Condition blue.
Ten or so
gulls kick it off, running
over bass.

Ripping in mean
swimmer’s blue,
in a competing mesne,
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta
more down surf, startling
partisan swaps
That swell
the color skit among removed strata.

You’re welcome, September (April). Plugged, tall, slim,  Aggrieving. 

We’re in public space, an elevator or the hallway. We think 
Mining data still has a more colossal future than trigonometry, many floors  To appropriate then publish recipes we began tinkering on.  Life wheels. We borrow the ephemeral Triumphs as April questions  Conventions, boundaries, and syntax. September exits. Yay.

Did you catch the interim report?   
 
Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of capitalist brokering that considers prototype approximates in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard. At first.     
 
Moving forward we have all of an hour to take in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume) indoors then out.   
Lights up — we take ourselves down a stretch through the libretto where we reserve dissonance. You deserve it.   
 
Sweetness is vacillating as usual after hours on clear nights. Robbers, cops 
Though fragrant, turn opaque    
 
And poof — still fragrant..   
..could rain.

Sonnet 65: 
Cultural boundlessness in impulsive concealment.. it could be a physics meditation held outdoors since last summer. All night flower action evolves stronger, steelier pretexts, jewels many out of hand.. petals and stems sway over an impregnable riddle. 
In time we hold our own, stumbling upon a miracle sonnet holding out for continuity as it were — trademarks of both natural and technical production, mortal yet like summer honey in value or a variable of beauty either way.

Here’s a thought. Stiles of cash stuffed inside passions, stacking up with such speed our national debt reflects the world as it is, advancing toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about.

Well, most of these “pieces” are literal, based on trying to sit down and sing [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still wearing your headset.”

An air of inevitability around advanced codes has been shattered. Inevitability seems inauthentic in a heavy mustache sense. I am more than at war. Your holding me, the middle of the throat..

I kiss the air. Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”

An awful virus. Just an excuse.
Rhetoric as privilege dies. 
Came from outer space; was well radicalized before it got here. 

Freer speech in every direction — your known inclination 
for walking strong will accelerate, wild yet tranquil, excused —
ruthless in value, the boundless layers set in funereal trance 
tweeting under the bust of the rhetor, a civil, democratic ideal. 

But no one tweeting wants to get ‘under..an ideal.’ Freedom is personal 

As we go about thinking like animals brushing up on ideas...

...a good amount, meaning?
that would be as thematic as I get
with that solid a wonder.

In my life I saw Ethan Hawke become my age. The character Frag-ment winks and holds my term “life” clutters any duplicity underlying his sniveling with munificence.

I’m going to leave you in the middle of the city where you belong, you robot dog.
Sweetest of the geeks take their training to heart and join a special breed apart. Hoody dog, shoddy demeanor and default dalliance will get us to our destinations faster and more pumped. Something about / the “human couplet” / piques me all over and under. It’s a military formula, zennish almost, doggy enough striving to write as well as to rock.

130: If my love is rare, modesty is unimpressive.
Well, I do think my love rare — nothing like false equivalents on the ground. Nothing like the sounds growing on my head — I almost see your pleasing words spoken from your red lips, smelling them, eating and breathing them, too.

I love to hear you speak.

I speak of your hair, your breast, my master, not a god! your eyes, more delight, no such comparisons come to mind, nothing like the sun.

Nothing like perfumes of yours, as well — I love breathing in the scent off your cheeks. And yet thru modest words our love vibrates more like music than speech.

I feel socialist. Validating market snapshots, optimizing
The practical center
More than any single system,

A huge agnostic discipline
About attitudes behind morals.

You know this open and shut —
Take it down / or thumb thru

The balance left over. Inhabit the brim

To the point you realize
We know now — now less than nothing...
a view down a corridor of great numbers.

Obsessing over you the sky squeaks w/ common sense, folds into dreams.  
Travel lit finds it has a square shape, after all, bolted down in blips w/ a simplex-repetitive top layer, tethered for competing raiments.   
 
There is an interpretation to this nightly misfortune (all ours). A dream flight is tight. You can’t find your story in a void or crescendo: Where’s the cost?   
 
Well, all right let’s not.   
 
Where are domestic metaphors anyway? our rooms have even less to say..  
Tho, when I’m feeling it, going out and doing things metaphysically .. 
.. I get where I was.

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

Everywhere there’s fog off a force field you tend to dislike, nowhere better!
No ripped off melancholy in a sky, no lecture / rap / blues, no shelter against the curious. I’m lying.

Part of what I do here. Throw up my hands! And lie.

Thought about wind becoming sullen, backs into a slurry, plump, downy evanescing into fluff. The slurry rises above dropped affixes and dead gardenias. As if. It’s in the notation. Hell on the loose — loose in reverse in spring — faces light up. Better to heal resentments buried in percussive isolation again. Hot wind dumps more ideas from desolating self-abuse to a cucumber vine growing up a net. 2 sorts of woodpecker came while I was there.

Gong, gong goes all posterity.
Inside it’s gray. Divided & confused, I signed
up. The acoustics are here, also
a container for every dataset on loud
so the bright love space will hear it
& feel it in stages taller, striking overnight.

Research-bent, my posterity does take its leisure.
It feels like a great new unofficial building
while I’m always gonged to delay my appeal.

Sonnet 135:

To commune sounds spacious, un-calm, bent to boot. In the same call you vex prerogatives, that is, your voice does. (I’ll table the large difference.) 
“The sea.. all water” 

— Your message is mixed but never better aligned for an abundant way or a will of mine. We’re rich together in our acceptance of death — death will be our hideout, learning the ropes, perusing scraps and hopes of coping. 

The unoccupied mind long overdue. The you 

I still reference in primary season. With your suitcase. 

I’ll pack for the gracious aftershock of your going ahead, reading, lifting, adding and reflective or reflecting? you in the foreground, all water. 

The Inuit, among others, are fascinated with pottery. 
 
Any dark ceramic with asymmetrical tenets is tacet  
but could be looking up at its light source, feeling talkative..  
maintaining maximum restraint to engage another psyche.

Irritating city.. reminds me, Eros is immediate, overwhelming, terse & of a Castilian order. A hundred décors in one & one metal rubbed by hand. Piano hands.

Bellwethers, fey bloodhounds are sub-jazz. If ripples reflect the instant barter handing off potential thru another, then you... ..this would be how vertebrates flatten lips, usually wet, blue and silver white

becoming day after night. O no thanks or so we have another Eros in common.

Cough, cough.

Tomorrow we leave, a sunset over anthropogenic clouds.

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. 

