11/30/19

A note on aging.

Smacked down by a coordinate from outer space,
Keanu Reeves is not reckless, iniquitous, or anatomically complex,
though monotone to the gills like a slower yet more self-subtracted Rod Serling.
I owe a debt to Christmas. 
Blindfolded angels thinking in the past — 
All mute waving back,  
 

Protecting us from our unknown predicates,   
 

Taking on more substantial roadwork, taking more onboard, putting them   
 

In mind of the New Year, at last.
After you, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing.

I lower your voice to closest saturnal parity
plucked out of adversative brutality ..
Yet nothing is forbidden.
Finalists like you quit general practice — off to privacy
with little or no honor left, one laughed. And yet not you, your honor...

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving figures. (Vicarious isn’t strong enough.)
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows, o praise the light flow drawn
in odor and hue! After you.
Sonnet 131: Meeting slander again: 
A delivery system processes our facial powers —  they have many words for yours — doting, precious

But it’s our doing, tossing cash in for pizza ..

It’s a balsa wood decade, valuing hoax, coming too near tyranny
for it never ends, I swear. 

Although I swear to myself alone, my heart,
our love constitutes a long shot
in a thousand groans to outlast madness
and slander. And in good faith — how fair and fairer that will be. 
Right away we’re vapor-vets. Dark edges must be why
Two very different outcomes equally square
What you hear w/ the you you are adorned w/ & what you are.

I stake your reputation, touting
You & kiss & lap up the air in your 1st mustache sense.
Denis, once the Menace, grew a pair over summer. I now have a boyfriend. Yearning for corruption, we’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, and it continues, since I’m first and last tongue-tied with subordination and thought about phenomena already known to us both.

11/29/19

Teen to older person: 
cornered (not to say conned).   
 
Hold to your decoder status forever sparkled quo vadis,  
meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —  
 
Either way is a fractional  
infinite in the context / e.r.   
 
OK I mean we take it from here.  
Done.
Our supply chain deals fatalism whose allegory
can shape and twist any desire, except a ready
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us.
That tells me
I love needing what tv does.
It feels great here. We’re on tv.
At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there ideal is on your side, time sick. 
 
It goes with a backhand irony like pigeon guided defense missiles or no guards at the gate.  
A free coupon! No, the front gate won’t front  
As there are centers of wishing beyond your closed doors.   
 
All batteries are now charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring  
Molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber  
— I’m about to walk the spiral and more!  
While chestnuts stand around in verbal hoards  
Coupons expire.
107: Even tho you can’t concentrate, you’re in a balmy place, well,
A place I’ve never been before. Your dreaming on things to come.
You look fresh. You have on your eyeliner from long ago.
I like what you proclaim this time.

Down with tyrants, their crests and tombs.
No sad augurs, no uncertainties.

Suppose forfeiting doom, suppose
Peace with no death in a wide world of endless age.
Shopping sprees are migratory patterns.

They get disrupted but don’t let up.
It goes back to when no Murphy bed was sacred or chic. Tempus fugit. 

Take an interest in opulence & stratagems bequeathing us


sherbet, oomphy comforts & massive inflows of feel-


ing great! The brands are awesome taken to far corners, above


exposed plans of a bowling facility, now vacated forever last summer.

Looks as if we’re metaphysicists to inner antecendants.

Lemme go.
Snapping to / not snapping.

Anyway, hipster memory
is a contradiction in terms.
A shortcut to an off prediction.
Unilaterally a hipster

throws out softballs,


variously literal —
mounting a bait

and switch to chalk up


the utility of hip lingerie per se,


discreet shipping, and in
this case it won’t be serene.

Anyway, go to long love making, serene now memorizing

parallel futures on a projective plane.
Why move into anyone else’s crash test?
I’m drunk on history, empathy, bounce. Or plans change.
Kitty was homesick, having lived off nice things. Not now, it’s daybreak —

Conditions look staggered, off-ivory —

11/28/19

Social progress is depressed, a big abnormal mess, a product of one’s time. It wins all the half-eaten take-out left on the table. 40% made of the appalled, obdurate hardly-ever voters like you and me. And how long can one live folding up conversation, conjecture perpetually minimalist verging on big-oil filth and untenured circumstance? Who isn’t one?
Methods for substitution include straightforward word shifts within text that is otherwise not disruptive — intra-textual cuts and pastes, say — as well as extra-textual processing of found passages, more often now digital copy and hybrid processing from search algorithms, remixed with other types of found or authored material.

To employ terms like ‘authored’ or ‘intra-textual’ is to risk not paying enough attention to the bigger point that cut-and-paste pastiche has evolved into a vernacular strategy for disruption, including wrenching formal droplets from their generic management.
Poetics of the last decades continues to foul up methods and standards. A direction that looks facile and promising is genre-swapping, appropriating and incorporating whole chunks of alternative discourse within plain speech (scanning other people’s suffering, one readymade example).

Panicked, we stood and talked it over until, with Trump-ish aplomb, his stand-in lifted his hand and pulled at the tarp and showed it to us.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse w/in; pushing up deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry. Natant decapods add vowels.  
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Another one. Matter persists, w/o dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly kaput, or snap, running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more ubiquity. Optics unravel in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
77: Society is a building. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and social media empaneled or at minimum propped up as progress toward eternity. Blank leaves in our journals. Vacant learning, too many minutes wasted, all overrated, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
Leaning in, wise and cruel.
In sleep my heart greets guests, offering immunity.
Going wide, immunity is madness in snow season.

Snow this soon is a surprise. (Didn’t know I’m a novice enthusiast, a manner of pity.)

Should I despair?

It’s snowing, nothing personal, wafting like foaming love over my awesome hamlet —

Further out the world is grown up with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always. Snow as hustlers.
There’s a method they share, I whisper to myself, falling for the freshest ingredients.
The sun is gray. Divided and confused.
The system is not perfect. It’s an everybody
movement with that living-unlocked smell.
I set the controls; active ingredients are
not now, don’t. First thing in the morning.

Noonish.
Someday
I will think in porn titles.

11/27/19

We left our module to look over curricula. 
 
Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..   
 
Filming, taping = reporting: imparting numeric dicta, slathered middle ground,   
 
‘Local slippery conditions’ (where we can tape this off).  
Keep all of yours together. Own your swarm and lend them jackets.  
Up in blanched smoke — flames, sparks...   
 
A red bonfire indispensable for smearing highway color —  
 
Filming made more relaxing, the way things sustain  
 
More opportunities for interruption.
It’s pie for the new year to set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. The verbatim relishes living among a slew of lucky design ideas orphaned to an alien ethnicity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age. 

