5/31/19

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.
My blood is in the work, how we make love. That’s why  
I’m close to invisible as a jet companion, not of this sexual province.   
 

One by one. Everyone else was smiling the other way. A sober intro...   
 
They’re having a fit of motions gone thru. Everyone a worker-sleeper.  
Then I remember there’s exigency in good fortune.  
 
With the right knowhow  
& not feeling mortal, all to the good...   
  
engaged about engaging — what a work week!
Song: It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer of grabbing knives and spoons v. the naive intuition that expresses it. 


Missing you doesn’t change anything. I want you to stay happy but be on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds if you want diversions of wicked cunning and mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle —

Throaty, we thought we thought we were entangled set against puzzle fetishes and no honest vibes. It also helps to hike interest rates on the bed side to side. Conceive a buy-in or -out.
Yes or no in tokens, symbols and their prototypes. Yes or no signs. Yes or no to feuds, grim ball-bearings. Forget but never forget the asseverator’s vulnerability. And yes or no rodent names. No yet also yes to poems scoping life as a masterpiece, addressing a doormat standing an inch off the casing, fourth-up past the itch out of somewhere but nothing like every itch up your sleeve. Yes or no tempo of glyphic turmoil grounded into dotage and torpid incision in not one vowel or all 80 of them — 800 tones, yes or no prophase for pensive description. No to yes there’s insatiable shine.
64: The soul is a belief system, which I have seen defaced,
increasing store with loss, done in by time’s fell hand,
the rich proud cost of grief and expressing it in American English.
I hope you can let this go..

Time will come to take our love away, leaving me breathing, no form —
Structurally I seem sustained only by so lofty a hypothetical force —
But I can’t go on without some
interchange — a new episode with your telegenics. And
when we walk together, it makes no language difference what we believe, what the soul is.

I’m just ruminating on having you. Always a slave to you, I fear losing you.
My soul’s inscription reads you’re my state of the eternal state, my business.
I promised you a ham for painting bombast, cremating all melody fonder. 
 

That would be indoors at our new place.  
 
Until then  
I’ll have you over when life and death crack automation...  
 
Waiting for you know who,  
I hope you’re feeling great. I’m not.
No futures present new phenomena —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony purring yet put aside.
3-D models are mindless taking chances, everyone we can engage in transparent secrecy, charged by mental concision.

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

— an idea to perform w/ just one note in the future perfect.. where disrespect feels like eavesdropping.
Early nesting process stuff. Ketchupy
The coast is never clear, fat boy...   
 
A whole new side to nuts & lightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center,  
along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper,  
clearly in the nick of it, spoiling for everyone.

5/30/19

Statement of purpose —

Just because we attribute work to personality doesn’t mean I’m not a brute with a hammer in my hand. My nailing us together takes a moment of your life.

Whatever takes substance and breadth, I’m not doing it!
Full version. 

Shucks! 
Sorry. Your language is procedural lengthening its insipid menace. 
Your accommodations are key. That’s why we signed the contract 

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness. 
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught. 
(Our addendum is in the mouth.)

— you mentioned erring out 

for tax purposes as accountants for love will suggest — 

Kudos for some of their thanks! 
Your iron determination to play your own tax pro is magnetic. 

I’m solving you for new parity 
w/ the scum of the peninsula.
31: You remind me of lovers gone. The morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms over their hidden forecasts in naked patterns —
This was their 1st stab at tantrics, due many now.
They merited love trophies — now all yours alone.
You have all of mine,

My tears buried in view of you. They’re inside you,
Removed, disguised as glare hung from all-in loving you.
English language trends... 
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time.  
We  
also =  
a glistening database advanced by textuality. The underground =  
stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity.  
ID traces out how to refine / displace any remnant of cultural contempt.  
Classification adjoined by adaptation passed thru descendants.  
This break and entry taking place under balloons holding our beef jerky.
There are subtitles, various languages. You are epistemic staying awake, translating all you expose, the back of another dreaming.   
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.  
(Sleeping on nothing to do with nothing.)    
You can exit the profession at any point, humming inside; you meanwhile can add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.
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 missiles or extra 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 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.
Cliché inflects necklines. But I like your flask.

5/29/19

Aw, come on, try an exercise in subject-mood agreement.
Then Alexander (...great knowledgeable Alexander) moved over, blabbing to his dark lady, oh, ’I’ll bet a thou, maybe 2 we can blow up the empire again in modern English.’

I’m happy in English I’m not Alexander. Can’t sob much. The ache of early summer is palpable, and night drops as snorts of derision dampen my naïve representation of democracy.
Yes or no in tokens, symbols and their prototypes. Yes or no signs. Yes or no to feuds, grim ball-bearings. Forget but never forget the asseverator’s vulnerability. And yes or no rodent names. No yet also yes to poems scoping life as a masterpiece, addressing a doormat standing an inch off the casing, fourth-up past the itch out of somewhere but nothing like every itch up your sleeve. Yes or no tempo of glyphic turmoil grounded into dotage and torpid incision in not one vowel or all 80 of them — 800 tones, yes or no prophase for pensive description. No to yes there’s insatiable shine.
We fail to clarify after political glamor, poli rant goes along with new protocol (the old manners) watched over, even policed nightly — many topics in mind so a few phrases take on character, a wince, a tilt of hat. 
 
Current government gives a glimpse into events shaping rant as in “The Owl and the Nightingale.”  
 
The passive voice made for you to prove your anger; propositional semantics =   
 
key [snap] decisions, arguments, further jibes, shaming within a sub-class of invective, a face-off to persuade waverers; Julius Caesar, Juliet, “Much Ado About Nothing,” “Battle of Maldon,” where Saxon to Welsh sat on decline benches, threw slurs across the Blackwater — add flytings of Skalds of Old Norse in Simone’s Droplaugarsona Saga, as well as the Scot Dunbar et al, “Montgomerie et Polmart,” plus vomitous insult from Middle Normans freezing progress for the Republic of the Nightingale.  
 
It’s closeness ahead shaped by time gone just like that.
I get the idea
an ugly feeling:
we’re dinner figurines / the aptness of the (any) time.
95: Hidden pretext takes over. A story of dispraise and comments but in a kind of praise per the report.
What would be less fantastic? An enclosure of stainless vice. A full shelf of great privilege with lascivious plans.

Naming your name tells the story. How sweet — you’re every blot-and-sin-in-one, widely preached against, seldom commented on against ill odds, for shame. One spots your pieces of sporting nonsense, beauty’s manly tongue negated, verbs rounded off randomly, veiled, knifing my love out..
The rhetor avers, Linked phrases run through the a’s, b’s, c’s so
on, but a-phrases, again, often point to the composition (the kind I am). 

As for b, my creativity 
is not wasted in remorse. 
What I owe: I know 
almost and almost lost, 
unfinished, in everything. For the c’s 
I moved along a scratchy plain 
of dandelions, peony, clover: 
checked for snags of fern, fir, 
and only you nodded: Oh yes — 
It’s always news: 

and I see your form 
as you fill in the questionnaire 
putting your back into it.
There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invest now, daylight garners one
several that breathe, toting examples of published cook
-ing ontologies, whatever they got alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to enumerate an open enough peace
next to sleeping people staring through the ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason
before the ice scissored out the upper grades.
Death, I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a life without suffering
That can’t exist.
From here it all seems a miracle;

It’s good we are now separated.

5/28/19

Doomsday Door A or B? Let’s start with an idea that makes us think differently about its components. If you or I have an idea to process a text or, broader, an artifact of value — a central concern subject to critical and conceptual analysis is, how does the processed result change thinking about the process? In other words, does the artifact generate inquiry into both (a) the who, how, when, why it came about and (b) the utility of its replication or adaptation into future results?
Anchored in the bay I need to remind myself 
Larry Kearney rhymed all with skull, internally. P Inman’s  
Echelon hairnet shifted putty, thumb-nailed into  
An agreement to let us in. Skull with putty.  
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth.  
 