With each rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational.  
I look up at elm crocuses flinging their odor, climbing their trunk.  
Their air apparent. Also, I feel cleaner with you. Clearer of ignoble gases and flux. I do.  
Love is hell. Hell’s molecules will sue  
 
you — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —  
What a snit! Apart from our love I am ashamed now  
Breaking up with you feels like the flu ...  
You and I in radon decay — we hope — slow
approximations of my knuckling under you.

55: Nor aside, a period sonnet doubts purity, softness but addresses enmity  
for a living record. Nor against death can we outlive our doom advancing slowly. 
Neither marble nor rhyme so move. Yet the fun workout once was of a soul, a soul a tone beserk.  
So why am I dwelling on the ending like a warrior groom?  
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than all that, still brighter than all the wealth coming to me thru this poem...  
 
You and I find our own contents, oblivious to all posterity, uninvited — statues overturned, and we brought guests — death and memory. I...   
 
Even closer now to death... I burn with quick fire for wearing out memory’s sluttish velocity — I’ll not speak nor ask (or shall I ask?) more, should I?   
 
War wastes time, a powerful judgment at rest once at work.

Oh you know, one’s unhappy. 

We supplemented photographs for topi, I recall, 
topi of garland fungus, students foreground (by an arch to emptied parks). 
It’s up to pond structure to model one’s passivity learning the moon’s
mother tongue, stray vowels discharged by shore conditions
and savage birds in flight.

Protecting the hang of dignity threatens it.
Everyone can swallow that. Everyone alive. A little sick, even unwell,
a man’s voice is still extremely handsome, calm, howbeit scrappy. 

Further down, a kimono is entered, explaining prehension
without perfecting one’s tongue in cheek.

Once your public is mounted on tiptoes you can
add your own awesome content! 

Your first lover, dull, expressionless.  Tho

he could heal you thru ballast. 
Then forces of narrative came
seething, your breath unfixed 

from the floor as it circles midair as if it had a right to. 
Large blossoms are about to push
Also we see their ETA. 
We won’t be a second late — your ex boyfriends 
understand we can all meet taking on a form of you. 

That’s the gist.

An icon within a cemetery could be
Ambition or love?
Who dealt this mess?

A bright spot on the game horizon, we’re beginning to see a need for a blanket authority or foundation to issue antinomian licenses. A nondemocratic institution that constitutes only one of a set to which no democratic or parliamentarian voice matters, no second thoughts, no heuristics, and in which nothing un-elfin or hurtful belongs or stays put, holding ourselves to the test doctrine of multiple shots at Todd’s Miniature Golf. 

Our last owner had an understanding with multiple staff. 
His happiness washes up in our candy bar and cudgel DNA.  
O we celebrated, beaten but breathing in what’s next.  
We have a most advanced gene distribution system.  
 
Try to look better. 

To remain disciplined for our new celestial motion weekend
Calls on comfort and drill, “...habits of empire.” 
Start over. 
Cocktail wieners. 
Kids love them! 

Peel’em back and throw your knives. 
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue. 

Our partners are shiny then fallen, with grey streaks. 
Disciplined to start over.

91: Who owns property, names, anything under formalism? Boasting of birth,
of skill. We grew up 20th century, 100 years before joy in wealth
felt better in one general way, adjunct research suggests

now of hawks or hounds, of all men’s pride. Your love tho is of more delight than dreams of pleasures


that don’t exist — here we go — your love appreciates in value.

Love’s body force is better, richer, prouder, always on top —
the best is having you, finding this joy above the rest.

You and I devised robust edits to my thought while my so-named public face made a living,
almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands over laws of physics. What kind of prose government overthrows dabbling more lightly?
Then let me pull an invisible to the eye hair off your blouse. 
(Blouse and sex are off the same pile.)

At this point I remember looking up at at the music itself, feeling an urgency in ideas. Menu: 
We live in a debt growing country. Maximum restraint = knitting your own brow. 

Tho overstated, the mind is a beautiful tool of late capitalism (the unwitting effect and cause). 

Capitalism stands at the curb, a whiff of more aroma, waiting, eyes unblinking.
(Or one could seek documentation, semblance, something Swiss.. From now on the mind is Switzerland, ok? Two eyes staring everywhere, mein Herr, leave now.) Capitalism thus gives up its dude ranch, akin to its rustic factories on the way west to prey on the drunk and disorderly. This is the highway the slug runs out on, leaving us up here.

In my illusion
of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
and got lost and scattered trying not to be distracted.

It stays in the mind after words evaporate.
Where we live now we’re “into” military opera. Adherents have henchmen, dogma and the finesse of needle-felted wool.

Clearly never-bright mornings.

I won’t do your religion, good day.

Just piano and downer voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of dumps in Four Corners.

For Tu Fu could I state my own fact as fact?
We’re nimbus-wet, I had it. The dark edges must be why
We float in clouded white-out without a seam,

Two very different outcomes equally square
What we meant.

Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished in water .. on day one we’d .. imagine them in caress finals.

We’ll correct everything near the top grade filling in with capacitance-assistants. They’re converted

Theorists of a visually astute world culture (secure camaraderie). They propose and maintain bestiaries wholly populated with tests and variations. Details outside. After dark trails. Tons.

97: Before apologizing, winter is fantastic, like pre-summer for wanton beginners, a civilizing pleasure messing up eternal categories, removed by you. Your absence offers waiting rooms (decoherence), libations & it supports how I feel from within. & speaking of the pure land, it’s freezing. Barely recognize the place.

Didn’t they tell you  

thinner tones & soft muscularity are proof     
  
— our brains are stolen; after that ordeal 
  

we wander back home muttering “TV,  
  

TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia  
  

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  

Talk? You hoped we might &?

A la Depeche Mode, We’re trained in several logos and media  
theologies; 
 
Hey it’s obvious as that mobile device you’re still holding.  
Hands down. We live on the ground, off the land.   
 
The culture caught up to our light sprinkles of sexuality.  

We chew to 1 side, noted by 3rd genders;  
Superego abstractions hanging out in their unusual white corridors  
 

Suggesting we’re still trembling from the  
 


Physical chew off, just a short chopper ride  
 

From the first bank and trade. It’s sprinkling, adding up feelings  
With a so tallied mother glossary, 1st-  
Order noncommercial phenomena pitted together as cognates  
 
Still coming to seed and adornment,  
Half-audible ricochets, feeding us like a lawn.

Nero fiddles for the top one percent.

Step Five (ok, I hardly get to do this one): I start nodding off admiring invisible gamma elements at some teeny level of stochastic persistence. Waves away. I can imagine a spontaneous disintegration of immodesty until I find myself in a place like here, only a ‘half-life’ where speech is still material.

Time ran out.

It’s one of those peekaboo fogs.