(Welcome home.)
The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hiss-able, going monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.
We sometimes need fresh lexicon to wangle a way to reset the mind-body problem, irruptive words to determine their own landscape, items like primality and cuboidal glints of music, human commination over heaven, akin to the great abstractions around technical ambiguities. Never far away strove the steady salmon through jagged streams, eating air, rounding out a shiny net!
24: One perspective: My eye plays the painter. Good background for for you and me to peep in.
Wherethrough a whole school of cunning painters can pick you up, take a day off
away from hangers-on. Painters will be drawn to your skill & art — your true image.
Your glazed eye for an eye, good turns both physical & in thought
              win
the day even as shapely models file by in your body frame —
painters will gaze on them to retrace your form but never know your heart.
Idiot sparrows, wrens suffer rain, finding things out,
Unleashing each other —

They enjoy themselves when abroad.
Who isn’t sick of us and who questions any backlash?
A vulcanized last payment received.

No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless:

The future would give more / no more
Than thanks, laughably... no thanks.

I thought of you.
How could I be so foolish in bed, you ask.
The matter at hand is you.

There are subtitles, various languages. I’ll pen and ink while staying awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
I’m bringing you up, taking this from the back to the throat. (You asked.)

Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.
Can’t say what happened that day (ekphrasis) but I know we slept because there was a pressed mattress to lie on.  The mime sequence where I speak out was overall spotty. More, there was a modulator from a board of moderation.

11/26/19

Make falling apart counterfactual. 
Make my mind prophecy bohemia.  
Recover the masterpiece. But 
destroy and come to terms feeling we could be free.  
Imitate killing seeing  
the system.
Microscopic levitation gets modulated. Had to be. Modulated is like coming out to predict your hard held views, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact explanations and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold. Then we are off again, taken off, backed up in the cloud this time, keeping our data immune to causation.
49: Let me hold you ... better not, I’m a defect in future law against your time.
If ever that time comes within my own knowledge, no, I’ll know
love is no more or less the thing it was ...
                and no cause alleged.
I raise my hand now, called to, on your part
when you scarcely greet me as we pass.
That’s how with all due respect works in both our times.
There’s a benign debate — where brightness bore in, grateful pre-nuptials stampeded out,


Drawing the unmarried into dark zones of odiferous propaganda.

And owing to your interest... this won’t establish a holy day, merely an avian sacrament.
Or only one of many noted by a crowd of juncos aft.
My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples gain longterm advantage spreading themselves thin.
(Hold on, I was handed this special instant.)
Keeping one’s posture simple on the corner of statue and utterly out of space, one is within earshot.

I am still there..

Only there’s the one I am for, whom I fail completely, openly.
We are a color of cunnilingus. I noticed, tho, you and I applied for
pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called
Nothing Is More or Less than Arabesque, forgetting our place in the secret order of gel users. We were once handsome, having left a lavish male-female hush from fingers to mouth: in epic hock to our hips. 

Our temperature raises the magnitude of repetitions into a shriveled cunnilingus in the after-life or its meandering dissolution.
We reach back to no self and no others.

11/25/19

Should we have
a message?
We’re talking to what must be figurative breakpoints with fate & fate’s consignments. Example.

Just kidding
Empty messages remember nothing of detached
sensory esotericists. Acreage &

Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame & no literal disapproval.
We have a message.
A politic paranoia recommended for staying cool & stable in an
emotional tri-level.
A fop sur la route is a Parisian invention, an essentialist’s incarnation.

Steer clear. Highway safety — bow, I love what we do together


Like switching work bags, mixing it up then. We should be mortified but we’re impressed.
(This siegecraft apparently works.
For my driving, I’ve hired a fop strategist.)
One main test: You can’t waste time.

It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. Start anywhere.  
  
A severe tone? Start playing. Start writing. Dig in.   
  
The charge there thrills in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to resist your moment. Or ex-moment (now).   
I’m leaving you everything glazed or less remedial, along with fragments in B-flat, thinking them blanked over.   
  
I saw remorse somewhere?  
  
(Should a lad be thrown a pianist’s shh?)   
  
Yes. Run for our false/full lives. Or not.
47: Good turns, one after another, I turn to your good looks I file between heart and bitch comedy. 
Either way you could have reset the remote — 
So let’s share it. Your saved clips and my worship of you have nearly expired.. except your looks drive me nuts.. I’m still in love.. famished at the banquet of love (where we sleep). 

Awake, I can’t move further than my present thoughts picturing you.. while pressing reset buttons.. but I have my sight set on you. God damn this remote, I can’t change it myself, my eyes are awake, my heart’s .. 

Here, you take it.
Striking bells, lightening round.. 
Take a test. Brightness gushes out, but colliding transmissions are roughened by screaming. Screaming ballet is euphoria — turbulent-urges and compromises. But do you understand the point of the test?

It’s anonymous either way. 

Tho before the diagramming mist rolled in I felt your grace, holding on with both hands.
The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hiss-able, going monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.
We sometimes need fresh lexicon to wangle a way to reset the mind-body problem, irruptive words to determine their own landscape, items like primality and cuboidal glints of music, human commination over heaven, akin to the great abstractions around technical ambiguities. Never far away strove the steady salmon through jagged streams, eating air, rounding out a shiny net!
Hands are everything. You might say
It was past conjecture; ever since  
The atmosphere upsurges when the rules stick.
His eyes & yours fill with knife jabs.  
Your brain stores all kinds of pleasure. & his the same.
 
A genome led you to him..  
He smiles with no wisecracks about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
 
— nothing to discredit or crib  
...no hell to pay!

...the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.
Political direction gets cluttered in secrecy with a corolla of shock. 
 
Sometimes my thought wanders from the epicurean, no?  
No, hear this family man out, the value of terror is epic. How about blood in the waves? 
Joint damage. Same thing. 
 
Then fishing for pain I drove off the roof and am now escaping on foot.
Don’t pick on anyone else...

11/24/19

Info-tainments advance by themselves, lovely distractions, shooting the steepest mountains w/ slime. Thinking back, they segue to riveting motions in our self interrogation — commuting to work where we share high fives & broker a plan!

The cross-hatching allowing ancestors to exchange a few xenogenetic traits for others, has just about run out of steam. We’re left wondering, once more what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.
Could there be Thanksgiving for the dead?  
                      hold on  
I’ll put you  
on greenish “pallor enhancer.”  
 
Strangers breathing around us, sweating under a river of skin 
flowing out, living now for compliments engraved on secret ballots. 
The float seems to learn fever can be unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things,” had 
 
Simon Schama anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been   
eloquent as to the fair, to the bright, we’d need no caption.”     
 
The float throughout anticipates some base point ..   
What does there’s still a move to go do?   
Keep nursing desire past cure — a psychic point 
or three feeding your appetite to please. 
113: Replete with you,
I selected a rogue anime — you with improved vision to shape my mind
catching birds, creatures.. e.g. even the governor.. mountains.

I admit since I left you my mind’s eye has gone partly blind, but I still see you day and night.
All untrue.

My point then is awfully slight — I’m incapable of more, out and about, unkind
~ For leaving you, to me, seems effectually rude ~
Even dove- or sea-crow-forms pay homage to you, shaped to your outdoor features.