The more you put your fingers in it, on it, on earth, you know retouches, colorations return as audible signs of evidence-based rivalries to make fitter (more adhesive) decisions for correct behavior.
The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense. 

Come out and play, practice, sample finding out 
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of national cultures  
backed up with inexact and multiple scents of honor, crooning sounds  
from what we were doing before [give me a sec..] took hold,  
instantly endorsed as group identity. 

Identity and hardened m.o.’s from silences and retakes 
and feral feelings immersed in a prolonged piano lesson. 
I’m learning squat
until you get home.
142: Concision or love is my hue dealing method, means
can be objective and lack pity, sin, even hate.
To study those, those lips of yours
will seal an incident virtue unveiled as ambition. And to study the eye

as a catamaran of process.. your eye. This is while I love you, bond with you
as one ornament on a crazed errand-stream for our scarlet masters of art.
And we’re moving back to shedding our ambiguity, wearing only raiment emotions, complex appetites, passing drinks around —

That’s not just a cherished, blame-the-victimy idea pushed into text to make it current.
Currency itself is baroque with — and about — democracy. ‘Baroque’ as a term authorizes ironic, decorative extremes as cultural norms — instrumental, uncreative and undemocratic.
What’s missing is, why is there feeling?  
It’s a state of mind according to Hoyle doo wop;  
Global warming jazzes a decimal of our pablum.  
Where should I hurt?  
Once or more. A few more.  
There’s no projected torture unless it causes organ failure.  
 

Baby steps fix the climate really fast indoors.  
 
For we feel tall  
and inflatable as we cascade into a blank, mechanistic corp.
Puissance of a quick jolt sort, holy body of music.

5/27/19

Yes or no in tokens, symbols and their prototypes. Yes or no signs. Yes or no to feuds, grim ball-bearings. Forget but never forget the asseverator’s vulnerability. And yes or no rodent names. No yet also yes to poems scoping life as a masterpiece, addressing a doormat standing an inch off the casing, fourth-up past the itch out of somewhere but nothing like new itches up your sleeve. Yes or no tempo of glyphic turmoil grounded into dotage and torpid incision in not one vowel or all 80 of them — 800 tones, yes or no prophase for pensive description. No to yes there’s insatiable shine.
If you got close enough to Talking Chimp’s cage, she’d throw dirt, food — anything her baby paws could fit around — while her companion, Rudy [Ekornes], made loud sounds that resemble what some call a ‘raspberry.’

Talking Chimp did all her own stunts.

She was the featured beast in the movie Barfly.

Upon her release Talking Chimp left the industry and went on to Oxford.

Talking Chimp was seen with a lot of gentle creatures wearing jeans and racing through the wood, building paranoia.
What if we put the talking chimp away for five seconds.

“Let’s not do this, let’s not make hurting each other impossible to resist,” the real talking chimp enjoined, unable to stop herself.

Unexpectedly, she took me home to meet her family.
Bullied into autocracy. 
Hell is too big to fail.  
 
Fire the lilies in the field.   
 
This is a democracy. Hysteria as a rallying cry brings a revolution in ignorance and vanity.  
 
The ousted president drops to his knees.
62: No remedy surmounts heaven where detachment is trimmed. Swimming there uproots a whole life series, bright, tanned & then accounted in sympathetic parody & indeed praise. I define my own worth, contrary to more gracious remedies.

We have functional emotions, I think, grounded by sin, self-love & this choppy vocab of possessive affects. Quite, there’s a hint of falsetto. Shields up. I’m reading in the last place you are true, here in my heart, shifting iniquity to self-inquiry & dabbling. Stay with me, it will never stop.
Our racetrack type can’t win. 
A tongue in your ear  
loosens noise from pioneers and  
‘second’ cousins in lines of duty.  
 
It’s a tradition intractably complex, 
A two-mate cabin five steps down.  
Sleeping with you, blackmailed looking for
a waging mnemonic to store in a palindrome.
There are subtitles, various languages. You are epistemic staying awake, translating all you expose, the back of another dreaming.   
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.  
(Sleeping on nothing to do with nothing.)    
You can exit the profession at any point, humming inside; you meanwhile can add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.
High cognition animating your new bankcard 
Observing very little ethical cohesion. For oomph  
The gloves come off ..   
 
Modifiers in chips note each commitment of yours on a riddle gauge, new units mutate oozing w/ data until you stop.  
 

Finish a stretch and the state gets confused.   
 
Citing a theory of state w/ universal grammar,  
Your card de-activated.
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.

5/26/19

You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, sky 
dogs, paint & sloppy intercourse under conditions that surround our desire 
calming down time for loving you.
“...all men suffer:”
& what of? 
I’m like everyone else who grew up refusing novels, a nutshell of a wonk
glaring, boasting bragging rights over inexact outcomes, crayon-ing onto smiley,
boundless love non-judgmentally! Silently indicative! 
& of course I too did time w/ “live people...”
Our racetrack type can’t win. 
A tongue in your ear  
loosens noise from pioneers and  
‘second’ cousins in lines of duty.  
 
It’s a tradition intractably complex, 
A two-mate cabin five steps down.  
Sleeping with you, blackmailed looking for
a waging mnemonic to store in a palindrome.
Hands up. 
 
On the corner of statue and the outer cape, there’s  
interdependence beyond just passing a show of hands  
beyond orgasm overdue an hour ago (one mild altercation took it  
into a shade of de-constraining ease).  
 
A heyday of hands.
99: Stay on the hunt, tough to please, speculate (ouch)

even as vengeful tectonic plates jump over
our fears, shame and despair.

Annexed to you, a purple violet seems grossly dyed, your soft cheek
raining havoc for lilies.. marjoram, my love’s breath, your breath. (Uh.) Here’s where you and I lose the scent. Ever


-yone does. Clouded (ouch)
flames ennoble the sky to blush through


my love’s veins, your hands, both of us in thorns ..
condemned for pride, I’m going on all nerves stolen from you.
If you know rhetoric 
it changes feelings;  
it changes behavior,  
especially within poetry.   
 
Poetry changes  
writing now,  
writing you’re reading at another  time coming up now.  
Benji, stop that! (Strange dog.) We’ve decided to beat it out of you. (Benji.) 
Say something! We’ve lost your spirit and pulse.
Nolo contendere, so it must be spring, just one daffodil stands, 
Gothically lonely contexts & forsythia’s juvenilia, pancake brown.   
 
No acid red, no sulfuric brown, no browns in hidden rounds  
or soft stems.   
 
I’m not sure it’s inclusive or scrambled enough if we differentiate among drams  
 
& besides, why be preoccupied with elastic peculiarities?   
 
Nobody has to talk to me about me.
I see what no means. This island, 
the water rosy cast.   
 
Poll these opinions. No contest.
Rough framework: A giddy notation to a story.
Visuals like tenured blurs formally at odds,
split seconds in a bigger, frank understanding with no data.
A bog of cloudburst capsizes, disabused of clouds,

blending in, no longer exterior to land

untrusted and abstract, a heavy rain

snapping into randomness.

5/25/19

Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody ; 
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within practice  
To engage another’s psyche  
Stick with it + have what you own set conditions for growth 
as an entire practice. Possess habits that can be flattened   
into proscriptions + boost distinctions  
over words bringing up the actual goods ..   
 
Conditioning’s a transmutation question .. you can say  
there are no stages.
Any ineptitude from food, cars and drugs motivates our family plan, a ceremonial prank, an outright lie living off others’ good graces: A.I. living in sin. 