Your integrity has a political bent.
I stay in position, authentic / inauthentic;


I model your bifurcated attitude
yet I could do with more peek, less boo —

everything I neglect is in a broad context. One after another piles up if
or when —

This is when —

Your nuclear self, writing you, lingers for a moment or more... Huh? Now you know I did it.

I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.
No it was clear until supper time then fogged up.

Fund-raise off that.

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m ..
I’m thinking of upgrades. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further, into the deep steam of entrepreneurship.

Since you brought a pizza —

What about these machinations to effect scandal involving us both along with sociopaths to raise your stature, fabulously?

That aside —

My sexual preferences now are for art business and cosmic history.
I really don’t know what I’ve bought.

I was sideswiping beside you, beside maples and different offshoots, no contrivance or Schubertesque opposition. It felt like what heats up under prehistoric pressure; our roles were to fill this in, lengthening ancestral menace while coddling the wetlands. I call this a sex drive / minus language, thought, attrition.

So I have put back late drafts of infectious provisos and integers-to-be, no rocky shores to fix. Schubert had blond hair, you know, and rimless spectacles, no concupiscence and no comeuppance.

89: In relation to conflicts over scale, Habermas and I want to inspect what you and others say.

Truly offensive. Forgetting what we both said has nothing to do with current biases of mine. Like so many others, I’m fixated on war, warcraft, loss of democratic principles and governance procedures —

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

And speaking of inarticulate, I’m conflicted about criteria for justice, I have questions how these may apply to our acquaintance and your stranglehold now ...

Dante nibbled, in mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace.
There was a terrific wine list — and that made for light
perfusions. He had at whom he had shedding their catwalk ambiguity.

And we’re moving back to then, minus grace, wearing raiment emotions, passing drinks around —
The current is pre-language, making up news with — and about — excess freedoms of democracy.
Thank you, dems.

The hollow inside is mixed up, research said

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean.

Your ocean. Your flamenco in transition.
Our faith and consequences.

You’re good doing this. Just in stealth.
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest 
Misery looks a lot better. Go. Fees balanced. Get out! 

After.. there are vector 
Utilities (direct flares) for expressing blinking enzymes.
I believe we never saw them before. 
Burn, turn, run away 
Suffering coincidence in time 
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come.. just..

And stop waving that grape juice. Language is tired.
Your eyes fill with manpower.
Your hair’s an apothegm to my health.

128: How often the ear stands tacit partner confounded with sweet concord. To be in concord .. (I know jacks about this ..) 
To be in concord, how often envy falls off — as tho entr’acte — wiry but fluid motions, a nimble boldness to harvest for saucy change:

Blushing to be tickled I kiss your tender, inner palms that sway in and out, 

Either side of my lips, poor lips, more than nimble, blessed, tickled! so dancing for your fingers and your lips to kiss.

Hate altered. 
 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
 
True physicality fills our minds on other matters even as  
Our faith hangs down to the ground in a sensibly mixed fellowship. You can’t throw self consciousness out. It helps, after, there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are stalking — working on it.   
 
There’s animal hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, I think, accompanied by our addiction to uncertainty.   
 
Come here often?

We went nowhere. Propositions became a poor promise.

At first random, as noted last century, there’s a rustic perp to experiential style and muddled cool.
2 million years a species, dream on, we know the $ is good, sexual liberty never expires, but the cool gauge has to be slipping

while I’m not going anywhere; Spartans hate to travel.

Do you write while you edit? There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore.

Here we go. I got you.
Here we are.
I got you.

My back!
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?

The status quo models verse as living matter re-involved with impulsive energy coursing around flecks of appropriated ideas, especially when it comes to appearances, tones and language use itself. I might call this artful transmutation of intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t a history of folk enslaved to procedure.

Impulses to conceptualize or collectivize contexts are fabulously auteur-like;
sentimental to the core, even if in fact especially if sample texts (poetic treatments, meta-essays, e.g.) argue on the surface against individuation & sentiment. This is self sentiment affecting triumph.

The war rooms (ivory/media towers) in times of blanket authority — assumed — instantiate slaughter of memory & varietals of ‘superseded’ texts, schematic petals or stems from where the other goes after s/he drops a thread.

Alt right verse’s meta-conscious. On the surface it projects text like selfies, “poking” materials, assemblers, audience. Selfies however adhere to full if reticent agendas.
Pedagogic systems schedule exams for dominant samples. Absorbing that data is high achievement, praised and sustained so long as it’s duplicable.

Rightist epistemology’s key reinforcements: skillsets bias embodied by algorithmic sets; respect for hierarchies.

29: I am deaf, “bootless” you say, never hearing I’ve been scorned, despised, all alone for desiring you...

Yet I make a fortune wishing, thinking of you when? when disgraced

Remembering hymns for love rich in hope, wealth, art, a human scope.
How all men’s eyes rise at dawn from birth, this outcast state without you, when..
Almost enjoined as to the sullen, least contented, almost cursed —

Looking for you and singing from earth, thinking of you through daybreak.

Staring you in the eyes 
In my illusion of minimalism  
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,  
I should say the accretion settled down  
Inside us, lost and scattered trying to remember.  
 
After all that, it’s a misunderstanding of gym etiquette that gets you ashore with one* shoe in hand, mine.
I’ll find you.

*that one shoe = two I stole from you.

Misshapen drops of fog storms — major rain —


affable and fresh earthworks must

carry the air out in fat, thick layers (thick in spades, hearts racing).
We can see our excess atmosphere conning our right brains,
because we share weather it has importance —

... here’s where I freeze. (Every-


one does.) You now me.

Clouds yellow, experimental at night



— flakes wash themselves now in dissemblance like kittens in lust.

In vain a head transplant brings on the knowledge affect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching the seasons float in willpower.

Solitary dark
                          the air pushes..aside

— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / his language.

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.

I knew and now know I’m unhappy and, like most everyone, I’m not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..

Classics are for romantics like the Raveonettes.

I digress: y+z (1-x) is a blind patch of petit point. Kissing is sick. It’s bad for you but wasn’t as destructive as the filching of imitation.
Anyway, kissing where you are is so blatantly filled with what it spreads everywhere completely negating its purpose.

So why does it get processed in your eyes through history?
Maybe I’m a critic who’s decided to blab about all the wealth we have coming.

Each year corrupts the interference ultra-field. The elders have rules. Stay funny and
comfortable is one.
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert / handkerchief.
Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy never to see you thru the eyes of men?

What can we do without sleeping around in our active subculture?

Last, best, fair in determined love. I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure
and going out. / According to slung
Allegory, it’s called Stepping Up, Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.

98: Smothered abstractions. Absent from you in spring. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams drawn after you, dreams that forgive me for holding the moment too long for paranoia’s trapping both of us. Summer’s story, flowers’ smell, lilies too, roses are but sweet: The sweet spirit of youth losing control. If we let it go we yield our slim authority.