Others, rudest to crudest, impart your functions
and they get noticed — yet fail to deliver any part of you, true mind.
Poor rhyme:

I’m being taken down. Something about distinction in my music, which is chopped inside vague foreboding .. ... 
Oppressed, rejected, sure, I’m in there, but personality disorder is a binding element of hip kerfuffles and perverted dalliance. So put me down for ingrained revalidation of my fears.
Painting formalism. 

1) Bad philosophy pulls you into art markets like painting, you along with lab wonks, emphatic cat stranglers, lesser rogues. Screwball robots, all interpreting the same aesthetics of action hulks who stand as proxies for casino archetypes.  
 
2) A bad market estimate demands constructivist concepts like twine notebooks — a photo show projection over notebook sketches in twine, high and low brow volumes scanned by market members and their flamboyant offspring.  
 
3) Ask if show attendees are “happy,” knowing there is no way to measure stagey inculcation. 
Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting.  
That’s not to say there’ll be any food. 

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently.. just recipes for dogmatism...

11/23/19

Weight loss by design. Classification = evolutionary collisions =
Their work multiplied by adapted preferences in a prejudicial sort of structure.
You think transparent rhetoric all-purpose, all calm, but never resolved
by addiction to visceral consequence. Utopians had been right —
reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, sailors.
On mortality,  
 
I’m a big baby. That’s b for clarified as black-and gold pelage, married and vulnerable, exploring reiterations of my own duality. Yes, I’m a dyad.
 
I’m alive feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a triplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up meat, fish, emotionally shot ..  devoted to seamless disproportionality.
My counselor affidavit registers our deficiency of pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with another self.) 
 
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 by law. Remember those days?
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have despised spoils subtracting our worthless song 
— an idle song converted to argument 
with little or no honor, still it ‘sings’ to the ear.

Idle to speak of any darkening, but these surveys add up. 
In numbers and verse I surveil your fame most everywhere.
You return time and again, lending my base subjects esteemed light
— you’re faster than my time. 

Rise then: your power and skill suspend my fears 
even as we love vicariously — to redeem my waste of life in satire.
I have no value for you.
I’m drunk on uses of empathy and bounce. Or plans change. 
Universality is homesick, having lived off the in-laws of globalist physics. But not now, daybreak — 

Conditions look staggered, first up, off-ivory — wanting a universe to admire (me too).
Then a profane Rubik of dawn’s assured color range,
yet how far & vast connivance redeems all that
to put aside loss, cheek and whiffs of misuse. In concatenation, O dawn.
By future standards don’t-I-wish
is disgusting.

How so? we failures inquire. Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory, you howl. “Mm,” the man says. He was staring at my clogs, wondering how they’re embossed.

When struck a lightning rod emits dust, after that a solution, a chemical substance that squiggles down to my feet. That’s how.
The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.

11/22/19

We sometimes need fresh lexicon to wangle a way to reset the mind-body problem, irruptive words to determine their own behavior, items like primality and cuboidal glints of music, human interaction in heaven, akin to the great abstractions around ambiguities. Never far away strove the steady salmon in jagged streams, eating air, a glorious set!
Colder rain, even snow has a profile that can only be screwed to logic in drier spells. 
Either is widely construed as audible, partially plundering suspicion within either’s wider asymmetry.   
 
Rain or snow, the great work cuts straight through restructure, roughing up more remakes and models we can abandon.   
 
Either or we. Precipitation becomes a shadow racket. Tattooing, that is thundering, in the air — if we could see up the walkway and through the instrumentation if they have any.
After you, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing.

I lower your voice to closest saturnal parity
plucked out of adversative brutality ..
Yet nothing is forbidden.
Finalists like you quit general practice — off to privacy
with little or no honor left, one laughed. And yet not you, your honor...

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving figures. (Vicarious isn’t strong enough.)
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows, o praise the light flow drawn
in odor and hue! After you.
92: To my love in constant revolt, stealing away... 

Once again I fear the worst. Next, I’m happy love never sticks around; love is wrong to depend on staying power. On manual labor. A heightened blush. For I was happy to have had your love — now, I don’t know, what’s a fair question? — is there one last assured state to restage or live in? It depends on you and me, not false humor, since I belong in this humorless state without you, still without ending all our love. I find my lifetime love for you formally difficult and, o oops... Others happy to die are on fire. 
Happy to die! — do we take their place?
Psalm make me sorry.

Nothing is unimportant. Neither the bray of birds nor their sweet afterplay. Send for Fr Pierre.
He lives in harm’s way. “A transit of showdowns.”
High sensitivity equals high urgency.

I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said;

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

tilted sideways and faithful as he is he’s destroying
our bed, our non faith and consequences.
After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to cut down the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.

11/21/19

The other day I walked into a bar, the old place, saw endless tunnels, gadgets and immortal lighting that interconnected w/ music underfoot. My fingers boarded the apologetic apparatus, some of it; there it was thudding over walls... Every eye rolled, doors slammed. After worship, there’s little but taut necks guided by the star beats. Yesterday was bright as today. 

Don’t argue with the shipments.
Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hoy! — another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
I work here but not much any more.
Cascading circumstances.
My travel limits are pointing to a chimera. Not a destination.
Sonnet 93:

Better to live more as love may near
— supposing I’m in many ways a deceived husband. So?

A coterie of enablers cooperates fully. For both of us,
a love interest is altered to look calculated.

For there can be no hatred in our eyes.
Tho, facing true love, the early light seems to
Urge us to go out, rehearsetoo much and get wasted, frowning, growing moody —
Eve’s apple was Adam? One love’s face? You and I cannot know.

What have we if our heart is in another place?
This is a short study. Or it was. Youth is that impressionable. 
Ultra blurry, anamorphic, sung movement bound by writing it down — it occurs in the latest forms of repayment,   
 
— you  
weigh nothing in and get no credit, no  
spectral, tiny swaggering to cash in.   
 
As it comes to end, there’s a substitution agreement containing someone to look up to  
                  along with me, in force, pulled on from inside.   
 
— or yeah, pulled awake more than once w/ a face, a filled out line. Then lines. Smiling lessons.
— Up to now
I am the center of tangled ventriloquism composing..
And I can’t recall being as excited as I am now.

11/20/19

The estate repaired to is offered on the ‘thereabouts’ platform only: still, it’s not overrated, I whisper to you, falling myself for reincarnation roughing it ..oh, wait we did this already..
                 ... my speech is streaked w/ extra
sensory blather —

You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, sky
dogs, paint & sloppy intercourse under conditions that surround ourdesire
to laugh down time for love of you.
Sonnet 1: Beauty’s rose is content and ornament par excellence.

The rose’s stem knows how to fuel it, desiring more buds to contract brightness and increase —
much as we eat the world to save it — tender, gluttonous — your eyes bright green. You are now the world’s fresh ornament.
Blatantly un-shipshape seems the new daring..
I have no idea —
The bemused, deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning.
We should seek co-equals now, an engaged handshake, clear speech
To thank the whole body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.
Marriage season. The mood passes, theory laden. From desolating satire to
Constant assumptions everyone parrots to keep control.

