Something came up. Anthropomorphism.
What’s not mentioned expanded underground.
This is as lightning gains on fog. Lightning ‘understands’

it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no fad product.

How is it fire tears up senseless atoms in sparks fog glows around

and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed and remedial —

I have the same trouble when I shop for trafficked facts on sale.

Our uncertainty principles, you see, are confused by prior understanding.
85: It takes substance and breadth; the going price of unlettered, brusque desire

(a rare cigarette case, may I?) looked after in coded forms and knots...
No thanks. Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice... Or let’s
Practice being still. (The high meal.) Inductions to other habits — hearing your breath,

I think speaking, in effect, projecting dumb ideas.

The woven haze drags down sculptures of floppy appeal

Like light praise warmed over by spinning in “Amen”

— I cannot phrase scents of snow, sunlight and your utter loss

— my tongue tied crying, folding you into thoughts.
To be unmarried
Where the sky went:

There’s a bright debate — where eager heartbeats bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out,

Drawing youthful bounds along dark zones of propaganda

And owing to your interest… this won’t constitute a holy date or sacrament. Or only one of many as notated by back-up flutists.

My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples
Gain longterm advantage spreading the plan. Imprisoning refinement.


A trivalent bond forms at birth that delays our death.

I won’t do your religion, good day.

Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods dedicated to each of four graves.

There are two ambient music cartels as well — both striking with all their operatic powers. De rigueur for now is writing over injury to outrank others amid the trivalence of thieves.
I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness, you and he.  
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you said. You were holding back first throbs as you forced mine from the inside.     

I miss the walled city where he looks up when you arrive at this next step . .   

Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. 

We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with folks in them. (Ok, you there? Bye.) 
Men and women are spangled with sugar, genetic machines. That was at the start. We know that. Taking chances put us in this lissome interpretive state (birth). Function varies widely. Lilac is a favorite zest. Again. After aging it’s fodder beets, watching what we can.. something real or unreal as a freshly poured sidewalk. By design, all utterance up is for sale. We’re delighted in our forties and fifties, illicitly relaxed, every core opens like in a ribbon vex, flying, bracing an intense ride.
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 moodier —
Eve’s apple was Adam? One love’s face? Or another’s? You and I cannot know.

What have we if our heart is in another place?
Her evolution springs from prior copies. 
Petunia Pig. Premiere then curtains.  
Childhood runs out, our taxonomies still  
unexplained as temp permits.   
We loved the pig’s attitude, her trafficked facts, but  
we fear anti-humanist divas like her, 
wound up in her senseless atoms packing uncertainty principles —  
Just the tips loaded 
...you know what I mean standing up there, promoting pap acceptance.. You’re a diva in fact with nothing to co-defend, not mad enough, feeling too little.


An outline of foreign service starts at once, as its top ashes flow upwards, looking sketchy as well as appealing to tastes abroad. I hope all are happy. Don’t be sad. Bag a good one. 

My foreign friend flicks on the sunlamp
to countermine zooms.
Her neck and collarbone are burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems partible
emitting an innocence that lasts.
That’s an outline. 
Voices in funnels, a trickledown of some futurity,
Dropping my sights — now, they’re rising
— this is the fastest way to earn points. And yet
We’re surrounded by a new opening line:
We write for children, progeny. So
Forward, a debit resonance favors our successors —

We’re nothing but voices that bell without simple words at the moment.

Simple makes a difference, please, make us an offer
As Baby Wateau vanishes
& the cake sale flags — vanished out of memory & sight as I am now.
89: In relation to conflicts over scale, the big guy and I want to inspect what you and others say.
What have you got to lose?
Truly offensive, maybe. Like so many others, I’m fixated on the guy, on war, warcraft, loss of democratic principles and governance procedures —

Dealing in procedures again, only this time they’ll be writ large. The writ carries a stark reference to the last liberal prime number among us, John Rawls, but how wrong, inarticulate and superficial to bring him up this way. I’ll disgrace myself if you don’t tell me to change.