Can we straddle the divide between convention & sorting through unattenuated sense-making? 
Between waiting, not wanting, untrimmed desires crowd out an undercover, captive thought pattern shaped through long derangement oiling up baby..

at the eye’s edge of clemency.

When you got up your voice was 
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flat into dust in 4 motes.   
 
I don’t know how motes, much less how 4 rush   
 
And flounder into mountains. I only heard   
 
Vibrating = Sturm und Drang,  
Dust controls anger / how severely narrowed minds are wed.

Puissance of a quick jolt sort, a holy body of music.

I question 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. Can I? Could he?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.

Spatter — rain on others’ happiness that neutrinos can’t stand scattering. Next the sun we say shines, nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual of our meaning it and not tempted. It’s still my life, we say. 
Some of you and me is here, right here, and more ‘you’ve been away,’ retreating to emancipating solitude, keeping / adding up wait time, sporting by degrees the related changes you seem to see and are.

44: It was nice once to have known you. If flesh were thought
A word could count remotely, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean within a large-scale dialectic —
No matter, despite the farthest limits of spacetime I could be brought before you if you think it over.

Will you think of me?

Dear September looking like January,
I went to your reading dreaming of cutting out. I thought I went outside
and cried. Happy nerves. I need a new sum of things, just remembered.

A heart shaken culinary distaste holding
my tongue on the verge of resisting you, thanks to notes of civet and benzoin.

In the right daylight, polygamy twitching inside a church, acquainted with women and men’s affairs —
“In each house a different white hall, adapted to sever the head
from the vines.” That’s an odd thing
to say, are you in or out?

Another thing, I want all the pillars and vines shaken.

Remember to slam the parentheses behind you
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang
(to be on the safe side).

— James Schuyler

I’ll put it this way and be done. 
I misfiled my core principles, went 
for higher ones in baroque-neurotic REM sleep. 

Any higher, they’re not talking .. 
(there’s tighter discipline)  

Highly apéritif, 
morally camouflaged cold indirection.

Violence advocates
have an entire stance in mind. Our freedom is success.

But our counter was preliminary and really took off, along 
with raw emotions from a huge manuscript 
I’m freezing, since 
It’s none of the above. 
Pericles, Funeral Oration

I’m a year and a half late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode, can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’ll making an ode to autumn and then winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

Summer!

Kites: pinky juicy crisp, unlimited
Space parlance —

The language predates handicraft mottos and canned feedback,
Slithery, always waxed down toward our bumbled abstentions.

Life is better bumbled, a few times, even
Looking broke with pencil marks across gessoed

Pearls — a level of wealth that’s puny as worn parlance.

70: I don’t blame you.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers along with buds looking prime outside and you’re still passing, unstained by ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing. Yet suspects’ approval ornaments impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest talk.

Who are they who envy you? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.

Pollution control. This medicine causes confusion.
Yes, we can fudge any alphabet from a dirty grid of circles.  
We can whip up an alphabet of symbol systems within other, known alphabets  
helping us read from grids, other notions and homonyms  
 
as well as a take on upgrades for discoursing in colloquial physics.  
Yet a steel door stays open. Here are the last letters of bliss.  
We best defer to a Thesaurus to shake it off.  2nd, we go back to the distracting alphabets.
Ergo, deep blues and silvers with biological shades perform as vowels;   
 
while consonants are overdosed, rinsed off, left to ruin, 
slurred with what’s always present.

Keep an order to begin —
Is it the level approach you’ve taken


Erasing most of marketing, any


Specificity that appears normal?

Looking over pebbles and snails
And tiny shrimp-like creatures..

That 



Wok breakfast, man, a broad-armed chef
Standing off across my


Whole food outlook!
Compression is particulate and coarse-grained. But —
It remains
Both our voices have to grow

Until I know you from a prior flossing.

Hot sun, cool air, and no clothes.

Loss of pain penetrating like moral gelatin
That pressures, punctures social tyranny

Whole.

duh.. After lovemaking, performance: spatter words and rhyming systems for married or unmarried. 
Once you think about it, think it over in any narrative, to execute thought is itself recursive — behind the thought beside itself.

Here’s a proposition. Start over. Compelling work toasts knowledge construction — in plainspeak — as well as finds, explains & reforms infinitesimal times-spaces reflected infinitely. Your optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning our work, always.  
*

Vengeful dioramas later ..
soaking up positron equations that might italicize sex (our hobby and bent!) annexing us to commune midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes?

Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing blushing shame / anthropological-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.

At some microscopic level there’s spontaneous disintegration of what’s on my mind until I find myself in a “half-life” where speech still matters.
By way of a PS on bohemians, Schuyler (ravaged of course) was more of one than Ginsberg, unravaged. And Brainard was a big boho. Auden? Think so. Jim Brodey, a boho. Less narrowly, but also Harry Matthews.

43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Skull with putty.
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth time in dreams, darkly bright, best seen darkly directed.

The more you put on earth, you know shadows, shades, colorations are evidence of imperfect (un)seeing, but blessed (made more adhesive) and happy when looking on you.

It’s much clearer in the light. Yes. That quick. This is a speaking animal in heavy sleep, you remember regression —

all days are nights and nights bright days. All time’s up.

There’s a guru I listen to. 
 
I’ll dispense with details about me, this is what I heard.  
 
The nation is being mined. 
 
Mainly specific  
pieces of pieces —  
Most out in space are pulling in impact. Often this is how the latter day sing as we come to our senses  
 
with an hermaphroditic itch gerrymandered in ambiguity. Pull. Puller.  
W e’re pushing in genetic material prompted by the assembly.

Prognosis: It’s just getting started, more video, the century beginning with 2 decades that cannot be easily designated. As a citizen among millennials, it’s gross I live to blow off my masterpiece, suddenly recruiting a new narrator under my notarized certificates of hubris and vulnerability — Euros tumble. The sensual spy novel is invariably amusing and telegenic for killing time until 2020 and through the 20s and 30s that follow, so let’s narrate that. And about that. We were always lovers. The meta-tick-tock due now and pronto — calling in Cupid — the greatest emcee and dues collector of any new century, sullen, endearing..

Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Pet rooms to talk about (never hesitate) beating then shooting the innocent into a space fracas but our last victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee — 

Upstairs message, parts of it. We call it yeah 
Parentheses (w/ monocle) to explore;  
The 4-D printer’s, they have many followers, you on it?  
As one’s eyes reset  
Focus time to question more.  
                              Anything to take from the a-argument  
For missing stairs..

Solitary dark
                          the air pushes..aside

— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / language.

I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.

