There were missing utterances filling balloons 
w/ the enormity of what’s hooded — a dirge-y lexicon  
that cannot be regarded as tenurable  
given cost averages. One’s intellect seeks damages  
even while in concert, fired up but still missing proof.


High table sandwiches.

Platterpus, the cough, the kiss —
Justice w/ passion, seltzer

foaming mercury selenide... I told you these were blocking ideas.

I kept going, barefoot & outdoors

tuba bits are detouring into surf & compact surfaces

— praised, & the opposite for blocks, growing acrostic, too rife

after doublecrosses. Now I grab my pen & clamber over to

your jet gate where you’re pulling sound-

tracks “w/ pulleys” over notes of civet & benzoin.

My fly is open. I feel so overextended & I forget big words —

under whose thumb might this be? This decimal nook

is a stretch of dark matter — Careful! the glove-as-puppet, always a trap

while phys ed shifts to one martial art at a time

into the present. Right, a bright, new affair is supported by a steamy look,

heated, promoting sea plankton. Bookmarks aren’t supported.
So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. Your ride is brief —

A ruse, tho, can be your generic, long-living object that looks transparent, emerging as sleep. 
So you’re still in danger within the same maize-y wait time. 

— How do bricks 
hang through the duration? (Waiting is the easy-hard part.) 
Ruses ride by themselves.
57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what else 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 movement 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 sobbing, precious mess, a world-without-end.  
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I think no ill. Adieu.
Starts out as an immaterial change 
in orientation before we nail it in a book.  This
we fill in with letters reversing dirty words around closed circles.  
It’s raw data for symbol systems inside fresh alphabets  
helping us speak to other books & spreadsheets about sub-content  
& meta summaries in even newer physics w/ fresher markings.  
A steel door stays open. Here are the last letters of bliss.  
We best defer to the sharpest models to differentiate ranges. 
Deep blues, silvers in biological shades that form vowels;  
consonants have already taken shape from German models.  
This organizes 5 minutes infinitely without saying bless your heart.


Tonal jumps signify charity in a spatial
float off...

repurposing one’s alter ego, raising stakes
according to odds makers for daring.

Don’t show us
your simple skill. Make it work.

This is becoming god’s country.
A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall

And me, my feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases...

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.

I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless, inexact I degrade and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My fingers are supposed to cohere in two fair hands I cull from hearsay. Raising one exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness raising two...
152: Selfportrait in loving you with hedge clippers in hand, fighting blood sugar.
[Zygotes follow commands. They’re a collective.]
I remember hedges thru 3rd parties, their deep viney-ness.

Sunrise. Whose-ever rhyming system — Uhmms call up homonym oblongs,
Back strings pop into songs. [The RNA of things they seem..]
To enlighten you and me I’m

Mashing oaths to love into phosphate genetic tags, keepsaking your tag, mine, ours, ourselves!
The longer I live it’s in front of me. 
A glow in seconds before a scheduled avalanche, fun ..and explosive. Wow.   
Or much like staying right in no now never.   
A preferred toothbrush has been abandoned. I’m forgetting about it.  
I’ll be heading out soon. Moving thru a lefty runoff. I won’t be funny or relax or specify...   
I’m lost in the new geography.. O again.


My counselor affidavit registers deficiency in discovery and revolving pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with myself.) 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters chose Trump. Yet this is the latest case.  Everything I note here is integrated. Remember those days? Remember those databases centered on surplus insertions while John Kennedy sober on the ground kept looking up... (Reminds me when democratic ideals could get by on appearances.)
Feeling is feeling. It’s official.
Then it’s repetitive, suggesting emotion has gone too far 
& some at all levels will be disclosed, then not spoken of, 
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting 
our lives together & whittling wry self management into grift. 
90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model strains of passivity and its onset by the rear shore. Only don’t drop in.

Tidal pools hold scraps and parts of nesting authority as 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 your and my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.
Witch: Pass the white I think they’re gloves.
With further directions your understanding registered. 

Off the rack, but great 

— a good to a very good response 

inasmuch as speaking about or to you comes across the border over thin night.


Showing results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive motion went further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass  
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..  
Sleep has no idea of here and now when everything is the right answer 
.. all on your check.
No futures present new phenomena —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony purring yet often put aside.
3-D models are mindless taking chances. Anyone we can engage in transparent secrecy is charged by mental concision.

Rationed compliments ensue and float
several kinds of math.
The math is fascinating, I think, to squelch actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power we might have had. Had the self taken itself un-nostalgically?

— an idea to perform w/ just one note in the future perfect.. where any disrespect feels like eavesdropping.
66: Simple truth, our work here in the desert is beginning to spin. Like the blind we’re disabled by authorities who wiretap secrets weighing nothing in, no credit, no ripped off melancholy, nothing but misplaced honor with a substitution agreement containing you and a more civil version of you in full force, pulled at from inside..  and..
Can we cut to disgrace?  
Relax but beware, bilaws of cause and effect are disabled as traffic pours in and aims straight at you. And the other you. Tired with this, the other you will perfect the business end (doctor-like). The civil you and I misplaced our joy since sleeping on it.. applying love to our own flesh alone as well as losing control of forsworn holding skills. Simply tongue tied and tired of all this perfection, I leave my love but attend to you and yours, of course. And.
Witch: Pass the white I think they’re gloves.
With further directions your understanding registered. 

Off the rack, but great 

— a good to a very good response 

inasmuch as speaking about or to you comes across the border over thin night.