And speaking of inarticulate, I’m conflicted about criteria for any justice, I have questions how these may apply to our acquaintances and the Supremes’ strangleholds now ...
By not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal;
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable
A given. Someday.


Just imagine what you can do with the Flex Seal family..
Then. This is a formlet of propositions. Like digital vinyl or handshake web painting. Or prayer warriors that are non-contagious. Then I stumble over the “highbrow posturing” and “chin-stroking art crowd” noted by Nate Harrison. Harrison chronicles how the Winstons’ original drum sequence, the Amen Break, from the 1960s has been copied over decades, sampled by 80s hip hoppers, and those samples diced and re-arranged by jungle-djs in the 90s. By the late 90s, dicing / re-arranging might be pushed to extremes, undanceable “fetishisizations” for chin-strokers — Harrison cites Squarepusher, for instance. I wish you didn’t invite tradespeople over to the house.
77: You and I view love as a print-out in eternity:
We live here, in a time share for printing out our stealth, your voice,
Your beauty’s imprint.
We just saw (a few feet minutes from now, however)
your address changed. We could have done it differently before
you discovered the user charts; the parent company was yours even before you took over.

You’re not going to be delirious are you?
Just for a patch of language..? good for you —
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...

Good for you!


Time runs out. 
I stay in position, authentic / inauthentic;  

I model your attitude and your facts  

fear overextending them if  
or when —  
This is when —  
Huh? Now you know I did it.  
I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.  
Poetics, a subset, off that, of epistemology,
We like newness in a way when both leave things as they are. Like no use,
how I graduated from this shame of ours, this pride in us
in the battle between sexes? Therein the rich won.
Can you place our names? I have a full canoe of alter-egos, asides and decorative indeterminacy.
Without hat, I got to anticipating mind control as disingenuous.
102: You’re the matter at hand merchandized within rotations from green hues perpetual to earth.

You’re asking a lot.

Still our love is new.
Well, most of these “notes” are literal, based on trying to sit down [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still the matter.”

The access air of inevitability around more advanced codes shattered. I hold my tongue. Shattered seemed inauthentic in a merchandised sense. You are more than a song of sex. You’re holding me, the middle of the throat..

I kiss the air. This.
Over the spring and summer construction advances.
Uncivil also true, summer advances, supreme over the construction.
Everybody goes!
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.


Hey Blob. I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating gaps in fair use praxis, and there’s a connection to that same eggy lights-out factory area, an eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up. Inside there’s little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying in the dark, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their orientation, mining the richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dawn to midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of constructs up they flare into aqueous shimmer! Shimmer is the word. It felt so good to close down a wide sector of the critical imagination, ethos, and move nowhere collectively, a function of a huge leftist irony aggregation org. Any misspelling is up to Fidelio, and from there you and I can move forward and back to connect blobby times with better fair use, keeping faith to encompass my naïve expertise.
Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, mostly. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for recovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast, proverbial laughs, even laughs:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were not reneged-on. It’s
not that large an irony tho the freehold repaired to is offered only in over there or ‘thereabouts’ patterns...
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can verse expend tribute? How spent? Why?    
This café, I think, is going to try to answer that & help the rain stop falling on our wet skin.   
I know the framework around my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write to 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 clears. My argument.
A poem is.. 
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write (if not well).  
To tap on the keys and wander out above our welcome in a retrospective..   
Again there’s no title because nowhere  
Are my thoughts so hidden in use.  
It’s a contraption. But that’s required.


I thought we wouldn’t get back to sleep.

Dawn. I was going to call it “Draped Profile.”
Held from both sides.
Distinguished in feel. “Pronounce it.”
That’s good.
Now draw the strings. Ok
— what do you know!

It goes off the air base,
Hard to shovel, soft to fall
White, blue, pale
— lavish as doves

Which are no more
Swept with visual certainty
No matter how we change in love.
Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up nonphysical servings
standing off
from having hay fever as a backdrop — nothing
hidden, nothing.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are! Nothing
to explain ignition inside a more collaborative framework.. 