A.I. re babies under these circumstances brings up future drug dependence, except not yours of course.  
 

I note one’s pale eyestripe of looking and pleading. Down curved and black edged, camouflage for being unread. Frankly, one’s not that much into whom? When the father was asked, he hesitated and then offered, “Certainly not me.”
We’re a special team. We’re circumspect. 
Our sharing mechanism (uber text) gives no voice 
to repeated wandering motifs over long hours 
we back off from. Nightly 


we face living with memes & east winds 
taking it to other investors who might stay offended, 


the next step in the training. 
91: Who owns property, names, anything under formalism? Boasting, proud
of our skills, we grew up 20th century, years before feeling wretched with wealth
taking hold over general malaise, as adjuncts measure it.

High birth of hawks or hounds, formalism of all men’s pride. Your love tho better than a lease on pleasures that

..
..never last — I find your body force a joy above all the rest.

Best owning some of you, finding and owning my joy in your delight.
There are procedures for mourning. There are a slew of them. 
I can’t say these things. These same things. Page one, no one, page 101. 

I may go on to continue. To be pressed on cardboard. 
It almost makes me say all aboard. Then it “goes.” 

for Ted Greenwald
Without counsel, full consent is a slog mating a slow burn. 
You trust yourself by age 600, satisfied  
Euclidean space holds the blueprints to make your home slog efficient.   
 
That was before you were reborn or uninvented.  
Recursions set in. You had no modesty issues.  
You have none now, none detected  
and fewer and fewer policy goals (unlike chemistry in its infancy).   
 
You changed your shirt, put your weight over and into a sketch (a study)  of one on one in galvanized torture that escalates, utter   
 
formalities documented in our eyes, so fine counter-stretched, kept on balance / in suspense —
The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean.

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

5/24/19

I can’t win = that’s the primary end of inattention.   
More bounce for the retina to unscrew my internal hysteria pouring up, out but  
unembarrassing, rocking like breaking news, losing both death and life, dropping your    
rogue’s whip, over my heels.
No escape no fooling. 
Snow in May is a collective that takes singular form.  
Replacement snow falls on snow, terms of art.   
 
Our steps are noncommittal; a global officialdom germinates apart.  
Snow! I feel sick yelling my frequent amens.  
I do my best and worst in the future and still get snowed on  
when I start to step away from them and you.
Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter —
Is that a document in your pocket or did you make it up?
If you agree I’m happiest procrastinating.
Up with proportionality, southpaw.
You & then I change very slowly thru a shower curtain 
on televised football. Management will yell  
raising your pulse rate. Or is sweet smelling flame just to remind us?
85: Takes substance and breadth; the going price of audacious desire

(a rare cigarette case, may I?) looked after in polished forms and
No thanks. Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice. Words come last. Let’s
Practice being still. (The big meal.) Inductions to other habits; hearing your breath

I think good thoughts, speaking in effect, externalizing dumb ideas.

The gleaming haze drags down floppy sculptures of wool

Like light praise warmed over by spinning in freezing wind. “Amen”

— I cannot phrase the scent of snow and sunlight and your utter loss

— my tongue tied crying, folding you in my thoughts.
Yum-suffused shortbread has some regions, ancestry
In brogues. So it’s really something and nothing

And we have developed responses
.. untruthful automated Now Pro voices ..“that acquiesce on a positive note..”
This can’t be real, one doesn’t have to seem interesting. “No clouds, hi contrast,
Of little depth.” But that doesn’t sound bad. There’s a slimmer chance

I’m captioning the fixed width to Now Pro today
Evolving in massive overuse. Hmm?

Last words on process: Counterfeiting
Is luckier than reading everything before it’s rooted in or out.

No sweat on heavy attainment comes up next, avail. in this rough version of Recently Used
English to wish you any and all the full pleasure I withheld. Damn!
Geometry respects the brain.. 
operands like to piggyback... 
 
 
Preliminary findings we said,  
knowing it’s going to grow   
 
— I just drove all the way  
from Hawaii.  That proves it 
genius-like, it was  
lighting up my senses   
 
like just before you’re shaven. I’m  
noting how your chin juts into mirror form —   
 
Your neck’s more formal than that — really  
a splendid animal halo front to back.
Two Spanish-speaking women try new salads. 
The contours.

5/23/19

Any hesitance is wind related warmth riding in and a similar sauna of fog, darkness offshore the day before. 
The atmosphere squeaks common sense. We can’t feel it though its paces embolden dreams. 

What hinges out? 
Hop on, I’m a musician.
I forget what really and concretely meant to nature. 
My post values are really skewed, I forget William Blake.   
I forget historicism.  
I forget the Kennedys and the Dead Kennedys.  
It’s the same with my wearing bangs.
Singing into one’s hat is like shooting for triumph.
Otherwise, sung language has a light vegan sexuality.

Whew! I’ve been chewing to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties (dentists)..

Hanging out in unusual white corridors...
Suggesting we’re still trembling, owing to

The chew off, creating new intelligence for making sense,
Most often pulling some predictable rabbit out of a hat —

A Pythagorean hat for which there is a beginning,
There is an end, don’t fix it.
Like dozens of others spin
-ning opaque data sets, it’s probable
I’ll never make chicken
or any designated soup for you — I never make
chicken soup but if you ached for me
to I would.
You come before vegetarian salvation.
I’ll never make
that either.
Sonnet 61:
Simple enough picking up a pen . . . land and those living on it have data functions; similarly I see you.

I watch your synthetic appropriation by composition, the vigil and force applied putting your youth

into a piece, since the grown man does not come by himself, regardless of your beauty — the river bank plied by far off

metaphors and substitutions, one at a time — less formal, so near home it’s like taking dictation, taking after your love of my love of you.
2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive, eager to do what we were afraid to be?
What does it mean to work? I don’t know that either. What I know is how to belong, stake out territory and bust heads, maintaining an atmosphere of trust.
Once your public is mounted you can add your own awesome content!
Your first lover.

He could heal you thru.
Then the forces of narrative happen, seeing breath fixed

on the floor then it circles midair,
and we see your ETA.
We won’t be a second late — your exes
understand we can all meet seeing you.

That’s the gist.
Aren’t we supposed to feed the acrobatic dogs? Yes but summer, winter? Minutes after the work is filed, dozens stand in line for a treat, free rein over the sentence.

5/22/19

I don’t know that much about you [hi.. ] but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling torture.
Half a day goes by and

You are [hi..] unattainable,
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, [hiccup] this is serious.
Soft fear and despair, the flip side to formalism ...
 It’s a real privilege to be singled out 
..once there was a C-class..  
 
We stay onboard  
 
Suffering, complaining, two out of 3 observers got off, depleting the shipment. Surnames are ..oh forget it, huh? They’re randomly conjoined.
In my illusion of minimalist guts, hammering steel, ale, 
a full branch. I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of time. A frayed entity, o   
nuh, I should say the accretion settled down, humble salve   
soon spread over us, losing our touch, scattered
trying to..       
 
Simply put, to remember where early wounds from speech are   
mispronounced, which wait inside, which sorts hit or fit our doing....  
doing mimesis within nature,   
uppermost.   
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?
What’s the worst that can happen? One’s partner — 
is a doomed villain — 20 times one’s own weight.  
On a second take one is defined from video senses  
by god, by sex. Thank god that intimidates.   
 
Now squat, I learned scat, handily  
...I get the feeling  
the one god has gone one’s way.
5: No remembrance. Of confounding beauty. Of the lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Of course I did time as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on women and men whom I led on. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofa sectionals — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but yes I’ll love you better frosty and lusty! — 

Often I’d say I’m a pervert approaching you as summer’s pointillist of the pulverized, distilled dots — a liquid prisoner 

pent in never-resting time that still lives —
How did Auden begin? Green song of ourselves...
The dumbfounded rush in when he’s around. It’s not their fault.