I knew and now know I am unhappy and, like most everyone, not —

the boat’s cortex holding out ..

How to hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and by pulling the trigger, I replaced subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, misuse, new media — no eros in no ideas.

Self-conflict and compromise keep popping up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic allergens.

If those are allowed.

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars tape-sealed to a tree, in the distance, Eroica...

We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown,

The great We of fish, that's what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.

58: Deserting the beach — god forbid 
 
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs, waiting as the wagon sways  
with fellowship. Love in the future, at your call, a handshake  
spreads the rain,  
 
flowers, rain,  
flowers.  
(That’s it! Do what you want.  
 
The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we  
can walk on with. Good. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our  
widows.  
 
This is spring history.)

As a persnickety moral sort, Are you thinking of me? 
 
I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy wind instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge. 
Mortality can’t be beat.  
No amnesty? A ship is on the way   
 
from mare nostrum  
or like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness for now.   
 
Blinds drawn, our preachy, scavenged opacity fills w/ sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking the globe w/ its bible pedigree.   
 
Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing coterie added to sempiternal space, entered into w/ a worldview w/out speaking, achieving access to felt qualities.

We were used by the demolition pros,
sliced, etc. Oh
You were fantastic, metallically shaded,
the arms race in recess, ribbons torn down.

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

Polarized as boats
keel and cover rubber planks
across their reflection,
a taste of being shaken flame pink
and orange.

Money money money I pray.

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.

So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,
Intemperance, the flu.
Coming clean is part
Entering & staying w/in a value

That comes into you, fantastic to watch!
I won’t lie but sleep in it.

75: Every time I visit you in your mascara I become lucid about the fear you strike. Day by day you were food to my life. And I see the brilliant live again, sure enough, in vetted dormitories, always have, fudging abasement with rich food and neater drugs. Sorry concentrates. There you are.

Pleasure and then the transportation of souls and their wealth 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
may see my pleasure feasting off you, on your dime, thus, on / off your sight...
pursuing peace, all or nothing, with you alone.

A maple against daylight has breadth and the dark thin substance of shot up shadow; this is a guarantee
as local time is disguised among skimpy swags and willowish leaves, living structures aspected as abstract in the ‘inner’ harbor of glare cut from coastal space.

Space (within) doesn’t know you’re looking... doing nothing, watching you look.

Space’s slowed us down to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter, earlier or later

but even later it could rain.

I do what I can. It wears off me.

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.

To Psyche,
After you
I went into analysis alert. We twins
bear shame? Faces change when I use
your words; plus or minus they’re so close to everyone —
in a glance we’re all about to bail out, off —
why are we even arguing!

Signed, Id

54: You’re back!

Truth is, we cave wantonly to your lovely sweet odor (fairer in our forgetfulness).
O wooed rose!
Before they live within you — and like you — perfumes were of dark matter, the unmasked buds that distill a civilizing beauty far ahead of summer’s space

Filling our eyes with unmeasured disassociation.

Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. toward the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How does not knowing why intrude on liberty? 

Visuals today are overproduced.  
I produce Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate, Spot One.
Each of his microns intruded a moment before emptied of vague alterations. Then back to the same Spot. It seems for all that time.

Intrusions encompass free time, coincidentally.

One of these days..
I don’t think so ..

This is my 1st stab at tantrics, 
boiling sanguine, sad going through her pinafore of latitudes, so  
vet them.  
Perfect, she doesn’t see we’re getting our drawings from other traces  
and no matter. 

There’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed;
the oppressed are what we avoid when we can be free

on the outside. A natural voice bouquet smolders
w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

In better Prada, a louder voice would distort the status-quo on otherworldly streets:
“Where are we going?” This or that way. I guess
so. Not particularly.
Those who still insist on fighting state power, let alone directly taking it over, are immediately accused of being stuck in the ‘old paradigm’: the task today is to resist state power by withdrawing from its scope, subtracting oneself from it, creating new spaces outside its control.

— Savoj Žižek

A ruse can be your generic object, emerging as sleep.
So you’re still in danger within the same baize corridors

— How do bricks
hang through the duration? (How is the easy-hard part.)
Ruses write themselves.

2: We never came across it here.

Slow, like never before. Yet a thriftless parabola of your face intersects feeling its own pedigree (that was).

Face to shoulders, gestures are precise in your eyes, through them, the viewer’s glass.
There are proud motions throughout — the viewer’s eyes. Warm and cold climbing down a first, second, third hill. Falling lower down — a new lusty mainstream-underground

with deep-sunken eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Of small worth. Will

you recover mine? Renew me? how much? let’s call back
successive coordinates, summed up in fair praise

remembering pleasures of the eyes! neck! and chest!
Yes there..

Muse and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  

Then both can devise omniscience for a period of guesswork.  
 

Finish a stretch and all glory gets confused. Confused the way   
 
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   
 

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
  ...pleasure before.. Hey, that your velour vox?  
Omniscience is sham-sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes off by itself as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes then custodians.  

Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.

It began as parallel ideas, say a few radio waves up on poles.  
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. 
 
With dangerous gaps.

Cocktail wieners.
Kids love them!
Peel’em back and throw your knives.
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue.

A nonreligion of men, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:

Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases the dress code, a bolo tie display on 2 thru 8
For a race of giants (giants are made up pieces of one another in other names).

Love came up short for a few and drove them to forgery. Then shatters.
The taking of whatever works to swat the hand that feeds them,

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.

A luscious, noiseless bonding in the very era or epoch of the perpetually alterable 
— a stream of gasses embossing conjoined tattoos. Outside the again-feel of an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ AC.   
 
You, all your neighbors are mirror bees. Music up. Am I not one?

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.

11: 1st choice for a sonnet: to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce;
An x factor takes up our lives for yours.

We feel bursts of fresh blood, increased by your wisdom and living endowment.

Wait. Later, with or without x... it’s growing cold here, a waning world away...

But so like-minded so fast —
We convert life to folly ..

The world you call yours we make featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, living
Thought in waves agitated, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing thereby to help harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se, nature will age, perish, decay.
But we keep x in mind, cherished love..
The more you and yours live on .. we are given life back .. what you give.

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also is I. This is how the toy psyche researches, more conscientiously touching on endearing dual roles in translation — deviating of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body howling and sustained this second time. 

Next, a glistening database ‘of us’ is advanced thru textuality within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace our contempt. 

[...]

The soul (of love) is a theorem, a sweet dying
Desert out of water, a spare dust bunny grinning over interstates
To destroy liquidity.

We begged Mr Soul to go faster and keep at it,
Stick with a superb racket or rocket, rally
For more than shimmering in a mega-lens.

If you can wake that guy up perhaps you should.