Who designs your utterances? Finitism

Holding firm in a safe room where signaling is slowly ignited
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration.
I’m down on both knees .. 
I’m going back down to bring back a 2nd cousin — I spell him M A N ..I’m down on both knees .. 

11/19/19

Here’s another invidious comparison. Confucian poetics, unlike most of ours, deliberately chooses lexical anchors that can be readily translated to other languages (and cultures). This appears limiting since the deliberation is a constraint, for most of us. Nonetheless, the strategy presumes no professionally trained or hip readership needed to follow the broadly universal epistemology. (Historically the in-the-know or hip presumption gives meaning to specific tropes that are nonetheless encapsulated by the universal — hipness segregated within the hegemonic radius over the long run, clocking in with a short (2, 1, close to minus and counting) shelf life for tropes and their reception over time. The surface warrant to the comparison, perhaps: Overspecification evolves into ‘period’ samplers, accents of quaintness.
Post-cogency, you still doing that? That’s what’s long about sadness,
the real overhead. Lost time, money. A sky of ice cubes for what party in sleep?
When I leave, I’ll take no
memory of a long drive. And just the sardines, please.
The cat owner in me is unknown to me,
but permeates me. Consequences...

Lost time is sawed off from a vast range of others’ gravity.
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.

The pond holds scraps and windy parts of nesting authority, 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 cross names of sorrow.
Levitation thru words was modulated. They wanted it. Modulation is like coming out to play, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact beats and multiplying ententes of what we were doing before the procedural took hold. 
Then we are off, clouds keeping our eyes not far off the ground.
Modesty is unimpressive in itself.  
There’s an either / or for attrition of affects, concision or eyesore. 
And there’s a struggle to housesit too much information.

11/18/19

Credo: You’re good doing this.
Just
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest
Misery and universality look 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..
Kites: pinky juicy crisp, unlimited
Space parlance —

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

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

Pearls — a level of wealth that’s puny, worn parlance.
You put a question mark after feeling genreless — in a screenplay, it would be a pick
-up line.
There is no personality, only successive time frames, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over more recent work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by founders’ labor, enabling and overlooking our conditional day together...
4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing done.
To traffic in deception take notes
.. and I’m being frank, beauty given to you
will oppose given facts of previous loveliness gone
unused — a perplexed legacy taken outside why or what’s acceptable, let alone

what to audit as profit or thrift. Ride off. I’ll lend you oats
and my saddle for your extrication from delirium ..

Love whom else? Is it largess to go free? In a coin flip, we

traffic with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air —
free love’s spending its shade upon you and me,
executed in so great an abuse and gloom
by our own natures, we must leave it there, undone.
I’d like to thank the Academy  
and ignore X to reinforce ignorance. 

To reverse devolution we’ll rush back 
to hear more about causality proportionate 
to a principle that cannot be considered in terms  
like suspension of liberties and financial slaughter. 
 
The impression building is that every financial move serves Euclid’s purpose. Then. A higher purpose according to analysts, in a word, a metonym for dizziness everywhere according to boundless malfeasance, heading toward final devastation.
 
Oh, tech services, tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams — How did stakeholder views crumble into unlimited resources and potential instrumentality to pantomime the common numerator undercutting American literacy?
Back in the day when the fair-minded had complex appetites,
when pragma-morphism brainstormed about innocence

— in the larger context there was no recidivism except in fashion.
A song about innocence was a meta proposition.
I may have torn thru your text (though torn only from my mind — you backstroke and float around in my semen).

11/17/19

O ouch. I’m not sorry.
This is my first try in three dimensions.

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, a humanist quiz.
I’m craziest when I cannot be saved. Who isn’t? Pre-existence does not pertain. Nor nonexistence when it turns to leftovers, raw as theism.

Existent secrets of satire go free of situation and structured sky, fomenting complicities (skydiving).

The you-effects (more secrets) become less fearless (more or less) when innocence, dance then acrobatics cross lines and context. Codes of boundaries. Certain crossed lines score from beneath; a fulltime hobby waxes into heavy addiction to you.
No interviews today. Triumph* is creepy**.

*Creepiness, unlike triumph, widely construed as inaudible tendencies toward plundering contexts to alter asymmetrical inference.


**Authentic triumph, group or personal, cannot be construed.
103: You’re showing up more. I got wind of it, put you in
Just to make our list. I’m from and form the periphery;

My muse makes it so. Don’t blame me.
Say I’ll be back. We’ll look into it. You never can tell.
Poverty is all right but not extreme poverty. Without you I’m barely striving

“How do I love you and have the scope,
And expect no help? Again?”

Some things you need to whisper more, much more ..
(I forget now what you sound like.)
A pulse of light of precise duration = head turns, alternative explanations but none good enough for clarifying experimenters’ state of confusion.

Confusion is rendered official. Firm argument and beta testing of dogma and contradictions, transforming un-gated minds turning toward amplified democracy. Sultry outdoorsmen, sailors, all on deck.
 
To get back to the cosmos, our taxonomies stand tiptoe atop a few hustlers with ascending ideas, forgetting the battered below lined up on broken mosaics, raw necks pounding from overtime  
 
like ex-royals.
The guys with magic marker eyes who paid for this were enamored of throwing off articulate signatures —
Anyhow, everything was their idea,
reaching back where no limit whirrs & now sings..
Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 

11/16/19

Taking flak, but unwilling to signal afar, this gong or that, neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object-in-time: A rubberneck develops one’s own humanism.

Here I’ll grab my fuzzy cover and scramble over to where I can further my math skills while my brain runs on my partner’s satisfaction as we groan.
Our sketch of predispositions begins.
Cocktails, 4:00 pm. 

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflecting gritty, highly-trafficked back alleys of jinx, beaming seduction and violence.   
 
Are you healthy enough for this perfection?   
 
One is a little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
A stencil of our dialog frames many others  
As a thought pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.
Repeat this until approved, 
“I don’t know about you O astronomy”  
But in a tone that’s affirmative  
Like the jeweler’s tone words for whale  
-bone / measured blues − while  
 
This stretch, like all happy comebacks, tells a story of the future dropping hints of a larger, full-mouthed I-don’t-know − was it something to do w/ a heap of focus to one side, therefore blocking another? Do we lead a life another sings w/ you?
154: Once asleep I’m sick of true love, disarming love; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of yours.

I’m sick and so I take a vow to a life of heart-inflaming desire — never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate handmaiden abstractions..
(..each taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we can grow

mind and body worship by your side, worship un-quenched, a general practice that warms us before perpetuating our healthful belief system. Or

do I prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats your heart for the cure?
I can’t win, it’s the end of inattention. 
More bounce for the retina to unscrew my internal hysteria pouring up but
embarrassing, rocking like breaking news, losing both death and life, dropping your 
rogue’s whip down over my heels. 
 
