self-love & this choppy word list of love’s close affects. Also, there’s a hint of possessed shrill. Shields up. I’m reading the last place you are ... you’re open wide, here in my heart. Shifting from heaven’s iniquity to self-query, you & I read you!
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.)

9/13/24

Tv interview:
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
The enigmatic verse syllogism under one rule is eaten alive by song layouts,
that’s the power of bounce over provisos.
9: No form of you
Felt anything but used, average.. a spent, destructive sort, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed less with guilt for political experience / current status / winning outright =

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

I wake [Ah!] — My own voice a bit hoarse
..a life talking with you,
But no spec of you tonight.
Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

9/12/24

Dark stamina turns out a soulful lab mix of you and me. The further we go on

Descriptors peel away, earning extra penumbrae with trace synonyms.
What a night. No problem
Expunging the storied narrative and

Ordinary one-in-a-million stuff that appears normal, believable.

Then that

Rolling out of bed far off across

You and yours, just dreaming it up

putting you in mind of an imminent photo realism.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Once adding

a noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure any goal was theirs), amusing
vim shaken out from the inside. Each jerk had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, no greater riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3  dimensional firewalls while waking you
then not knowing you. You jerk.
... the rookie is burning on the outside, your only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy from theology, wellbeing and actionable conditions, missing how far you are beaten into their projections.

9/11/24

We blame birds’ beaks trumpeting

stemming the tide, ruining our own rails.

Also our headboard with no utility, other than hooks.

Sing: can we cut to the creation?
Then a chorus becomes plural en scene where our fiction holds.
So if darkness “must take a wider horizon of use,” why not be kind to the top actors? Who would tell?
Astronomical and infinitesimal sums of matter compelling our work that front-loads knowledge construction (to reform poetry), quite a remote number of quiet spaces and good times, fed and oppressed by day, by night, off and on.
137: Love is a blind fool among the true and false. You never see what they see. You’re wide awake thinking this through until a subfocus gets lost. You can’t see, you grow accustomed, so to speak, directly oblique : but pointedly there’s no one name escalated or united w/ the width of what beauty is! And where it lies!

Bon équilibre, someone else can choke (and in a common language at that), one a 2nd person, your “someone else,” comprehends. What do you say? Why falsehood, tell me, speak to the wide world where several are over-partial to my judgment. Why should my heart do anything?

Yet I give up my weak words thinking they seem right, hack at reasons to try for more with the grit of fairer and fouler understatement, neither the worst or best..um...

And you know, that’s what’s wrong then. Over-partial over you I too can’t see what the world sees..
Diffuse claims from the storm-injured outer sky, yet 
during the break we reached the claims officer. Big 
thick crazy eyebrows, a swelling voice, easier than the rest. 
 
Planet Earth has been coined Taoist hell. Coinage ringed with grassy estates where men with money like you and the c.o. can tiptoe or fall further. If you invite me... Tag, you’re it, absorbed in my desire to sleep with anybody great.

9/10/24

Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom?
I rank his output very high, filled in with Teutonic expressionism
off the scale, 9 plus or more to exaggerate
(if I could, hmm).

Duino. No lacunae needed, Rilke’s asyntacity sets an extreme standard atop
maximally tall orders, looking down over his sprawling,
immersive, dark & smoky project-for-good, I say 10 or higher.

— Empress Eugenie
80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when writing this. Situationists use the shallowest fare (as fact) and re-chart it onto subterranean lit. When I write about you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled and worse, tongue-tied while I try a couple of poses — ha — there are great, pure benefits spent by proud, broad-minded recruits afloat, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they are in an infinite series in the history of fame and naval bavardage. (Or from another angle they are the series, all teasers and the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) ha
A few minutes ago there were bright blue shadows.
The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher
up, the mission’s part scribble / disassociation.
I can hear Johnny shoveling the drive
as a voiceover to operate prophesies of doom humanely,
stacking pessimistic ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.

9/9/24

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.
76: In flight, the framework would be told on telling. 
How can varsity expend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost on me.   
I know the framework of my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue as light rain. My argument.
This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.

9/8/24

Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.
50: A hip cast of super angels strumming harps, an encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus

Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far the miles to me are measured from my friends and joy left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members come on —
They are casually let go as they finish groaning bearing my weight.

Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind,
Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:

Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are far away while I am on my way at my travel’s end.
A few minutes ago there were bright blue shadows.
The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher
up, the mission’s part scribble / disassociation.
I can hear Johnny shoveling the drive
as a voiceover to operate prophesies of doom humanely,
stacking pessimistic ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.