He has that look-for-it itch. Garish tulip brocaded w/ physics.
One presumes Auden’s elements are strung together out of capital’s desperation and a deeply ingrained will to dominate the unknown, much as technology takes on all comers...

From Iraq, Africa, coming from Brazil to Hiroshima, Syria, graphic measures of tragic-comedic obliteration.

All this time the dumb and dumbfounded are different.

How did Auden begin? Green song of ourselves...
Land use. That’s what the new world is about. Are we breeding steer or picking pansies? 
Just two modalities. Sorry, I have no other apolitical associations I can share. I ran through a dude ranch then tried raw energy.

Don’t know why the ranch stands there still in no summation after the transaction but before I turn away, circumscribed, all hat, no cattle.
舞踏. 
As in Where the 舞踏 were you?

5/21/19

The you I 
tableau-sponged, speckled, remotely 
burst. Mangrove gripped in saliva.
Tableau — Anything 
reasonable, impure, immersed in freedom. Swimming 
synchronized. Induced but so what? 
I left you out.
Affluent girls and boys, effeminate — it’s a sane part of rage — people get to a point where they think they’re not deep enough: “I only want to lie flat on my back and read a book. (I can’t grapple with what else I’m thinking..)” That’s where poets step in. Poets get people to want to read and write.
The three acts to life comprise the intervals it contains minus select channels —
like deep blurs formally at odds,
life in split seconds joining bigger movement with no data.
Ode: I’m sleep. An only hill 
I’ve been researching  
Awake most nights:  
A clean face in the morning — caped  
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light that’s the best.  
 
Dogs and woods by the ocean, other 
Kludges and hacks harder to implement.   
Can you dig the stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.   
 
Repeat this until approved.
Our service managers said these are extraordinary times. Exciting now. Where are we un, um.. if that’s everything, we’ll switch to administrative cadence. Our slogan: production charges the new world until only a beat prevails. The right hand shadows what generations of fear rarely mine from heavier hypotheticals; the heroic code on the other hand never misses. 

Minutes after our extra work is filed, dozens below management are called to line up for a free run of the picnic grounds, company-owned. “This is a very nice benefit,” a leisure pursuit like being shipwrecked, held for ransom. Those were some of the funniest jokes, too. I don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. Or I can’t recall.
52: I’m in lock-up because of you.

Therefore you and I are both scorekeepers. Ours.

I keep you among my jewels,
Blasted yet blessed moods in ‘key’ to configure unfolding pleasure,
So I am rich, I hope, blunting your deceit for years...
The long time it takes, seldom coming in one fine day —
In time a special instant so rare —

Until then, being had by you was worth it as it were

Like euphoria, an instant in doubt hiding the finer points.
Speaking of solemn upper-lower class triumph and treasure,
We find others also keep to the survey, chest to chest, like mine to yours.
RNA itemizes facts. 
Do you name your dares?  
Or stay bubble-footed in the dark,  
 
Fat, never satisfied?  
We come from creatures far back, slowly calmed  
By fear we were of a kind they were to others, lacking  
Redoubled patrimony and their finding-it-out tools.   
 
Distribution adjustment has those to spare..  
Now tasked down from behaviorist briefs. 
Notes on Expressionism: 
 
Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom? 
I rank his output high.  
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  a maximally tall order, looking down over his sprawling, immersive, dark & smoky project-for-good, 10 or higher.   
 
— Empress Eugenie
National treasure: Crocheted titanium with a clown’s face.

5/20/19

Then it happens. A man’s voice, handsome, calm; also nervous ab structure.  Too much strength? perhaps. Protecting a man’s dignity threatens it. Altogether. Everyone knows that
But — ‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a trembler voice to other men fomenting like brats 
blurring terrain,  
accessing the matter, stenciling closure.  
 
He shouts, ‘Can we search for reason in nature’s chaos... ' 
 
No one reads aloud like this, it’s pulsating — and wonderful.   
 
A near miracle in drag.
Standing — showers and others’ happiness that neutrinos can’t stop 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 was here, retreating to emancipating solitude, keeping / adding up the wait time, sporting by degrees the related changes you see and are.
I’m a floater of cynicism when it comes to treatable influences.

Early on our folks taught us to celebrate country music!
Burp through the microphone, Earl, and stare ahead.
It’s early on — it’s a joke — I hadn’t spoken to you I imagined
about a construction zone perforated by echoes, swindles,
procedural lunges toward extra gags. But I see I had.
Flashbacks pertain.  
Large reflecting pools of the future, it’s just a thought. 
If I introduce vagueness to mitigate error as a more devout  machine therapy, we can escape  
thought-train derailment, bringing on threat streams in graphemic parole,  
a narrow rescue from disillusion. 
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 and buds looking prime outside and you’re still passing, unstained by any ambush, adhering neatly to nothing, just passing, yet suspects’ approval ornamenting impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest.

Who are they who envy you? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.
As Isaac passes from consciousness in physics to desolated marsh,
walk along with me. / Where to?

To the battlefront. Nightly measurement skyrockets (blasé for improvising
at first, then it coils & feels there are authentic possibilities) ..

I admire your parents (ghost punks), friends, enemies’ enemies, strangers, also ..

Charitable informatics is garbled when this derivative. Avoid rejecting
criticism, keep your smart object-waves under wraps ..

(I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in,
forward, back passing thru the 1st position
of the sprout.)
It’s written (odd, eh?) that was enough. O!
The workout once was of a soul...

5/19/19

(The lord’s will tilting my ribs reflected aphids gathering on a wall, also unanswerably, in the hand. Whose hand? Those were my sentiments. The last ones. I’m pretty sure. If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)
Stutterers stutter trying not to
looking to feints in thorny circumstance,
unable to help us play a single practical
joke — I hadn’t spoken to you for months
about your adaptability thru mirrors, swindles..
distending procedural lunges toward more feints.

It’s hard for me to take credit for all you’ve done
yet I can see these things happening without you;
furthermore, I give up on any topic I redact.
58: Deserting the beach — god forbid 
 
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs, waiting as the wagon sways  
with fellowship. Love in the future, at your beck and 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. Hell... a mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our  
widows.  
 
This is spring history.)
Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting. 
That’s not to say there’ll be no food.   
 

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently  
— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-   
 

Per sacks. Imitation spinner features,  
striving for positive letterform   
 
Abstracts, speed processed  
but that alone is wearying. Bitch bitch.   
 
You can’t do this job alone — it’s intuition.  
Nor can I maintain perspicacity. It’s 

Like all great conflicts,
synecdoche left not sharing to chance.
How could we let this happen? 

Broken, giddy up, dead. 
Today I face thunder — how to pay homage... 
Bouncy.. apocalypse.. 
My instinct when asked is to inch back 
To the moody raw nation jettisoning any 
Civil use of half-soothing words 
On top various uninvented heights, 
The same heights outward 
Of looking into what we broke.

5/18/19

Paradoxical tissue is still not perfect, living unlocked, but scrunched for breakfast.
It dawns on us I am covered with joy reform. That’s why I went for consensus over
the tractor-red flamenco-glued-to-cable partitions!
They’re in place as a lorem ipsum dolor sit
taken of the whole ironic sector before repro-ed onward

offhand.. rather like a jigsaw
that gets unsolved.
Here’s my favorite. 
 
Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection and uprising. Here, the audience rises.  
 