I have decent rooms and vegetarian board. Living large is an art prepared without a couth manual. I hope you’re both open to a former way of life stocked with interfering colorations of air as in a plush, intimate drawing room augmented with coarse bouquet. Like Elizabethans, say, we would see there were lots of tulle and offline making of amends. Music sounds on alert changing uniforms for the weekend with some breathy, lithe, spooky edge.
Early nesting process stuff. Ketchupy
The coast is never clear, fat boy...   
A whole new side to nuts & lightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center,  
along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper,  
clearly in the nick of it, spoiling for everyone.
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
in expressing “you,” “me” & any unclenched feelings

which we can’t pinpoint or supplicate, my lord, husband...

But may I live & die if fair ever turn sour
or our summer fester rather than show summer flowers with no pitched provisos
& integers-to-be, no part to fix, no comeuppance, none.
Any emphasis prepares the manifold; earlier accounting systems join the 1st probability of having you to touch & subsequently empower half the cost of what’s not said.
A true dictator shows us the assassin is uninvolved on every emotional level — even the one you hold inside and act on by serving others, the one bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.


Never disagree
with inferiors. Superiors. Never.

Never point to silent contentment
with its branches lifting suspended glare
defining a nearly invisible, rotating opinion column.

Opinions from math deliver good news, stately motoring already had its faint say.
Now you can text and drive overtime, behold zeta functions befalling hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.
Fair haired singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to interminable, amorous sex. 
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both nonpareil
in a persistent sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly,  
unspeakably, as libido constitutes a knowledge base, glistening aimlessly.   
Candy later.
60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, time feeds on us and ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

Sing: this changing place, this pebbled
shore is in the repair shop because
it is the repair shop — as miles streak by...

We contend and confound — in the hands of light
set on the rarity of natural youth and beauty.

Each changing place against slim odds.
Almost the same as hopeless in a place of hope.
Yet younger guardians that follow grow tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; wherewith their hold on the land is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

When? as soon as today.
Dear foundationalist,
I’m thinking of a color — no name.. an antsy-ness 
running everywhere that’s off — waiting for some big thanks 

there was nothing & then a voice  
went upstairs & locked the door. 


There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for sunlight.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.

Finalists quit general practice — re-up for industry with no honor system.
Actuaries unmoor. Affection looks like vicarious advice. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer merge in our skulls, an emotional syndrome that’s broken

down, yet a lost cause. I’m driven somewhere then by love
to sketch sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes closed.

There’s transactional friendship, as well. It’s a slog like sloganeering or craft (flashing an observable sign to consciousness). To postulate, craft is to slogans as sport is to kicking down signs (see above). Don’t get me yakking about today’s news. Uncertain, odd sounds are cool, and we’re all for them and against impingement unless they mess up our transactions.
Riddle: Struggling between rarely and purely descriptive vulnerability to vie for solitude, taking your hand to suspend my paradigm... I killed for you. Why(’d you bother)?
82: Sing:

I swear..

...I’ll say it again, there’s dedicated speech to overlook, a high-five as you whisper this is a second emphasis, both natural and gross.

Adorno says strained rhetoric is a precious jewel but even true words have always been devised by humans.
And therefore there’s no escape beneath the social parasail of discursive infighting. Plain speech commits us, forces us.

And so does love. You are as fair in speech and knowledge as in hue.

Devised in love, that’s the plain worst case, and, further, here we are — let me give you a hand.
Concision or hue dealing method, means

can be objective and lack will. Rain,
an incident unveiled as ambition. It’s in the eye

as a catamaran of process.. this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time
on a crazed errand-stream
to contest the following.

“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling,
sane behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.”
I still can’t turn that down. It can’t mean just what his language implies?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.


In a mean (like now) perspective Bartok reached for 
the moon. How is that helpful?  
With your brand one constant, you cut the rest off.   

It brought down the red curtain, with a curtain rod staff.   

Having it, you hobble   

Away like a name dropper.   
Emotions where they don’t belong.  
Blues by Corelli.
Avoidance with a message sounds personable, calm, also passably awkward. In the same call the proxy reverses prerogatives, that is, the voice does. I’ll table the difference — a mixed result but along with swift powers two kinds of physics have never been better aligned. I’m altogether devoted to the happiness of most proxies and then all our tech people in the call center. The firm gives me focus, serves as my hideout, while I search for a motive, working the ropes.
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 — where roses in shadow seem false, laced to fine society. Out in the open is wherefore 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 streets, bankrupting grownups.
Year after year we heal ourselves, each cell in our bodies spinning starboard. Healing, not curing. Cells are temporary factories, at bottom; we are factory owners. One says the seas of government are primed for the next enterprise. One says what another says which is normal, not new now, never. We are natural organisms running out of time.


We leveraged the social papyrus to miss you.
How long have you planted thoughts with no gender balance?
I agree. To be reviewed is to be published.
Shit. Ahem.

Teaching can’t be taught.

Well, 2 out of 3.

I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.
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 feeling pride, duplicity.  
Creationism = a lone boyfriend keeps faith  
better than others, 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.
71: We don’t remember your life, your name, for I no longer mourn you. Why would I? Forget about me.

Like a surly freeloader / poet, I overhear captions within sullen mechanical clauses... giving vile warnings. It’s vile — compounded when I think you read this line into my thoughts. I’m only the hand that writ …and I plan to negotiate more cash for rapprochement before I go. Hey, don’t worry, my next line is not incompatible with yours, for I love you so.
You were in the settlement. 
We were sitting there, and  
I made a joke about it.. how  
it doesn’t dovetail: time,  
one minute running out  
faster than another time in front  
that catches up.  
That way, I said  
there can be no waste.  
Waste is left out of the settlement.   
To come back for a few hours to  
the present tense, an instagram,  
looking like it was being seen, half- 
turned backward, slightly moist, reading us.