Passport: There is no absolute diva in me. 
I prefer Power Events. 2nd tier, I’m long hidden from 
deity stand-ins 
until all of us (The What-If Losers) get to take up 
residence, the commercial registry for happiness.
How ee run now, power slaves of commerce.

Tv bull:
“I still write poetry. No regrets.
We sublet in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
Verse syllogisms, still under one pertinent rule, were eaten alive by song layouts,
(that’s the impact of bounce over provisos). “Yet impact and elipses disapper like checks in the mail or cool origami “Taking language into high zones, sectioned hard by madcap contorsions... You in his thought.”

Song: If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back.

This is an integument first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

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

as this integument recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.

Like no premium withholding option holds, we Americans can relax, so we go cloud up other ideas!

Are you thinking of me? 

I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy violinists in quartets w/ silver hats — Superangels w/ their instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.

I’m a year and a half late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode, can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’ll making an ode to autumn and then winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

Summer!

136: I am nothing. What’s my business? Blind soul systems led me to — O you

— whereas checks to you and receipts are accounted for in secrecy, the password pilfered, your soul knows you’re already admitted...

W/ several newer ideas that would leverage you right there in the pluperfect, had your love held me by my name.

Therein, a civilizing process today to staying purposely
dull, entered into too by spotting it first. It’s
a clear refinement where character offers liberation — my sweet-nothing

for nothing will hold me, nothing
supports our love-suit from underneath. Only you win the job!
You’re my own nothing-boss.

Skepticism is boosted by metonyms. 

Ever since, one’s intellect seeks damages. Time to boost actual ideas.

There’s not one left from an emergent zone for lack of despair. 
Nothing.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy from institutional fictive icons. 

These icons I believe can’t predict what we’ll face when they take over — hard winds! and there aren’t enough white flags going around to

blanket utterances filling our balloons. 

Their young have gained on the older, those that could, 
Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years — 
They’re real actors, not people. 

Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. toward the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How do parallels threaten a referent? And which fox drug is best?  
Visuals today are overproduced.  
I produce here Spot the dog.. or now one of his infinite surrogates, whose visible micrograms intrude a moment before emptied of visibility. It seems for a time.
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.

... 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.

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.

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 — wherefore roses in shadow seem false, laced to society. For this is where 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 indirect blush-to-blood over the street, bankrupting grownups.

There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order and your age.

Each generation gets torched in the pass, those that would,


Externalizing struggle beyond their years. (Like the renaissance.)

Today we’re feeling besieged, a little called out
In the meaning of no revolution now.

Our models are you & everything I can live by w/out being 
sequestered or charged for shortcomings,  
ballooning in harmony around some parts of sky  
 
I understand as profuse clouds. Understand as take in.  
Huh? Is it fire? Up in the glow  
the moon made indispensable for smearing light  
travels down in a tiered border-like scrawl. 
 
Adaptability in any event is hardly effortless. 
I add ellipses.

The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
a saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

coming then coming clean, another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[talk of paranoia...]

A few minutes ago there were bright blue shadows.
The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher:
This is the bridge. Have you been?

You were breathing up poetry, the mission’s part scribble / disassociation.
Lifting the moon, a figure in the ruse
whose voiceovers operate prophesies and conjecture.

And it couldn’t have been nicer
tasting in you the natural order
of unmade white air.

The cold made alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.

I picked up in a flier my soul is a hypothesis. A fish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy his wiggly self. Since we live in new enterprises and ecologies, you and I begged him to learn to swim further and stick with a sublimely cute topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding a spray of looking glass.

If you swallow your ego luxury is great. I say no 
with my eyes shut.  
No meditation spanning the surface of the woods, no  
massage. No smell of wood. So there’s nothing to resent.  
 
How does it resume?

57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what 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 the 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 world-without-end, a sobbing, precious mess.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I think no ill. Adieu.

“A solid base” cited in the last run of artificial snow, foaming dissent — I do not have licenses to bring in blood.

It’ll be there where I leave it — under an emblem for downward spikes in bonhomie —

while in bed the U.S. landscape descends from clarity.

The collapse torques with a disaster channel on, volume up. Our market shares in backpacking services and shippable goods.

The jungle is quiet... too quiet. (Theseus)
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping in net neutrality w/in the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions of different possibilities blow town including the best halo effects and feelings. They’ll come back. 

It’s nice finally to put a class of face to the humiliating covered breathing.  Today, every day open censorship is going to be there,  filtered, unfiltered as long as it takes.

                        ...speech is streaked w/ extra
sensory blather —

— I haven’t slept a wink — Try sleeping pills. 
Yah. Well, that’s a good idea.   
 
I know I’ve been deceitful, but I had my reasons. Maybe they were dumb reasons, but they were reasons.  
 
I never said I was the best man in the world.  
 
Give me a little credit, will you, credit for being someone...  
 
who tried to love you the only way he knew how.  
 
I know that speech  
 
— You do? — pantaloons last August...  
 
when Devon meets Bolt’s empyrean nephew.  
Oh, God.  
— Get out — Please try to understand.  
 
— No need to use that language.   
 
Get out! Now!

Lightning over fogs of drizzle. Over ravines. Knower and the known, all branches, all matter — 
A sweet industrial morsel went for all three doors assuming no threshold ahead where materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no interruption.   
 
Three ways could also be the middle   
 
as Buddha and Buddhists are different things.

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.

Ah, you’re driving me to a convenience stop — I don’t care. 
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you how we’re doing.  
There’s a piece of karate, a fragile backspace we erase, and how there’s turbulence... and something else more active, piquant. Your push reaches a point where time management is unleashed.  
 
This is one way to point.  
 
We live next to a place with water views. I continue feeling deprived sometimes.  
 
But ocean sniffing is never private, I gasp before the beach driving home, high tide a big data glob crashing to earth.. that night after the super moon — diodes in crimson, finding a soft spot for anyone’s look-see, another beach in a long line magnified ashore, twisty, revived!

73: One will die; one will see all sunsets fade to ashes. 
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 black 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, and by and by sang back, etc. 

Rush to earnest sentiment and keep me there, do me up.
Only four exceptions: I wasn’t speaking to you.
I was speaking to strong, sustained interests of Oil Inc.
Oh, and incidentally, I can’t keep working with you
Looking over my shoulder. Don’t be afraid,
I just kick back and relax, the year will be half over.
Summer .. if I could let myself be completely a nano reading.

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m writing on borrowed-spores.
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a feeding..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs,
A pragmatics circumvents the will —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..

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.

After homesickness, there’s new inebriation &
One way to degrade-ultimately-destroy the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration & fortune to hide.

Warning: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early performance; both are adolescent in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape 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 collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. That opium waterfall is waiting, on a bender. What comes first is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

A lone maple against the light has breadth and the dark thin substance of shot up shadow; this is a guarantee
as local time is disguised among skimpy swags and willowish leaves as living structures aspected as abstract in the ‘inner’ harbor of salt glare, cut from coastal space.

Space (within) doesn’t know you’re looking... doing nothing, watching you looking.

Space’s slowed us down to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter. Earlier or later
we feel snooty, strange, blue-eyed —

it’s about meeting people in a way.

51: In motion, no excuses — war is unjust when there is only one side to wage it.
Gleaned from what war is, my desire keeps pace.

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 toward you
as though mounted on the wind before even starting ..

Stan the man, a legend;
it’s “OK” Stan explains,
we’re all Buddha’s fault.
He isn’t kidding.

More than a god, a three-in-one, a god’s pup
fills in quantum entities on a not-
fully-occupied terrain, terrain, I repeat, “on
pause.” This is spacetime —
Whew — you think of puppy paws
as your head fills up with the stickiest
most adorable pup gifs breeding
celestial dissonance as street lights hum

and flicker

as ......

as well as

emotions
Stan aims to lay claim to and
defend as his own.
Soon.

Bursting out of your head while you hike thru grasses: All this acreage owned by prosaic dabblers, a-theoretical factual folk. Broken, misunderstood. 
It’s different evening on and children on fire hit back.  
 
Teamwork. Again, our people are what make us great.  
 
And if that’s everything for now, we’ll switch to loving and losing and loving.  
Fresh air, still excessive quanta — a geyser in a box-set of boxes in bigger sets you can't see?  
 
Enticing but nothing so second nature as theater, sleight of hand, 
good posture and strategic intellectual constructs.

My last gay bar,
crayoning hearts and drunken smiley faces,
pledging boundless love, packing up my belongings,
You be the new C.E.O.

It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?    

You’re at the door    

As I thought of you.    

Now a delay for    

More. 

— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discourse until only style prevails.

(Yay..)

The soul (of love) is a theorem, a sweet fading desert
Growth out of water, a gawky dust bunny grinning over the interstate
Working up a vacuum to destroy liquidity.

We begged Mr Soul to hop faster and keep at it,
Stick with a superb racket or rocket, rally
For more than shimmering in a mega-lens.

If you can wake that guy up perhaps you should.

41: An abstract, pretty temptation below gentle laughter: Ay,
Beauty for your years .. Ah me.

Ah blizzard.

Together, you and I follow a twofold point of wooing / forced absence, but I’m not that far from following your lead and therefore assailed. Youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even there: we chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of liberty where you are.

Upstairs message, parts of it. We call it yeah 
Parentheses (w/ monocle) to explore;  
The 4-D printer’s, they have many followers, you on it?  
As one’s eyes reset  
Focus time to question more.  
                              Anything to take from the a-argument  
For leading us to pleasant complacency...

Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How do parallels threaten a referent? Which fox drug is best?  
Visuals today are overproduced.  
Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate intruding a moment before he’s emptied of matter.  
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.

(I gave up appeasing you.)

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also is I. This is how the toy psyche researches more conscientiously touching on endearing dual roles in an algorithmic translation — deviating of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling sustained this second time. 

Next, a glistening database ‘of us’ advances thru raw materiality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace our contempt. 

[...]

Savant and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  
Then both can devise a poem for a period of guesswork.  
 

Finish a stretch and my theory gets confused. Confused the way   
 
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   
 

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
 
Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply, our lot’s in a hurry.  Can we cut to the scary part?  No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual, sparkled amid meanderings that are ordered appearances going dormant or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.

53: A substance note:
Suspend suspension of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some part shadow
as long as a 
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero autumn after your beauty, a 
constant show and a 
variable now. You always have some part.

You appear in every august shape we know.

0) Nothing horrible, just horrible 
 
1) both perceptions of opposites leveraged simultaneously  
2) meaning one and more original than none  
3) causing internal illogic along w/  
4) passing out on an ashen chaise to bring you back to your senses, shouting   
 
5) I love your idea and I repent only to appease you   
 
6) adages first thought / never think / lose both death and life.

Violence resolutions have been approved, schematicized for good and  remuted as gossip to evade a “mating strategy” to partner our  heirs’ viewing planks. O Headwaiters..

In order to take on a galactic stare, 
Occasional intoxicants  
Every 10 yrs —  
A decade comes and goes and still you are unattainable!   
 
Say you’ll be back. A blast of cold air  
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.

— you mentioned erring out 
 
For tax purposes as accountants for love often suggest —  
Kudos for their thanks!  
Your iron determination to play your own tax guy is magnetic.   
 
I’m solving you for new parity  
W/ the scum of the peninsula.

46: Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand abstractions
like unforgettable elements
in our sight, touching and holding the
moment, dividing it with
illusions of taking off for the
unknown, a mortal war
spinning or spun / upset / out of control yet
just outward parts of how our eyes impanel freedom and my rights
to your appearance, to your quests and thoughts, your inward heart.

By popular demand we sign off on others’ labor — A newspaper edition, documentary remnants, penetrable databases — We occupy this clever, conceptual nook, curl up and at times siding with the powerful is deliberate as well as passive-aggressive. I’m joking. I’m staying sarcastic — It bears repeating there’s audible glee not being perennially the other and oppressed. The oppressed are whom we avoid where or when we can be free — On the outside, in place of a popular voice, outsourced bouquets smolder w/ the emancipatory normality of assumed dominance.

One’s god and partner
is a doomed villain — twice one’s weight.

He runs down to the water’s edge, sticks his head in. Stays in.
On a second take he and other human strangers gain their godly presence
thru sex appeal that initiates delaying tactics.

Delayed, one sees what Buckminster Fuller means
sensing the curve of the earth.

One gets the pretty steep sense
god has gone one’s way.

One calls for antic intellectualism. Lead-free prose.
Four husbands.
Simplistic, Manichaen juxtaposition.
A solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.).

Jousting snacks.
New verbs like dave, firebug, Stradivari.

My alter ego leaves for finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse. Auteur-ship is a social construct.

The archives are at risk.

40 winters: a sorry concentrate: I went broke to be indebted. 
 
Unable to owe enough. Do enough. 
An international scale now attributes innovation and its subprograms, scary-loud at first, yet comic ultimatums as dreams seem to centralize, acquiring a new fixed order.   
 
So what if I say prompts an assembly of torn Gillette letters and fractioned decimals?  
 
Simple-torn versus complex debt proving my excuses add up in successions under laws of physics.

Let’s break up. Broken, giddy up, trouble maker!
Today I face no opposition. How to pay homage...