(That is, artisans among the audience rise, impetuous (hex 46, top line), 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, font color= F8E0E6 >Mr Baker.
Why thru sprinkles? stepping over water balloons floating 
in a once swimming pool.. spurts of views down  
hallways, stairs set apart and fronted  
with music waking in dimming brightness  
with no memory how you got there. That you? 
Didn’t they tell you  
slim tones and soft muscularity prove   
our brains are stolen. Later   
 

we wander off the promontory back home muttering “TV,   
TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia     
 

waiting for payday in awe-inspiring taxation.   
Hazards all sides.  
There you are.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Adding

that noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure it was theirs), amusing
vim shaken out from the inside. Each had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, great riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking you
then not knowing.
Time runs out. 
 
Your poetry has a political bent.  
Stays in position, authentic / inauthentic;   
 

I model your bifurcated attitude  
yet  

everything I do is sin. One after another piles up if  
or when —  
 
Today is when —  
 
The nuclear self, writing you & me, lingers for more... Huh? Now you know I did it.  
 
I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.  
Fund-raise off that.
A convert sings:
Dear May looking like June,  
my notes went outside and cried. Happy nerves. I’m on welfare from scansion,
just remembered.   
 
A heart holding  
my tongue on the verge of resisting notes of civet and holding.   
 
In the right daylight outside yet  
“In each house a different hall, adapted to sever the head  
from the vine. That’s an odd thing 
to say casually, are you now self-embedded or out?   
 
In faith I infer all morale is short lived.
It’s impolitic to separate the performance from stage direction; both are deadpan. Have you thought of writing?

5/17/19

Is that how you see yourself?

— your idea of daylight
every day becoming ordinary knowledge
of parallel ebullience

                                waiting to come up
half in sleep,
steadfast in geometry to grant the horizon horizons, the whole body.
Our retention rates are what makes us /great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases the dress code, a bolo tie display on 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. And shatters.
The taking of whatever works to swat the hand that feeds them,

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.
Struggling with no vulnerability to vie for solitude, I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts. Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable indeterminacy.       
  
A given. Someday.  
  
Now no song of punishment without a reward, sorrow over death. 
Only your own half meets you halfway, how morning can blur promises   
while letting your adages cool.  
 
Is this a document or did you and I make it up?  
Frozen water on Mars is our smoking gun.   
 
Another question  
Of how should I hurt?  
Once and be done.
Surely as there’s a corporate hold across manners and adaptations,
there’ll be curricula restraining praxis
and workbooks in hermetic syntax.

Nice beachfront but there are fewer
bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — metaphysical.
An eerie self-eating mutation.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Adding

that noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure it was theirs), amusing
vim shaken out from the inside. Each had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, great riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3 dimensional farewells in waking you
then not knowing.
Back I said, my piece of non-advice. 
 
Innocence revealed concerns ethics, not intent. Spinoza spent against his own young interests.  
 
Adoration once had a poetic scent. Still has.  
 
Reputations get worse hinging on character, that’s why apprehension remains, deferentially. Creature masks are conditions in unreasoning reprieve.  
Who will advocate peace for the tranquil  
to empower mergers & exchange?
Yes, I’ve recently incorporated; the firm makes me feel yes! you are more melted into tomorrow’s borrowing high, mighty simplicity. Like when a spelling bee hints at a pattern to teach reform, pushing a path open. 
 
Pull it together, a life that’s sustainable you can just make up. (You are under a firm obligation.) This is a real company. We call her Cathy.  
Or this has nothing to do with  
walking away earning a higher degree,  
‘mountains feel empty’ / they’re  
rude —  
 
And there you go, retreating to that panoptic middle deck where you discover almost the same variations. You’ll have to choose the Non-Group taking part in the landing, staying cool to outlast time. Then this is tomorrow.
A life is charged by voodoo graphics. Once you sleep, you take up the ‘thereabouts’ pattern: still, it’s not overrated, I whisper to you, falling for reincarnation roughing it ..oh, wait, déja vu..

5/16/19

Non-linear process (formerly progress of one kind), implicit co-branding of public domain utterance, hysterical strings (and more strings) of surprise, skilled narrative downgraded to parish bulletins, text-snatching and re-assembly lead on. In “Was That a Real Poem or Did You Just Make It Up Yourself?” Robert Creeley observes, “As a poet, at this moment [1974]...I am angered, contemptuous, impatient, and possibly even cynical concerning the situation of our lives in this ‘national’ place. Language has, publicly, become such an instrument of coercion, persuasion, and deceit.” Sure, though keep in mind that sentiment, along with this very sentence, is assembled with ad hoc thematic pointers. 

In our process an orange cloud enters the locker room of the essay. This is the middle section where Gustave Flaubert is transported to the essay’s ‘character’ to do the interfacing, theme propositions in your own words forming a script. Flaubert did not have a script, much less digital media, and the word ‘hysteria’ does not occur in the text of Madame Bovary. In his time, how informed he seems in connection with emerging appropriations by psychopathology. It’s an early manifest of a viral cloud (in our terms). By now every sentence in MB can be re-assembled into poetry, waiting to be taken out for a non-linear spin.
81: I forget so much memory is empowered by mistakes = my gentle verse.
Versus my forgetting umbrage feeds distortion = breathing from a common grave

Fond pleas fracture time... your and my memories, all our deaths and morbidity — all survive.

For in men’s mouths death lives in thoughts of dying,


Thoughts still read aloud by tongues also re-rehearsing life with the dead. Haven’t I

Lived to breathe your epitaph? Or do I lie?
Step Five (ok, I hardly get to do this): I nod off while admiring clearly invisible gamma material at a teeny axis point of existence. One is strong and stupid with an emphasis on novelty. I can imagine a spontaneous disintegration of pragmatics and rarefied syntax until I find myself in the same place here, only in a ‘half-life’ where — 3 decades later! — speech still matters.
Living in an urban sandwich, 
tomorrow or the day after you take out what’s here,  
where you live and dream, even where you work. 
It’s in the doing log, down toward the bottom. Even if you see  
spoilage as natural you might sense a hidden hand (vengeance)  
every time those who argue grow untimely. 
 
Yet this is space and time — Sense better. 
Whew — you think of puppy paws  
as your head fills up with the stickiest,  
most adorable pup gifs filled out  
in dissonance for street lights hum  
 
and flicker  
 
and ......  
 
and  
 
make a daisy-chain of my 3 emotions,  
which the urban sandwich aims to lay claim to and  
project as its own.
I’m bad at knowing when justice along 
with passion is vital, not recreational.  
I’m passive but I don’t believe in spooks. Here’s the outline.  
A few strings were pulled to get me in this factual place I would never have chosen.
Survival here is strung with progress.

5/15/19

I’ve crossed a few lines. 
Relax and beware, that beat. Certain branches of neo-Darwinism aim straight at us. Fuzz, the pronoun, embodies overwrought subject matter while knowledge beforehand turns into new revenue streams, brought up a peg to clear things with the bosses.
One thinks one loves you all-purpose, all calm, never resolved, 
Because you’re only one resource, one swab   
 
In a climate of drumming opinions and best practices —  
Then driving rain and surging seas, over heinous Persia  
 
Long overdue, you said, any day. A refreshing reminder.  
My sympathies.
Can we reconstruct weather formations circling bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?

Yes, I think we can. Those seven, now under the forecast quiver to sleep, resemble one another trembling in patterns.

. *
Pierre Bourdieu throws a projectile — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of
capital distribution are stopgaps like reassembling heterodoxlogy while
subdominant esthetic fields balloon into baggier ideas.”

Bourdieu gets home to his Cajun kitchen, much later, and hears whether
it’s a voice in his head. “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings
as insights.” Well, ah! Our shortcomings have their own weather stats to share here
while checks and balances are nasally inspissated thru fear.
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?”

Some things you need to whisper again, and more, much more ..
(I forget now what you sound like.)
Guess what, a vibrating rattle in hand
rings all night tumbling out of mind, leaving this hole
open to irresolution,
figure suspended, door ajar.