Aren’t we supposed to feed the bad dogs? Yes but summer, winter? Minutes after my work is filed, neighbor’s dogs stand in line for a treat, free rein over the sentence.
High sensitivity equals high urgency.
I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said, 

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

tilted sideways and holy as he is he destroys
our bed, bad pet and.. here boy... the consequences.
Breathtaking.

Auto-electrocuted. But calmed down. No more tv, sore thumbs. There’s a dual nature of justice going around in “resentment and forgiveness” with high notes we won’t deflate. A muggy, fantastic soprano, jittery, active against the grain. She reaches a point at which the point director is traceable.
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.

11/15/19

The local is inside you, sang P Seeger and B Creeley.  
First heard this when I tossed my head and rode  
two feet, pawing the ground before a gallop.  
As for my consultant that day, he shook  
the bed, broke his baby toe, 
That much as ‘the way things were’ stay the same that one day.
When you got up your voice was 
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flat into a dust-up of 4 dimensional motes.   
 
I don’t know how motes, much less how 4 dimensions rush   
 
And flounder into mountains. I only heard   
 
Vibrating = Sturm und Drang,  
Dust controls anger / how severely narrowed minds are wed.
Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom?
I rank his output very high, filled in with Teutonic expressionism
off the scale, 9 plus or more to exaggerate
(if I could, hmm).

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

— Empress Eugenie
34: I have a base feeling of comfort in disruption. One point of a number that overtake me in a way —
Together, you and I define arcs of ironic repentance but worked out in a series of tear-shedding disputes. Just so, we’re still cloaked in loss. Loss of shame, loss of grief. A salve can heal my storm-beaten face but not the offending wind smudging our wounds into a double cross of rotten smoke. Why?

It’s not enough I lose, ransomed to disgrace. I’m scared; ah, no relief as such. Not yet. I don’t travel well in new grief. I hide from your face even as it’s shedding dry tears, breaking promises, still breaking me.
Obsessing over you the sky squeaks w/ common sense, folds into dreams.  
Comic 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). Dream flights are tight. You can’t find your story in a void or crescendo: And 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 text metaphysically .. 
.. I get where I was.
Mere research reports what’s on our minds. 
Why not reflect it in text?  
You’re showing one lie can never be replaced by another  
It contains.

11/14/19

Poison, anecdotes are a way of life. He had meant antidotes, one’s composer in this case, not the narrator. One withdrew. Both just seem wound up terribly in the same horology. One in the study, the other in the art.
The one here has to deposit deleted utterances in surface structure to get back to poisson.

Then in time we can be on and in our way.
What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena — what older worlds once could say —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord after another.)
Achilles, what can you do or not do? Are you sitting on the floor 
listening ? wearing nothing but  
eagerness for a motive to  
hear what we were afraid to be?
Foundational bias underpins Achilles’s argument for or against not being sure.
A signature concern throughout the night is the cosmos’ experience. The bigger the better. Peculiarly, one other point — so many writers simultaneously figure out the brute’s foot and heel, studying nature and truth within supposition and guesswork. Achilles becomes enamored of writers turning toward stage experiment and utopic closure.

For then a separation point emerges. Harsh.
What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena — what older worlds once could say —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord after another.)
Here’s my favorite.

Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises.

(That is, artisans among the audience rise, impetuous, some from costive stock, unflappably happy, even brusque.)

Somewhere I float in. I’m late for the prom fitting, weeping inside. Funny place
for a dance, Mr Baker.
Song: Blushing breaking news..
One time I was inconsonant. Or..

I was found holding a grand lodge of doing-splits glossary.
— why

Does a face arrest?
You had on your fabulous eyeliner from a while ago. Cunning
Thing is everybody had it goes without saying a probability before
The news

And all of us now are blown away
Getting wind of the Red Wings.
I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.

11/13/19

How far? Rub it in.
Think or don’t think of it as conspiracy of/in the sun

in/of an exponential afternoon committee.
Your mellowness operates transferrable accounts.  
 
As it were. Yet it’s shameful to work for the state, wearing kilts no doubt. How did Paulo Freire alone stand, pause and brush back his hair? others like him looking up like flight risks? To keep going we find little or no compromise.  
The music seems headstrong but we’ll give you a call. 

“Great ... I’ll just hold...”
Bathing in enjambement, my naked duty —
‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children
blurring the terrain,
a stenciled closure: he shouts,

Let’s search for reason in nature’s chaos...
No one writes like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful.

A miracle.
72: When love is missing, shame is worth nothing. .
You devise virtuous lies (dear love) .. I picked that up, false, smug, cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name may be buried where my body is. .
the body you should love... .
.
I’ve just noticed you haven’t recited a thing, Gabby. .
Let’s rewrite your true love untrue. Make it count. .
Tho even in this I fear sarcasm.
Spacetime. Whole minutes, days. Slash pauses.  
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /  
not while angles of light are brawling over taking us home.  
Vaccinated, a merciless itch, what is this collapsed satori we travel into?   
 
Passing though with amazement the X+1 “casting  
of cities,” thinking past me, pressing against us.
We’re enormously self-disciplined torpedoing expenses when it’s cutthroat & officially sanctioned.
Getting a pulse, fixed pupils, dilated. Don’t try this without the others ...

11/12/19

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.
Sing, my next self:
Balls of steam suspended in bacteria over our hands, discouraging others. (A boiling kettle contained prescriptions, a guess.) Better now not to digress but file out a shade apart trailing the other copycats.

At top the penis is everlovin-elastic.

Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos and documents.

A mood is an emotional state. Comcast.
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping neutrality (plain v harder) w/in the present gloom of purgatorio as good possibilities blow town, including the best halo effects and feelings. They’ll come back like sight for the blind in the dark. 

It’s nice finally to shake the physical world’s geometric hand covering our breathing. Geometry is of nature and sightless throughout. Today, every day open censorship is tangential to being here, right over here, filtered, unfiltered as long as it takes.
80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when I write this. Situationists use the shallowest fare and map it into submarine literature. When I write of you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled and worse, tongue tied while I try a couple of poses —ha — there are great, pure benefits spent by proud, broad-minded sailors afloat, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they are an infinite series within the history of fame and naval gossip. (Or from another angle they are a series of the teasers and teased but goodly proud, cast away.) You who.
Here they come. Uniformed blobs. Sometimes later. 
Bandits 1st.  
You translators are a close 2nd.   
We appear ordinary, elongated, dome shaped. This bunch of sex workers is almost about something else.   

Then I repeated if I were you I’m about all I should have ..
We’re enormously self-disciplined torpedoing expenses when it’s cutthroat & officially sanctioned.
Getting a pulse, fixed pupils, dilated. Don’t try this without the others ...