My instinct when asked is to inch back
To the moody raw nation where prosody
Jettisons its own use. No half-soothing opponents awake
On top,
No heights at all outside, only a few problem solvers
Off looking into what we broke —

111: Before I turn into another cure of yours, yours for my sake, i.e., I assure you a corrective hand took away anything too crafty in my nature... I am more receptive to work now and long subdued from harm, far and away.. at last ah! nothing bitter, I’m your willing patient (almost). Fortunes, manners, means, everything doubly correct and subdued. Pity in that sense our infection and bad deeds, guilt, nothing else — the die cast.

Take a look. 
All this repetition is not good ahead of patterned, glimmering dimness surrounding powerful men, dating them, skillfully; you know, the level of glamorous self regard here is high & west-coast-like, gnarly. If all we do is seduce & note our conquests, we lose the broad sweep of the epicene. We lose austere joys, cloud dogma, sculpture perpetrated out of full transparency on stilts that take on blackened colors.   
 
Another time, then, much like Byronic properties.

I’m a metaphysicist to an inner antecendant.
Lemme go.

Free for you in the $100 million section.  
 
An old master picked that up from them.. ..wolves
running through snow melting into wolves..

Websites lie. This a translation lesson. I’m elegant and round. I can’t snicker. You can though. ### I’m off the wall. So I turn blue when I cool up. I blast by myself when you leave for work. When you come home I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the new temp, humidity tolerance and so. ### I can’t snicker I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.

Since giving up on poetry ..
Back when we’re on our own 
as our only bard put it, a face 

Boiling sad together. 
Not pretty but there in print, through & around 
A back to romance pile up.

Rhythms about envy, fugue-sonata 
moods for all time rigged 

To full practice in one truce or august matter; lone 
autumns & springs mutating in dark 

Chez nobody who stayed home 
tho slowed down to furnish the pace, 

Prelude to singing along alone 
as a forward part of the original anger to confuse.

36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho seeming one, 
you’re one of mine. Yet you get so far then stop.  You’re not alone.  
I may not acknowledge you love’s delight — yet you’re not solely mine. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love that divides us in stolen light. I confess that — or let me confess both our loves are shamed into love’s altered effect —  
 
Your love, mine — separable remains from our nervous systems that distort public love, it seems, into two, radially.

Every cent in our scheme is 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.

I am citizen physicist to an inner antecedent for shorthand deadpan.
Drowsiness may be my great escape or I can walk it off, forgetting you’re allergic. 
Your face, the trains I ride, it's all good. And staying casual definitely has legs. 

Levitation with words is modulated. They wanted to be. Modulated is like free to play, sample the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and back it up with inexact beats and multiplying love of what we
were doing before the procedural took hold. 

Depuis renoncer à la poésie ..
Retour lorsque nous sommes sur notre propre,
comme le seul barde de notre époque, il l’a dit, un visage

.. un ébullition triste tout ensemble.
Pas très joli mais il est en version imprimée et autour

Un retour à romance jusqu’au tas. Rythmes environ envie, une fugue-sonate
avec humeurs de tous les temps truquées

A une pratique complète au sein d’une trêve ou une question énorme.. où les saisons d’automne, aux printemps, tous solitaires, sont en mutation dans l’obscurité.

— absolument personne — personne ne reste
on est ralenti à fournir le rythme —

Un prélude à chanter seul
dans le cadre de la colère d’origine afin de confondre tout.

Mere research reports what’s on the mind.
Why not reflect it in the text?
One lie cannot be replaced by another
It contains without a valid license.

Testimony, transit to.

To float in Buddhist undercurrents from work by a mature avantist is not much of a surprise. We know one poet and others as bona fide avantists, demeanors of a calming, enlightened refusal that likely rubbed off during their intake of an illusory social imagination. Or don’t know.

(Also refusal.)

It once read you’re my concern. 
 
“I heard talent & beauty & wealth come with their own flickering ideas; by your putting them to rest they take ‘full effect’ with no attachment to bad diets or addictive capital.” I’m leaving; you gasp.  
Is this documentary or did we make it up? “I gather your wit and austerity read each other from the start.” So this is an edit (to hide hunger). That’s about as close as 2nd chances have to keen, endless pulse. 

Showing results for innuendo: ‘You’re over your head, doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich to achieve best pricing, unless  
Theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.’  
Then you told me repetitive motion went further — heck, 
Making money w/out reason is mass  
 
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the zeitgeist, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing wealth after dark..  
 
Sleep has no opinions on here and now when everything is the right answer 
.. all on your check.

139: A poem fires up photoshop. Excuse me.

A poem is a picture as love well knows.

That your cunning lays upon my heart...

That drowns me out, my kitten, dear heart, but don’t wound me, not

this time, and never call me back to justify what’s wrong.
Your good looks attract my enemies — It’s your eyes
but glances aside — you overpower with your unkind tongue

to kill me outright, and not through art. So I’m defenseless.

Also I’ve saved all your robocalls to prove it.

I’m not kidding. No more calls, no pictures, please.

What about how we enjoy free speech — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with vapid bias. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to civil union with ideal permissions built on headwinds — dormant chaos, lowered public engagement 
 
with as it were or without word craft. Good discourse can scar others, you see, yet you see bare facts slaughtered by pushing on the remote.
 
Free in summary.

It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?    

You’re at the door    

As I thought of you.    

Now a delay for    

More. 

I see your inside relevance, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark rebooking happens fast.  
 
The relevance we wanted to get to go to a naked singularity, that is  
This abstract point now stabilizing outdoors — over the ocean  
— smelling you in all your possible reassignments. 
 
— A rank in heaven!

“Satan was seductive, motivating me to seek his darkness,
Pick up the guitar & write more songs...”

Talking Chimp squealed like a talking dog.

Lean, fluid, sleek, balanced, clipped close,
His inner daredevil is fallen into a state of confusion & loneliness
— just to feel a cloud pattern over being no one.

129: That slap in the face harder to explain now,
laid to make the taker mad — a waste..
 
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropic action — 
A cruel lemon sliver caught in my savage nose, past reason,  
Tangy..  
Romeo and Eurydice. A joy proposed behind a dream. Just a wedge. 

Reason is broad in reach but I’m never sure. Come midnight Mr Frog wakes me up, all smiles. One smile. When I tease or cuddle it, four appendages go as wiggly as if sexually charging. It’s silly, one smile across its whole face, black button eyes on top because the night isn’t over — one smile, frog eyes in front, cadet green rag cloth in back. When I hold it it’s a jumble of snuggles and inertia. Its legs flop around until I leave it as it were.

Uncertainty is a lugubrious process, unlimited growth, bracing for updates.

Neither so-called dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary numbed in shade, bracing for heart murmurs until climax.

Clouds are in slacks by the fridge.