Once you really had us. I was choked up by your running in and out, nearly in a sidle. I told you we agreed a little but not a lot. The plotting — lackluster — I hope you’re coming back for things you need to follow up, us.
One followup.
Today everything I sculpt or shade is yours (mock ups / ruptured items / body copy) or it was when we were in Tacoma picking up fun Japanese. An engineer described it as leaving gaps.

Light exchanged positions. A frat party to you.
It felt good how it broke the room down. And up.
The payoff is one room axis of favoring and feeling more
but far below seppuku —
Ours was a taxonomic correction for error. 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.

5/14/19

Male muses 
 
— the vulnerable and maligned muses were not held enough as children on a moonscape of beaks. Ever notice? Certainly I wasn't. Now I have to make excuses for my friends buried below their own animation with no heirs on site.  
They’re donning synthetics, and only half familiar, and just too intense, plundering the transport from their ambience.   
 
And I was musing, simple stuff picking up a pen.
“Here I use my shaken my voice..”

First on wrong, quaint, then drenched though slackened



Janus was proud to sponsor Janus 



shaking this neap vapor through no shadow weighed, no 



ten or more fears and slopes 


meeting above the steps coincided with their light. 


A high-clip to the final base



atmospherics, their blast patching the thaw 



— spirals discharge, wind heats the ground and trees open.
So the others’ don’t doesn’t count...
“I again not so nicely
Staked out your street cred...” or..
A dress code made perfect in just one’s won’t...

Anchor the wall with fun words, fun you’ve had personally, say.
That’s an order, captain.
All your words over the entire wall.
122: The longer I live it’s right in front of me, beyond all, your gift within my brain.

There’s a glow in seconds before razed oblivion, fun .. and explosive. Wow.

Or much like staying in the now, yielding thru nature to receive you more.

An idle life abandoned. I’m forgetting about it.
You and I remain beyond all date and time in my heart and brain. I won’t be funny or make a stab, score or tally... I’ll subsist to import your love into me .. Again.
My counselor affidavit registers a deficiency of thought and evolving stuff. All the same, this is the second point.

Again the others’ doesn’t count. (I’ve always been competing with another self.)

Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for smoking a joint within the social paradox of treason. Rules commit us. Voters went for the bumble head cheat. Yet this is the latest case.

Everything I note here is integrated. These databases center on surplus insertions while someone super and sober on the ground keeps looking up. We like our democratic ideals to get by on appearances.
It’s written that was enough. O May!
Uber eats poem. 

For immediate release: A tormented lab mix of appliance and beast, user-taxed slabs of pork tortilla, casaba and sausage sorbet on a cherry platter, all wrapped up for you to tear open, putting me in mind of a future photo realism, a live feed to your reading this from the Fed Ex of poetics. Yes
Speaking of which... it’s tricky signing here.
Publicity is the soul of justice. 
That’s a great question.

5/13/19

I say you sign off on others’ labor — A newspaper edition, documentary remnants, penetrable databases — We occupy this clever, conceptual nook, curling up, thinking up ... At times siding with the powerful (administrators) seems deliberate as well as passive-aggressive, love’s public effect, blots of respect for undue labor. 
I’m kidding. I’m staying sarcastic — unironically. Anxious pleasures bearing pleasurable anxiety, repeating ...
Here’s how I hitchhike. I pull on my gloves and come across an organizing principle for pulling a trigger or 2, replacing subject matter with source text, exploring only the musts: structure, acquisition, mis-use, peasant media — no Eros except in ideas, room for the best but never the pure. 

3, One who hitches has no right to speak other than excellently. Self-conflict and compromise keep coming up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic failure. If that’s allowed.  

Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped 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.
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 anthropic analyst howls back. He’s 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.
It’s impossible to separate understatement from performance; both are adolescent in tilt & pitch. So that’s how cave & landscape can be felt. Next, a cool minimal database is advanced to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death medium-hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. 

The underground = stick abstractions & collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The upshot, to meet & / or emplace each close to noble attempt being you.
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.

Since I left you my mind’s eye has gone partly blind, yet seeing you day and night.
All untrue.

My point is awfully slight — 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.

Some, rudest to crudest, impart your functions
and get noticed — but deliver no part of you, true mind.
Experience is impulsive, according to unrigorous physics out-evolving pretexts for concealment with no plausibility in the future of the past. 
 
No such work experience predictable for a pay grade gaining access only to weather bombs in a manifold vacuum. Algorithms   
 
Would be taking you on and over and winning without willing to substantiate or junk your work stuff.   
 
Algorithms are vicarious. We thought no way, no ultimatums to rephrase, no immoral aspirations — nothing but work slathered with work!
Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m .. 
thinking of some upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further, some interpretive search worked up into a deep discharge of knowledge and how sparks can be applied  
 
so new tools will get back to us all —
What a night! No problem
I slurp eating what’s reflected in your mind.    
Milk white saucers containing light — ergo
The dreamboat approach never grows stale.
You just don’t patent it.

5/12/19

I’ll do what I can. It wears on me.
Smothered abstractions take time. Another day, slim odds. Almost hopeless, yet different jokes toss in sleep, dreams that forgive you for killing the moment. For paranoia’s belated audition entraps you if you don’t relax your authority.

Evasion tho foregrounds more advanced style, state-of-the-art motives — harsh comes across, exaggerated. Another day to recover your loss mid-grin.
I once had an idea today was over. I forgot, man.  With less & less destruction of our marriage, we constitute the locus of self worth taking part in a co-ritual to outlast time.  Over & over. Today again.
Sonnet 78: 
  
Disperse my rudeness.   
See what influences of yours I’ve redoubled. See what more you do! You are in all my art. Advance my style, my alien use. Teach / learn from my rude ignorance.    
 
Only these exceptions: I wasn’t talking only to you. I was speaking higher up, and given grace, I’ll sing to the fair interest of the entire corps. Ah, same time, so often have I invoked you as a muse, I’m proud working with you looking over my shoulder ..   
... knowing our poetry is under your assistance, born of you.
Mind control is a big order of alter-egos, disingenuous.
Can you place our names? You miss the point.
Destroy and smooth nothing.
Imitate killing seeing
the system.
Make my mind avoid our bohemia.

Let’s knock off a masterplan for truth value, wider scope.
Here’s a thought. Stiles of cash stuffed inside passions, stacking up with such speed our global historiography 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. It seems inauthentic in your last mustache sense. I am more than at war. Your holding me, the middle of the throat..   
 
I kiss the air. This.
My peers make films and fast food.

5/11/19

Your bromide is familiar. Let me grab a pen. You’re gaining attention for the wrong reasons, dummkopf. Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow fast.

The cosmos is unwilling to go very 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. Earth turns out an enormous intimation as sexual icon, promoting violence, death, laughter. 
Those not laughing are listening, assuming we’re incandescent.
I’m always wrong to prolong my appeal. One never wears a watch, for instance.
Random throws predict behavior. (Innocence
conceals its pyrotechnics, not intent.)

Innocent algorithms infuse ideology, organize perception.
Life naming sex. That would be a big jump in no progress.
There is no name then. Later it’s absence and torment. It’s his skin and bad language. His life built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, he’s in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?    
Some don’t hear clearly when his or her own “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is without forests or it’s bound by forests of normal language with no memory, mostly vice versa.
A few minutes ago there were bright blue shadows.
The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher
up, the mission’s part scribble / disassociation.
I can hear Johnny shoveling the drive
like a voiceover to operate microspores humanely,
stacking ideas of alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
Prayer in all directions.
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have spoils subtracting song 
— idle song converted to argument 
with little or no honor, yet it sings to the ear.