11/11/19

CVS counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, vice versa 

.. sorry, I don’t have any associations I’ll add. My mind goes everywhere. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation of now or that a minute from now after the transaction but before thinking it thru, I’m sent over my head, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands connected to CVS.
Playing with tonalities, how funny you are.. 
These are chords you kept inside.  
Between description, silence, a periphery.   
 
Any variation can be thought out and checked by fooling the authorities.
 
There’s no description I can give or want to,   
 
No way to rhyme turning away, hiding on the loose.   
 
Chords have their way in the air wondering how mediocre an apartment we get.
The dharma of learning penmanship is monotonous. 
Reënter the Style Of 


My Dreams .. Lubitsch films  
 

that don’t exist — here we go — appreciating in value.  
 
Planting ideas (marry me) restores our old faith, popularly   

escalating visionary disappearances  
where our purchases speak to taking the edge out..
 
 
Tiny discourse like this runs late (even when we were kids);  
this is my youngest scouring moment  
favoring the specimen objective 
or other nominal for adult achievement.  
42: What do you need now and for what?
You may ask if I loved you.
Is that my bravo question?
Do you test, tease, defame always to get the best?
I ducked his punch, closed the distance.
My loss is my love’s gain for my sake.
I told him, no don’t, I have to bolt.

Loving offense more, I excuse you both.
Your bromide is familiar. Let me text this. You’re gaining attention for the wrong infinite reasons, dummkopf. Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow fast.

The cosmos is unwilling to go far, now or later, this way or that — what we inhabit is neither a stoner planet nor merely a plywood-and-particulates object flown in time (w/ fewer and fewer court intrigues).

There’s so much history.

Shadow sensory awareness, a chosen medium.

Flowers are em-poisoned by design, grateful astrochemists oozin’ adrenaline

for the audience, saboteurs of the heart.
We enjoy our squatter’s rights. 

We never forget and we do not forgive. Even tho we’re too fat to have insurance, our moms have always been supportive. Viruses are like that. The wind too. Shivers of a sigh, seeming to glisten in black ice, I made messes all over the nestling ground to suit a creative purpose, balancing running around everywhere and getting lost and then explaining the gorilla mask as a prior condition.
The jungle is quiet... too quiet. (Theseus)

11/10/19

The music brokerage remains in nautical aerospace.
A month ago a morning flew by.
My best friend my
most erotic partner.
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.
I knew I am unhappy and, like most everyone, I am not —


the boat’s cortex holding out ..
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping net neutrality w/in regulatory gloom of purgatorio as perceptions of different possibilities bolt out of town along w/ 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.
The enigmatic eaten alive by song layouts.
The strategy goes on because it’s clear.

We have decent rooms and vegetarian board. Living large is a rancorous art. By now I hope you’re opening up to a former way of life stocked with 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 an alert for changing before the weekend, uniforms with some breathy, lithe, spooky edge. Thursday.
25: No dying here, let those in favor never be removed. Prost!
A few words will travel, ‘unlooked for,’ calibrated by our ruckus / doing-the-honors spoken (rather than boasting) in a larger-scale dialectic —

a painful victory and public outreach in your glory. It’s triumph!

After, for a frown, a thousand victories once buried pride / the sun’s eye.

We’re happy we are in favor of your love fresh from the book,

a love whose fortune spreads your joy we honor most.
Teen to older person:
cornered (not to say conned).

Hold to your decoder status that’s forever sparkled quo vadis,
gentry observers meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —

Either way is a fractional
infinite in the context / e.r.

OK I mean
I’m done.
It’s only words, assembly, to quote you. 
They are real actors, not people. 

11/9/19

A hobby becomes the color of dreams then addiction.
Can it hold the same seasonal affect?
I know what I need, blindfolded.

My life is the intervals it contains minus your presence.

Which is a way of drawing in regret.
I’m a woman. Or you. We have all the training we need listening to Jim Carroll — chemistry, rage, this is my body. Almost the same as hopeless, the only oasis just passed. I was more at home with early stage fright than deconstraining tastes at war with passivity. 

Then you and I a priori had an urge and we felt gorgeous wearing a hairnet over the situation.
I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness.  
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you puffed.   
You were holding back first throbs as you forced another’s from the inside.       
  
I miss the walled city where an operator like me 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 operators in them.    
  
(Ok, you there? Bye.) 
16: It’s hard to do a mock-up & care. One idea for you, keep giving yourself away.

You have no better, no sweeter skill than to fortify my grasp and rhyme on with me.
Girlfriends, boys, gardens, “outward fair,”
Nothing less! No less and still another idea for you. Only a wish.

To have you stand on top of gardens, happy, alive in the eyes of all living now .. only an idea, yet unset.

I can’t tell you I don’t care.
BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when he can’t dream... parking lots have a word with him. Children are the future —

Keep them distracted.
And back to you. If you lock your room you can transport anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues in white, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go...

I don’t deserve lots of friends like him or you.
My eyebrow arched, ‘That’s my room when I was a kid,’ I gasped.

The view outside, apples, Fuji oak, null passages in fog; your cheek and forehead are evident. I then moved us to the rubber towel, leaving everything else to chance, a luscious, noiseless bonding. When I put a few highlights on your lips and we drank, it was like no milk ever tasted. All we want now is to grow up in sleep, trust and telepathy.
I wrote this 15 minutes ago. 
That hasn’t stopped me from modeling.

11/8/19

Don’t expect me after all. 
 
Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform the boss  
You’re not serious, never are.   
 
Like you we’re turning state’s evidence holding on to meet  
                        even newer phenomena (‘stolen parts’  
To run over) any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved)  
Or some won’t since you and I polished the text equations,   
 
Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-  
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.
The Inuit are fascinated by pottery. 

Any dark ceramic with asymmetrical tenets remains tacit  
but could be looking up at a light source, feeling talkative..  
maintaining maximum restraint to engage another psyche.
Lots of us are gifts  
and land across our example   
while we watch the wind taken   
that the waves under you lift  
Tho see-thru as doves   
which today are nothing more,   
swept with a visual certainty   
no matter how we change in love.
12: This is a fugue in your full name..
we’ll talk this time.. talk bristly.

We won’t count the clock, silvered — how telling in its barren prime..
Yes, we’re spry in our own bravery, our spring motives, yet underhanded
getting back to catch the hang of how time gives and takes.

You may notice we’re defenseless, forsaken, since we must go on, bourn
regardless, wives girded up in sheaves, men on biers with white, bristly beards.
Any time today then subject to fast change
as sweets and beauties are disarranged —

Never saw them coming, old and new succumbing to murder and death — but not here —

We brave you more, questioning you as if we never waste our time in your summer,
your beauty growing so well now into the future..
Been holding our tongues. That’s how it works. 
 
Non-interference in charge, an authentic preschool where bourgeois language, dance skills and charades get raised and genetic quest is first and forcibly asserted. Working against deadline shaped the last phase of withdrawal from our deadlock with future attributes. Oedipus meantime, our co-founder, targeted a fan like me because of sectarian obligations to familial platitude. The patriarch’s camouflage is in plain view, the better part of tottered winds over centuries-old middle ground.
There’s no one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capital. 
Try feeling polyphonic with an uncapped fortune, reflecting what you did when your adolescent backbone iced up, raising all boats, all social levels.  
 
Our greatest fear is going deeper—  
 
That would kill our real parents.  
 
They’re dead already.  
 
Hence the family corporation is casually hidden  
 
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.  
Solitude, confidences, you’ll earn times in the day,
the plays and jungle, many in a series —
We reach back to no self and no others.

11/7/19

Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to interminable sex. 
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both adolescent in a persistent sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly,  
 
unspeakably, as libido constitutes knowledge modules, glistening aimlessly.   
 
Candy later.
Pragmatics: I can steel myself to make something up and call it mine...
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent:

I might also mean pragmatics can be textually modern as respectable Eurocentrics undress for survival, avoiding careers, soaking up the city among savages of their own design.

What happened, you look so radiant?

I’m my own boss.
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! May it help us solve you and me for X!
when we let them.

Own then discard a tuxedo.
There is no name but then it’s you.. My life is built around sane choices w/ an acceptation of absence and torment, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of another love to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?   
 
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen anonymous expressions of desire.  
 
* The memory part is often vice versa.
Sonnet 26: My life is charged by your sweet respect. A merit so great
I can’t sleep, given impunity, I hope.
My thought is tottered, all naked but fair. 

Dear you,

I send you this. Finer aspects are lacking for a good generalist’s conceit. I’m wanting words to show I am barely half a wit, my writing addressed deliberately to look made up, to look as if we need a hand skipping dinner, combing through jabs and moving high and low pressure points peeled back from getting our tenuous, jutting fingers into and under the interstate that brings you and me home.

I don’t think driving in my mind can be boasted of by moving points but it’s so great I don’t worry it gets easier.

Un-reproved, how I do love you.
In lounge lighting, both our eyes drift as if you’re

spanking me underwater. & I see why snails

build their houses near the sea,

& why we & they stand around & tank, coltish to the end. Complicated.
& we & they gain weight because we despair.
Morning spectacle, desire, the physical. 3 prayer components one ought not to be without. When I find them in others, I know I’m getting close to unending affection.
I won’t practice anything less knowing what it means to maximize experience, accomplishment.

Just piano and voice.
I won’t do more, not even for track officials powered with centrifugal force from a fraught past.

I should add my visual gamut speeds ahead, surrounded by the haves and have-nots of guitar spinning in freezing gusts.
The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.

11/6/19

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
It’s close to a curio.. writing in sheer Lucida Sans
All the time, staggering!
Tomorrow a friendly caveat for the melder up there,
Pal,
your ‘work-arounds’ bully sarcasm to un-wit ways and means to spiraling.

“My regrets,” switching phones.
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out sequence out of martial arts, sparkling pen-  
 

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
132: I’d like to bend rules to wipe sobriety off a finger painting 
where we dress soberly for the pitying sky out west — 
It’s so cold here. A place for mourning w/ subdued heartfelt pains, rare 
minerals that become tree colors back east. 

Your eyes I love, and they torment me most
where full stars usher both of us by your grace — 
not half the sun nor half the glory from heaven 
suit me more as two morning eyes become your face.
That thing? It’s a slide knot. Or a kind of travel document. We have functional props for digging up emotions and this much-circulated vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let fine fettle overcome despair, swamp entropy. For a quiet start, take down zero gravity bans. But you don’t keep any of the larvae. They’re apart. Their cloying song goes out mutely and you feel a need to ache in their baby bluish availability, calmly accruing intimacy. Hey —

Never stop prospecting.
Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. It isn’t safe yet. I won’t forget. 
And that goes for this gala rehearsal. Proud exclamations to postpone further vaping, advancing a counternarrative for co-stars stepping slowly waving gold torches in flames, pressing the troupe into feeling nervous in observed time. 
 
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out scene out of martial arts, sparkling pen-  
 

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
Remember about now we compile devices with motives, in effect, soft flickers of syntax, rather than comments — good hind (half-)thoughts spidered into leg & arm pins and something more. Get to resolute joy nodes, a punching bag of well refined tricks, compressed — holding you in my super thoughts. Go on. 

Check the front seat glowing with our golden characters. In other manners hold your breath. 
What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation?

As atheist or decision theorist?

11/5/19

I remember those breasts..

A geometry that respects the brain,


Fred Astaire kind of shit.
When I win, I’m

Drifting toward us,
It’s a back-drift

Under your blanket. I’m

Over you now. I’m half-awake


Falling asleep in the speaker’s presence.


It’s deeper than that really.
I’m worshiping 
a whole number while a crew of higher energy  
blew town along with.. it’s no matter, since  
the full crew might be regular guys that could potentially flip out  
again until they’re replaced.   
 
How I think of you.   
 
Some water [Pause.] please.
I joined the Actor’s Guild. Within a week I lost a pound


& my office parties became off-key fantasies. Flutists


scaled for kodo, on a familiar toepath of scents.

Come again, I will say,


thinner tones & soft muscularity are proof
— our brains were being stolen; after

we wandered back home muttering “TV,


TV” — a mildly eccentric suburbia


waiting for an awe-inspiring payday of relaxation

& thickening plots with ‘heavenly touches.’

Time to come? I hoped you might &?
2: We never came across deep trenches in your beauty here.

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

Face to shoulders, gestures are precise in your eyes, and through them, the viewer’s glass.

There are proud motions throughout — answering your deep-sunken eyes. Warm and cold pride climbs down a first, second, third hill. Falling lower — a lusty mainstream-underground

of successors with all-eating eyes — we — some of us — avoid. Of small worth. Then asked, will

you recover some of mine? Renew me? how much? let’s renew
our blood warm coordinates, summed up in fair use

remembering pleasures of the eyes! neck! and chest!
Yes there..
Antinomy in its own time... Something after was pouring out, dazzling in its double structure toward filling empty assembled boxes you had to organize. 

Losing light downstairs. Nonetheless you were rushing then pressing for more optical symmetry. An interim for you, pushing up and out. We got laid before. There is little point now to hold back (or cremate) any fixed melody tonight unless our time grows on trees. 
North American atheism as a quad of hope 
we never come across while a parabola intersects,  
a pedigree. The richest one’s gestures are precise. Bright monied eyes.  
 
Sins tell the story. 
Sparkling motifs climb down  
— there’s a new quad-underground  
— we — some of us — avoid it. Beauty’s veil. Hardly objective,   
 
but a big badge realignment is authentic now,  
hyper-rufflers juxtaposed by an advanced sports.  
So let’s start with comfortable rectangular lascivious shapes,
 
“all things turn to fair that eyes can see!”
I’m a little I guess confused

I thought you might understand I mean

I'm surprised, do you know


what I'm saying? I guess so


not exactly.

11/4/19

I do my best and worst work north of you but best or worst is nothing if unobserved.
And I still get picked on — now in a major way.
But business proceeds — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured abs.

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of abs.
You may have noticed I write on your face, a kind of praise,
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of roses, choosing you out
of many then forwarding you as backdrop for my dear heart’s old face 
We reach some element (full sail) within the (verse) set where perfect
touch is unleashed, and by either/or well taught. But the scenery is
suddenly beyond diagram while the crew is calmed down. It’s approaching nightfall.
There’s a dual nature of ghost anonymity that makes what’s inside us
disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of our escape.

Either/or? My/your silence cheats at hearts —
unless we’re in love to win over all sparkle to figure it out?
How the cosmos is unexplained, parts one and two. In the mentalist first part, taxonomies are set in complacent symmetries, dimly lit by the prophetic overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university with nothing to give back. 

In the covert yet untragic part, forfeited specialists use tightly predictive diversions to gain advantage for incriminating thoughts. They march with different cause-ists and assonate speech-act solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, bullies and tribespeople, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority as they age — and they take the bullets; why? 
17: We don’t want to be a second late — I’m hellbent to get you down on paper, to write the beauty of your eyes where whole numbers enumerate all your graces (even as poets lie) —

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

You say no way, I only half like it, bleh! / This poet lies
...lies, but no more than other earthly tongues filled with living rights to an antique song...
Too many frail variations like this citrus ring where sawdust
fell..

Wild bats tore past our recondite quarters:
lamps buzz over daubs of sound, swaying in a lotion
of glows to countermine the bad reviews.

His neck however and his vulnerable collarbone burning
to show their softness. His hair seems funny and comfortable, cinnamon.
We just saw (a few minutes from now, however) 
your address changed.  
 
We could have done it differently before you discovered uses of when all is said (the parent corp was yours before) you took over.  
 
You’re not going to be delirious, are you? 
Just for a stretch of language... good for you long ago 
taking me from sleep, hectic and hurting, 
where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...  
 
Good for you!
I impersonally maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic one more time. 
The place was firmly democratized, sir, once it seemed and was 
interpenetration among important variations of the species et cetera running this.

11/3/19

The heart is sore as
Whitman precedes Aimé Césaire. Salut.

Rationed compliments ensue in secret and breathed in under rush-formatted steam (a love poem)
— Accounting disappears like functions of context (difficult relationship proxies) —
Love not being is taught
But fought for in reverse. Freezing the difference.
Whom will we discover? How?
Do you both laugh? Per rules,
regs of sounding it out, for x
it’s overdue.
You’re back in vertigo yay

yielding authority with no mediary.

Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon
: any of your fix gets exaggerated for good :
                  What’s this the (x) about?
You say yay. (For x.)
$ transfer: I’m asleep.
An only hill / a huge stage
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights, debates that decay:
A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best.

When I hear dogs and woods in salt air
Together, like them and like us.
Can you dig a stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.
14: In my judgment
what little I know of truth and beauty comes through your eyes.
Except not tonight without you. Newer urgencies
where starry prognosticators feel rain and wind,
pointing to each other, so exposed they feign ignorance, aimlessly...

And yet bad luck too when their lightning rod derives its flash while, lightly,
its chemical wind thrives for a second then returns to stars —
doomed as cognitive coloration, brief astronomy, all matter.
I remember those breasts..

A geometry that respects the brain,


Fred Astaire kind of shit.
When I win, I’m

Drifting toward us,

It’s a back-drift

Under your blanket. I’m

Over you now, half-awake

Falling asleep halfway thru a larger presence.

Larger than that really
Greyhound hurling on seesaw feels relaxed, 
But more entertaining, not serene. A maelstrom lights 
Up the foreground, no questions asked. 
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites. 
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox.
I’m too ugly to be molested. It’s true. 
But I like meeting new people and having life changing sex.  
That would be the interior window to no progress. And 

No UFOs.

11/2/19

The heart is sore as 
Whitman precedes Aimé Césaire. Drink up.  
 
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam (a love poem (one of innumerable), one) aroma 
— Accounting disappears like functions of context (starched procedures) — 
Procedures where love not being is taught  
But fought for in reverse. Freezing one difference.   
 
Physicalism (neural drama) — here we wade slowly adapting to worldly schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Drink well.
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.
Uma’s son.. me..

Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer
All the time, staggering!
The fit has to be good.
I noticed you work away from me making your poise smoke.
Sonnet 27: You’re wearing a scent of rosemary, looking on w/in darkness, looking down — 
 
I’ve been waiting here in bed for far updrafts to open my eyes / to see / to bend 
Your imaginary shadow, making night beautiful, an old face new — 
By night my mind joins you — still sightless, no quiet even now.
An awful virus. Just a common excuse.
Rhetoric as privilege dying, 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, all excused —
ruthless in value, the boundless layers set in funereal trance 
still texting under the bust of the rhetor, a civil, democratic ideal. 

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

As we live like animals brushing up on ideas...
What does there’s still a move to go do?
It’s just a feeling, the only unmoving part.

11/1/19

Holidays again.

Heaven is in our hearts with an egg drop of credos and documents, from which large scale dull instruments get tossed.
We drink to our mistakes.
We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance, manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are nothing less than what we have in mind!) :
D
id I mention Wittgenstein helped set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere living experts supersede manners and physicality itself, where there is no privacy. Not now. Started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, the ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back.
Hail, love, I was in hell with you
Having seen again all the mud we throw.
We’re not living there now; it’s too far to drive, leaving us out drenched to the waist, hanging down on the sidewalk looking a little ‘filmed over.’

The now is? I don’t know where it went or was. I wonder if we’ll show up there.

These questions are battered about.
5: No remembrance — Of confounding beauty. Of the lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Of course I never rested as a stealth pointillist portraying beauty’s effect, sweet, bare women and men. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofas — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but now yes I’ll love you better frosty and lusty!  

— I’d say I’m framed approaching you often as summer’s pointillist distilling pulverized, liquid dots —
a framed prisoner doing time, 

pent up by tyrannical time that still excels leading us on —
There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invested then, daylight garners you
several that breathe, toting samples of published
ontologies, torrents of taste alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to recall their recipes.
We politely followed them, tho, unwed yet at peace
until we ran into a couple out cold staring thru ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked, hesitantly,
before the ice covered future grades.
Let me grab my pen and clamber over here to the iconic network... you’re right, this isn’t the mammoth for you and me. Before the heat dies we’ll try praying in all directions and improve our math skills for our partners’ sexual satisfaction as they pivot from high table to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria.
We repeat there are rules to doing morning: 
Sleep in without rehearsals,  
Coax a situation back.  
 
You're only human, Fu dog.

How can you care modernism, a despoiled inheritance for architecture, beguiled, diverted, is flatly unlike poetry’s pocketknife connections to the past. Apparently tomorrow is more appealing even if we only half-know where architecture takes us. Poetry? More incisions.