Adoring you as a full service enterprise assumes a moral politics where clouds of electrons follow us into a manner of simple orbit.
80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when I wrote this. Situationists use the shallowest fare and re-chart it onto subterranean literature. 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 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 — teasers as well as the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) Ha.
Back home we have Romulus and Remus. Appetite and style — 
these guys work the night shift thru classicism, romanticism too. Appetite  
includes style but style directs taste, other pretenses of appetite.  
A she wolf looks after style.   
I never use that word now. 


Wool flowers
Are harsh.

Ducks flying down
Splash some roots..
They are flattened grey
Popping on mauve

As kennel light
fences the barks

Yet impassioned so

In-tent-flap sounds.

I count 9 windows in the dark.
Sweeping reductions were next. 
One pleasure then is borrowing sentences to cut your rent.  
The previous owner told us to cut it all off, gave us gobs of cash  
and that led to holding our share of a volatile  
augmented beyond constraint, driven  
by the smallest shift in feeling you all over me at the lunch counter.
31: You remind me of lovers gone. A morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms over their forecasts in endearing hidden patterns —
This was their 1st stab at tantrics, due many now.
They merited love trophies — yours alone now, all yours.
You have all of mine.

My tears buried viewing you. They’re inside you,
Removed, disguised as glare hung from all-in loving you.
The tallest paintings remeasure your height.

Painting ideas.

You had heard critics for hire eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sides, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s a full view emaciated into planes of junk, splendor, restoring emptiness.
Painting double quotes. 


You and I go over the graphemes. I also was thinking it’s hard for us to get foreign sports equipment or a new license without indices of suspicion and objurgating.
If you agree, I’m happiest procrastinating. We’ll have a pleasant sencha. It strengthens our attention for doing so little.

Random influences could fill in our cancelled checks. Filling in on stretched hills, cute and cuter butterflies having at butterflies, why?
I’m fifteen. We can do the roundtable math rather well, yet not entirely. Free-range sunlight in the clerestory of our lair... where elements of bloodthirsty aplomb are obsessively off-key. Safety in timing carefully disguised as bright and furious, knowing the advantages waiting a beat.
I’ve good news in bed. (But) I’m getting ahead.

Can you clarify why? For what party in sleep?
126: Don’t talk with your mouth full, fair one. Process self-disrupts into phrases and withering thought substitutes, fickle subcomponents and stiff, gnomic atmospheres to bring all accoutrement to terms, wanting, not waning, to grow! Hold on, hold your lovers there, minutes in pleasure or more! And go on, keep to your purpose, even in power, lovelier.
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics: 
We gave at the Office.  
This is hardly ever for the 1st time  
disappearing in molecules like other words, just modulations ago.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.  
Don’t smolder, show us.


Leave everything : down, self.
Prune leave less, some more:
our night still external, vanished cloud

Leave everything :
while we go uprooting.

I have to take you —
months & years
with the slow ones.
There are no pleasure substitutes, after all. 
The defrayed honeymoon can last, and it’s normative, blushing with its song of guts and neurons spinning bottles —   

There’s no hurry.  
After a honeymoon deflections accrue to go on.
59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new — going backwards here — 
Let’s vote Labour —  
an ostentatious luncheon in ‘old world’ pensiveness,  
beguiling etiquitte, self-admiring praise.  
I might say more, fool my brain, the one mended by you and your composed image but
I stay in character.  
More sure — we’re easily freaked by what antique words 
dig up and how re-inventions get composed, still we have to keep our wits about us
— looking back under whose  
thumb? And am I yours?
I can’t get into specifics,
because it’s nonverbal, a compromise.
I know I’m next, flapping my arms in front of me.

Maybe I’m afraid of being abducted.

At the top it’s shrew pink and all mapped out. So I’m ready.