Worthless to speak of darkening power, but these surveys add up. 
Our numbers and verse surveil life everywhere.
Time and again you return, lending my base subjects light
— you’re faster than time. You 

return then: your fame and skill redeem fury within what time spent, 
for fear we love only vicariously, a despised waste of life in satire.
Missing him, there’s an itch from ambiguity, where
The sore goes away, released into red states —
The tide appears to notarize that; that &
We came here to our senses in subjective certainty.

Apology to my mate.

Before apologizing, advanced yoga is always for sharers,
A civilizing process to eternal categories, entered into by hand.
I’m not kidding, your certainty offers mores from within & supports you if
You have none. You can swim in them.
Dawn. I thought I wouldn’t get back to sleep.

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

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

Intoxicating creatures but
Uncertain how they unite us in separation
No matter how we change in love.
Don’t pick on anyone else...

5/10/19

What a night! No problem
I slurp eating what’s reflected in your mind.    
Milk white saucers containing light — ergo
The dreamboat approach never grows stale.
You just don’t patent it.
When shopping from your texts I find solid proof 
Showing stunning results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Outright theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive purloining motion went much further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass   
 
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing amassed wealth after dark..   
 
Sleep has no idea of here and now when ordering everything is the right answer
.. all on your check!
I’ve crossed out lines. 
Relax and beware. Certain branches of law aim straight at us.
Avalanche, the pronoun, embodies unnamed subjects, overwrought.  
 
A starry equity or neurons? Words are beta fields  
That heat up while fertile at the edge yet a lost cause.  
And titles cost. Avalanche.. a virus.  
Cherries Hamlet.  
 
Broken final thoughts, giddy up, dead.  
Today I face thunder — how to pay homage...  
My instinct when asked is to inch back  
 
To the moody raw reflex jettisoning any  
Civil use of half-soothing words  
On top various legal points,  
The same points forward  
Of looking into what we broke.
Thudding airlines: As the prosecution collapsed 
you hand over your sack of warrants.  Wait!  

At the end the evaluations came in. Jumbo on  


justice, liberty, rule of law...    

Ergo, time to concentrate on that killer c.v.  
It’s about warrants for words. Might (Mate).
82: Sing:

I swear..

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

Adorno says strained rhetoric is fair game starting over (in the middle) but truer words have always been found.
And therefore there’s no rapid transit beneath the social parasail of violence. Plain speech commits us, forces us.

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

Devised in love, that’s the plain worst case, and here we are — let me give you a hand.
Riddle: Struggling between rarely and (purely) descriptive vulnerability to vie for solitude, taking your hand to suspend my paradigm... I killed for you. Why(’d you bother)?
Sweetness is vacillating as usual birches.
Though fragrant — the trail turns opaque
And poof — still,
It could rain.
Keep to an order to begin —
Is it the broad-armed approach you took


Erasing most of marketing, any


Specificity that seemed normal?

Looking at the pebbles and snails
And tiny shrimp-like creatures..

That 



Wok breakfast, man, a chef
Standing off across


Your 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 life or loss.

Hot sun, cool air, and no clothes.

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

Whole.

5/9/19

After the decline of the XIXth century, there were little insurrections 
The state held sway, even on the 2nd floor near the coatcheck.  
Eminent domain: Paranoia engaged us then passed out.  
Young & ugly you & you were next. Clouds dumped into drinks  
Not to arouse the unknown or undue, your well-being was my concern.  
Few invitations. I won’t forget. In, out, very well. Plato in French. 

To resolve a domain, auto-explicability emerges.
& that does it for this hour. New world seasonal circumstances had  
Postponed further equity & because of you =  
No end to inquirers laughing thru-out. Keep them waiting.
It’s impossible to separate understatement from performance; both are adolescent in pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be felt. Next, a cool minimal database is advanced to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death medium-hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. 

The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The upshot, to meet and / or emplace each close to noble attempt being you.
We need a fix for everything founded in potentialities and obsession. Come in. Please step inside where the fix could be. 
 
A dog actually ran in here just now shaking his tail, what deception. In that sentence before — it wasn’t definite what sort of dog he is, but now I know — bad dog.  


We'll make him expire.  
 

And away with these shirtless fanatics from history.  
 

We can get them to crack but I want you.
54: You’re back!

Truth is, we cave wantonly to your lovely sweet odor (fairer in our forgetfulness).
O wooed rose!
Before they show 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.
I am a smoker, sativa of course : 
 
I blow black smoke in your eyes when you have a choice.  
 
“Tear up this paper,”  
Everything is trauma (“I exist”). Whoa...  
 
The way you move talking to me tonight is a fair shake at fame.  
 
When you put your money down  
We can start over in the middle but it’s just the beginning.  
Fame shows up in either one long consequence or buckets of sequence.
We already have what we ask for. 
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics:  
We gave at the Office.  
We gave it up.  

 
This is hardly ever for the 1st time,  
disappearing in uninsured molecules like context, just molecules ago.
How can I neck with you warming
up tomtom heartbeats, migrating
to youthful boundaries by hand
to hand in a laughing manner?

Trick question.
That’s how comedy for squares works.
If it’s a question today,
Tomorrow, what’s the transition?

Reciprocating.

5/8/19

Damn, dancing, can’t move you too tense. When your children  
left we had chipmunk.. too mild. 
 
Next to nothing, and a crossbill I said 
went berserk, wet everywhere.   
 
The chandeliers giggle a little. 
Long shadows of slurs.
Stacked tonal aspirations.  The luminous patina of an excommunicant / He thought about SciFi from the Sixties / Of a bright, lit, obvious labyrinth / All his life as if he were a mercurial creature / As if meeting death half-way by making connections / The kind of greenish pallor you’d desired — 

As the furry chestnut shadow turns from the window / Fighting the relative fight to endure / His coat with his assassin’s bullet, effluvia, life / All his life as if he were a mercurial creature / Etc.
Avoidance with a message sounds personable, calm, also passably awkward. In the same robot call he reverses prerogatives, that is, the voice does. I’ll table the difference — a mixed result but with swift powers two kinds of physics have never been better aligned. I’m altogether devoted to the happiness of the robot and then all our tech people in the call center. The firm gives me focus, serves as my hideout, while I search for a motive, working the ropes.
If we were mannerists, I would describe our ‘age’ (for quality assurance and training purposes) as the one just before the death of death, approaching New Venice. So far, the ‘reports’ reserve commentary, remembering our breasts. Lovely butt.

Anyway, I retract my falsehoods. At the same time I condemn and mourn meritocracy. For all men are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice geometry to inspect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland for nothing.) It’s nice finally to put a face to the humiliating nickname.
55: Nor aside, a period sonnet doubts softness but addresses enmity,  
a living record. Nor against death can we outlive our doom advancing slowly. 
Not marble nor rhyme so move.
 Yet the fun workout once was of a soul, a tone beserk.  
So why am I dwelling on posterity like a warrior groom?  
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than all that, still brighter than all the wealth coming into this poem...  
 
You and I find room in our prospect, oblivious, uninvited — statues overturned, and we brought guests — death and memory. I...   
 
Even closer now in death’s eyes, I burn with quick fire for wearing out memory’s velocity — I’ll not speak nor ask (or shall I ask) more, should I?   
 
War wastes time, a powerful judgment at rest and at work.
I went into analysis alert. The regulars 
bear shame? Faces change when they use 
my words; plus you’re so close,
 for a change we’re all about to bail out —
 why are we even arguing!
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, comes as a warning: Eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy.
And more retreating to emancipating solitude,
More sound oriented as our keeping up

Added to the lead time, keeping your eyes open, waiting, moving
On that panoptic sentence for the animal that needs you.
In our heart of hearts, lord, we’re wading out to meta-trigonometries ..  
I’m wanting respect, witness to a natural moon shining  
its belle-lettrist metamorphoses, moving sweet points  
over the slip, damning loose ends even with fairer aspects, so great a duty  
but giving wind sheer every opportunity  
.. to let us go. On.  
Up. Now. 
Prove me yours.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.    

Don’t smolder, show us.

5/7/19

Have a Bud.
I treat our sect thermos as a norm for trade
finding order in play divisions and muscle octads
glinting with swapping.

(Party is just one axis.)
When shopping from your texts I find solid proof 
Showing stunning results for innuendo: You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Outright theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.  
Then you told me repetitive purloining motion went much further —  
Making money w/out reason is mass   
 
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector  
Utilities for expressing amassed wealth after dark..   
 
Sleep has no idea of here and now when ordering everything is the right answer
.. all on your check!
I weigh your music.
Bang you’re dead:

Average self-guilt along with bland lucky
tones, a problem. No gist, a tone too popular.
So relax thine form here,
Berlioz.

Everything dark-accented inflates 3
dimensions into an immense drizzle of forms A.

The formless, unequal in luck float already.
I hope you’re at peace.
So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. Your ride is brief —

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

— How do bricks 
hang through the duration? (Waiting is the easy-hard part.) 
Ruses ride themselves.
Capitalist tactics are sustained innovation in nowhere equivalent to —  
Nah 
 
all right, let’s choreograph the open air in touch w/ no-thing. From the outside  the sky is in a square shape, bolted w/ blips on simplex-repetitive top layers, tethered for interpretation.  
We’ll ingest all at once. Absolutely  
blind tessellation, exhaling while we data dive  
 
inflating the thing / no-thing evidence reactivating jury tampering over the last century w/ glass-and-steel additions for  
 

investors, scientists working together.
Sonnet 38: 
Damn, can’t complain, when my muse  
left we had a subject..   
 
Next to nothing, also a white winged crossbill  
went berserk — you took notes on wet bubbles — of curious worth.  
 
To invent takes in here and now  
— who’s so dumb when everything is the right answer? —   
 
You once came up with this argument  
— breathing now your voice pours into my verse!   
 
And you give invention light outliving you and me  
rehearsing, calling on you, bringing my thanks to you.
Feeling is feeling. It’s official.
Then it’s repetitive, suggesting emotion has gone too far 
& some at all levels will be disclosed, then not spoken of, 
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting 
our lives together & whittling wry self management into grift. 
Sitting down delivers the good news, stateliness while steering already had its faint say. Now we can text and ‘drive’ over time and zeta functions mowing down hedgerows like highway dividers along an infinite axis.
Brain damage is in the eyes.

5/6/19

The tallest paintings remeasure your height.  
 
Painting ideas.  
 


You had heard accelerated pilgrims eat paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s waste emaciated into planes of junk and emptiness. A rural road. 
Painting double quotes.
Un-sober gestures are precise. (Bright eyes, sparkling motions.) You should get a huge lollipop. 
 
Climbing down the outside of a new mainstream that merits a visitor’s gaze — we — some of us — avoid it.   
 
It’s hard to plot let alone hatch a plan objectively, yet pressure mounts torn up by hope. Mm-hmm. Millennial tones of half a political realignment are demi-obscure now, at this hour of the fireball pyramid scheme — who votes to allow public squalor juxtapose obscene capitalist private milieux?  
 
I sang and it started at home with infrastructure’s rectangular coordinates, understood as pleasures of neck, spine and eyes. That’s a bigger half.   
 
Before thrills, yoga sounds fantastic. I’m a normal 12 year old, I sang.
Dawn. I thought I wouldn’t get back to sleep.

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

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

Intoxicating creatures but
Uncertain how they unite us in separation
No matter how we change in love.
G forces gather momentum in shale.  
Midnight dining, rambling like deer in bed, shiny  
in smoke, how  
Without jitters our wills vacillate.  
Every pause in passive groans  
uttered to affirm fajita in snatches —  
opera and shush..
63: Hours..drain..blood. And something came up.

As I am now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for a frontier in vanishing unboundedness: Cramming organized treasures in a small package, tethered particle immolation. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory. Never cut. With little or no motive, the sky foregrounds the process styles of mere appearances, stealing only ‘just anarchic joys,’ all of them, always.
Comping is rewriting also writing.
So let’s see what happens.
Don’t do that eye thing.
No anything.

I’m in so much trouble.
Judah & the Lion
I’m slaphappy-proof to diffuse my sounding implausible. What I say is 
thought of transactionally.. 
it’s simple enough. I think I said this, and made it a quote: a dream   
 
of immense sadness peering exclusively through me
 promising not to point.  
 
Of course there’s a way or two out.   
 
Say we are spanking new birds in flight.
One assumption is tomorrow’s flight will be an extension of how it’s going now. A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced 
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any.

5/5/19

No interviews today. Triumph* is creepy**. 

*Creepiness, unlike triumph, widely construed as inaudible tendencies in the third person toward plundering contexts to alter the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology.  
 

**Authentic triumph, group or personal, goes beyond construing or exciting discomfort, turning inland thru space.
To wield a conceptual brush is to terrorize, even if your motivating injunctions steer clear of violence or unregulated emotion. Terror here is poetry’s swift, certain, nontrivial insertion through a hole and/or through self-negation in certitude and flatulent controversy, such as with Basho’s disproving human sound unable to transform animal to mineral, or with Duchamp’s counter-ploy to the rule, men’s room accoutrements are never foreground. 



Controversy, like injunction, comes to us commonly or frequently as back-formation, a provisional ethos after the conceptual stroke. We were constrained by the profound assumption, for example, that a play requires the tone and stage be set in more than five words. We were tacitly sure of this, marginalized more from different affects until we read Beckett’s new direction: A country road. A tree.
Targeting methods 
To appear transparent  
After a button is pushed  
— I’ve heard that scream.
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.
Most cavemen taste of sitcom overblown for Broadway. 
They never make it, go back where they come from,  
corroded with physical self-disgust, chained, still, to their desks.
I promised you a ham for quilting bombast. 
Hammy man of arms.  
 
You live within politics and practice warfare  
to engage another’s psyche, smiling; you blow yourself up  
& you’re always wrong to prolong your appeal. Ham.
A headboard with no utility other than book nooks. 
Can we cut to the scary part?  
Materiality won’t exist. No dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo that’s 4 ever sparkled, meandering within ordered appearances that go dormant or run off with incentives in unboundedness, unraveling humane optics in dissolved questions behind the good times 4-ward.

5/4/19

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m .. 
thinking of some upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further, some interpretive search worked up into a deep discharge of knowledge and how sparks can be applied;  
 
I’ll get back to you all —
“Stages of violence yearn for whereabouts.
Conditions look dispersed — beeping you (did I?),
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate you to oppose other facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.
The quartet could be on a formal mission; higher  
up, the mission’s part doodle / part disassociation  
as a voiceover to operate humanely,  
stacking ideas like alembic tubes that mate  
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.  
Prayer in all directions.
This is my first try 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’s a pop-up quiz.
32: You’re reserved outdoors, for your love adds layers
And exempts us from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue.. 
That’s once reaching heights of happier men but none like you.
Satie plays, giving away what we’re better at 
— gosh! I read a generation in tears warms up today’s loving style. 
Poor from love, a class struggles thinking it’s for real. 

The struggle, not the tears. 
sleep where I work. A company like ours takes it into several physics facilities. 
We’re in the flat present tense, multiple account outlines in concurrent perception 

Reciting new slang exponents to snag and support 
Two syllables of love while we scout flyweights in the recursive landscape.

*

Prayer behooves you, it often says. Prayer for those who talk shite no longer pray. I hope all are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline.