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

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

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

67: Smarts don’t matter. You had a wealth of smarts. Advantage achieved?
I’m laying myself off. Shall I? (Not that I’m smart.) I’m imitating an exchequer, an evolutionist of avarice — loose ends everywhere giving wind upright advantage and an inflection point — long since moot — where roses in shadow seem false, laced to fine society. Out in the open is wherefore wind and other loosenesses keep their youth only on the gain side, impious beauty and true presence forward.

And that goes for the lively sun shining with its blush-to-blood over the streets, bankrupting grownups.

Self determination for all in distress —

Dissonant sports metaphors seem prepared for a gullible ally, hon.
Like preparing the red matter.
(There are no guarantees in risk engineering up close.)
Gadgetry from the future,
How can this be put?
Hey I love you naked —
We went from one thing to another, came back.

Buds to blossoms.

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

Music filters out thru the one crack in the bridge against the old
Sky. All the airports sink back in black and white marsh, snakes.  
Day to day sometimes in sunlight geographers breathe, “3 times furrows [..] we behold.”  
We’re going to be here as long as it takes.

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

130: If my love is rare, modesty is unimpressive.
Well, I do think my love rare — nothing like false equivalents over the ground.

I love to hear you speak.

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

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

A gridded compartment has decided most perfectionism is out of step while playing an aficionado of the vulgar to provoke both nature and disclosure. 

Those organized under its strong gesture shall triumph. The compartment frame knows this and taps our communication, a dissonance born of necessity. Our dialog reflects gritty highly-trafficked back alleys of seduction and violence. Oo oo it’s discovered her voice.

We’re fidgeting to mind our semiotic manners,
lit by mid-lunch clarity, sporting, Floridian...
an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...

spreading out in willful overloads of language design,

Skilled decor. De-simplified or notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies with no precedent...
a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis and hermetic syntax.

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

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

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

57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests  
 
all at once. Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of movement from inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to expend ...  
and to question my jealousy ...   
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of desire diffused at any cost to render your mouth a sobbing, precious mess, a world-without-end.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss, I think no ill. Adieu.

What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation? As atheist or decision theorist?

Act gathered. 

There’s personal glamor that can only end in a draw sustained by two getting up, stretching for an hour.    

After action and glamor there’s power. The virus is already inside us, theorist.

Not a koan
(how could

it
be un-impaled?)

— Religious type, agnostic,
both listened to reason while a temple friend sliced
off a nipple. It was the middle way,
enlightenment so simplified, you can spell it out.
Lightning over fog. Over ravines. Knower and the known, all branches, all matter — an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.

A sweet industrial morsel went for all 3 doors assuming no threshold ahead where materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no interruption.

These could be so

as Buddha and Buddhists are only disparities.

Eurozone class struggle is more and more slippery. Or peach-dreamy. I’m not sure
discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income distribution,
honing you / shaving one into two dimensions on the surface.

I’m socialist by nature, maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy), I pray
while cashing in analytics but I’m alive
(lifting one datum off) to mine parallelisms (partisan gold), no one strain.


Atheism is otherwise the main event at the Hague. Secrets of satire float
free to find an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) and structured
multiplicities (and an ear for sex).

134: Dirge: Knocked up by sure bets and unassailable vote counts. It sounds like utter intrigue, equipage of the self-illumined or half-taught —

An inured slice of childhood domains — all to attain another, future time.
But back in time. 
So now and then I may have liked primary grades more. I later picked up romantic couplets —
Lost in bromance, wearing nothing but motives for aching to keep doing what I feared, overlooking our lives in usurer love? So he’s yours? 

I’ll sue you for disrespect, covetous of my comfort, my couplet. I lived for your peach flash thru witless dialectic. (Note above.)

I drank your Labrador tea. And for further research I took up free, motorized speech. (Op cit.)

Similar theories, large discontinuities. Dirge:
I can’t worry or pierce my ears further.

                  Far as we got any night they enter,
they appear as though they are with us..
it’s amazing how “they simply pass”
coming from the history of laughter, radicalized before they got here
                  proceeding within under a bust of John Wieners..

Conditions look gray — wanting you (I do), profane,
not out of calculation — how far & vast connivance
liberates us to oppose purring put aside.

In a fair coin flip, you
and I are leisure-loving. Nature’s doing.
It’s that easy
and so great I’m leaving you
my saddle in your extrication from hallucinatory delirium ..

Tho you’re still standing up front, in legacy jeans, what nature calls
trafficking with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air
along with offshore atmospheres yesterday and the day before.

It once read, in criminal matters, you’re my business.

“I heard talent & beauty, money come with their own harsh light; by your putting them to rest they take ‘full effect’ with no attachment to addictive capital, arresting.” Leaving you. Gasp.
Is this documentary or did I make it up? —“when you remember wit & austerity read each other perfectly from the start — seems mathematical to think about transmissions of all kinds favorably.” Tho programmers have a fiercely vandal-like approach to appraisal under uncertainty.

So this is an edit, keeping watch. “That’s as close as no personality has to keen, restless pulse.”

The no-fantasies plan, weeks running backwards
After the announcer’s ecstasy — a week ago, when I was younger —
there are no water edges or dikes
Yet / or even a rush of civilized dichotomy.
Music filters out hearsay against the sky.
All the airports sink back in black and white fjords.
Day to day sometimes the sun’s light goes for more,
Going to be here as long as it takes.

92: To my love in constant revolt, our love is false. I’m almost happy.

Love never sticks around — False to depend on inside scars. And manual labor. A heightened blush.

Worse, I was placid then giddy to have had you... were we happy? What’s a better question?

Is there one last assured state to see, to re-see or re-live and die in? glued in time to this humorless mood without you, looking for more, formally unfair, and, o oops... I see nothing but the few fearless before us, at peace
happier to die in fire. 
Happy to die! — Can we take their place?

Tarantulas of steel squeeze under the door, isolated by
an obsession coming on, coming right in. There we go, holist.
Theory-and-forth..
Theory is the place you and I detect the language driver, a feeling you’ve won, untidy and young, accomplished and loathed despite a basal rule of no feeling without permission.

Our tarantulas grow mute in dim light over and over —
burbling with a kill-agenda tickled into decisions, aching to blather.

I promised you a ham 4 quilting bombast.

You live within politics & practice warfare
to engage another’s psyche, smiling, you blow yourself up
& you’re always wrong to prolong your appeal.
A headboard with no utility other than book nooks.
Can we cut to the scary part?

Materiality can’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 optics in dissolved attitudes behind all the good times 4-ward.

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

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

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

96: This is weird. A focus group from the groom’s side picked us both, agreeing w/ flashy media that features young candidates, lower right, with your lips, center frame, moving up and down, sport documentation, more or less:

The groom was in a close up, being led astray...

Here’s the stumper.

Whatever base or ism, the urge to love is put down to error and class anthropology.

We open our front door and see what the state’s strength translates to. The shortest path ignited by havoc, honest and exhausted gazers. Geezers. From it’s-not-the-same-now all the way to a nanoscience of celebrating perfidy and betrayal. Sort of addictive.
Wanton anthropology won.

A blue feeling about a teen heart is breaking over the lazy and dead. I’m still not awake, a bad idea. An idea with particularity, again. A feeling for the bread before it rises stuffed with controversy that blasts in space, our fond way in,
praising doom on our own dime.

I’m that slaphappy-proof to diffuse your eyes from posterity. Where your eyes go is the whole body muddled cool from so many substitutes for meditation we can’t breathe.

Since you brought the pizza —

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

That aside —

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

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

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

Credo: You’re good doing this.
Just
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest
Misery looks a better way. Go. Fees balanced. Get out!
After.. there are instrument
Channels (word flares) for expressing enzymes with love.
We never saw you before.

Burn,
Suffering coincidence.. you’re leaning into wailer muscle, undressed
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come..

One to admire oneself, one’s distinction.
And there are a lot more ones ahead.

Since you brought the pizza —

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

That aside —

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

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

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

Sonnet 86:

The future reaches full sail bound for higher intelligence, prized above a ‘mortal’ pitch, teaching us to surprise ourselves and grow, that is, write estimates of verse.
I thought of you giving us cohorts sweet aid, other fair gifts.. Astonished, we see our pride flies away along with others’. Out of control dreams work around a crowd of familiars whom we teach to write.

Once our brains ripen, we won’t concede — neither to calm of victory nor to fear. At night, tho, I lack a precious affable character beyond my mortal self.. both that and a familiar’s ghost-morality strike me as too precious then — like enfeeblement, like death, like filling this line.

Full employment. Fully refrained.
We like new taps on the shoulder in a way when they leave imprints. Like how I graduated from this shame, this ceaseless pride

in the going battle between the sexes? (The rich won.)

Can you place our names? Or I’ll trade you. I have a canoe for an alter-ego, asides and decorative indeterminacy. With various hats, I reached out to anticipating mind control as disingenuous.

We defied the polls and voted against our interests.
Later we’re taught the integral self can level with all the others
While sadness is a public health scourge.
So protesters are hired to raise contentment ratings.
To deconflict our strategy from human loss
In no time we put six 27-to-46 under water
Then we ate cupcakes. Impression seems

Today one can eat excellently here and tempered bluegrass friends visit.
They are real actors, not people.

We went nowhere. Propositions became a poor promise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The focal point of early versions is the entity with many comforts and drills. Isn’t that a calling?
*
It was at the rational start. I know that. Taking chances put us in a lissome interpretive state (lissome as a turbine at birth). Function varies widely. Scent of lilac is the geyser of zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.

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

My back!
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?

Rhetoric like this often dies off.
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 and tranquil,
ruthless in a sense, boundless layers set in funereal trance
tweeting under the bust of the rhetor, a civil, democratic ideal.

No tweeter wants to get ‘under..an ideal.’ Freedom is personal.

And we think it could be worse.

Rightist verse, M.R.I:

It’s meta-conscious. On the surface it projects text as selfie, “poking” materials, assemblies, audience. Selfies however adhere to reticent schedules.

Pedagogic systems administer exams of dominant samples. Absorbing their data is high achievement if it’s duplicable.

Conservative epistemology’s key reinforcements:

It’s all about people acting in a way.
Maintaining a skillsets bias.
Honoring calculable hierarchies

25: No dying here, let those in favor never be erased. Prost!
A few words will travel, ‘unlooked for,’ calibrated by our unlooked for ruckus / doing-the-honors spoken (rather than boasting) within a larger-scale dialectic —

a painful victory and public outreach in your glory. A triumph!

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

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

one for the books I read and love, whose fortune spreads your joy we honor most.

During the break we reached an agreement,
so the ham’s anger has hatched.. while no choice
enables the passing tourney among tense Fu dudes
to nuance 3-in-1 innocents to proceed.

Misshapen drops of fog storms — major rain —


affable and fresh earthworks must

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

... here’s where I freeze. (Every-


one does.) You now me.

Clouds yellow, experimental at night



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

Rhapsodic justice is made to look cautionary. It’s easier to have a set of spring-summer rants ready to throat than break our rules and brag too much, too enormous a bliss.

By caution as usual we mean caution to the core.
Discourse in a hammock, wanting to be nearer. Caution preserves protective access
to the core. The equation can be reduced to healing power = unhealthy options = smoking, on fire.

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

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

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

95: Hidden pretext takes over. A story of dispraise, an ill report but in a kind of praise per the report.
What would be less fantastic? An enclosure of stainless vice. A full shelf of great privileged, lascivious plans.

Naming your name tells the story. How sweet — you’re every blot and sin in one, preached against, but 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..

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 erase. A muggy, fantastic soprano, jittery, active against the grain. She reaches a point at which touch management is unleashed.
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.

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

at the eye’s edge of clemency.

We’re fidgeting to mind our semiotic manners,
lit by mid-lunch clarity, sporting, Floridian...
an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...

spreading out in willful overloads of language design,

Skilled decor. De-simplified or notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies with no precedent...
a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis and hermetic syntax.

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

Will you think of me?

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

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

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

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

We impart numeric dicta slathered with platitudes — century-old middle ground (the themeless module) where we sleep (wavy fields of inaction) and continue playing around vulgar innuendo to stay kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me to feel obliged to receive you generously. 

Kites: pinky juicy crisp, unlimited
Space parlance —

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

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

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

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m ..
Am thinking of some upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further or some alternative interpretive search worked up into a deep steam of exploitative algorithms against enmity and death —

Kites: pinky juicy crisp, unlimited
Space parlance —

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

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

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

73: One will die; one will see all sunsets fade to ashes then black. 
But I’m leaving that night choir behind. I’m awake making love with you at day’s end where yellow leaves still shake blowing past bare boughs and dusk, glowing leaves, seeming content, consumed, consuming to expire.   

Death is a nominal fallacy like twilight now: To love you as if that could be true... and stronger... that’s my late take away. I don’t understand cold fire this time of year even in the west, where the sweet birds sing, by and by sang. 

Pollution control. This medicine causes confusion.
Yes, we can fudge an alphabet from a dirty grid of circles.  
We can whip up an alphabet of symbol systems within other alphabets  
helping us read from grids, other notions and homonyms  
 
as well as take on upgrades for discoursing in colloquial physics.  
Yet a steel door stays open. Here are the last letters of bliss.  
We best defer to the upgrades to shake it off.  Back to the distracting alphabets.
Deep blues and silvers with biological shades perform as vowels;   
 
consonants are shown with senior upgrades,  
slurred with what is always present.

I’ve got goals. I’m an anthologist of agitprop. I think it’s colossal. It gives me a boost as a lifelong cold intellectual. Fun is fun, but not when friends are struggling then flattened intentionally. An observation from Succession.

Lately and I don’t like it, we’re out on the town looking for the perfect spot to brush up on the visual grammar of the assault on fun deep.

(There is too much to get back to.) The hilly, glittering lawns on this side of the divide are actual circumstances at twilight I prefer to canvass and peruse for my oenology Ph.D. I'm looking for novel jitters from others. There aren't any, so it's out on the town looking for that perfect spot in lovers’ eyes.

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

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

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

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

47: Good turns, one after another — I turn to your good looks, filed between heart and bitch comedy. 
Either way you could have reset this remote for a clearer video — 
Why not share it? The clips you saved along with my worship of your face have nearly expired.. except your looks still drive me nuts.. I’m in love.. famished at the banquet of love (where we fall sleep). 

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

Here, you take it.

for Rene
Heedless and highly egotistical —
Two good words. And too,

The beautiful person deals in opinions on redeeming enterprises and I’ll —

Conquest contributes to a wonderful unanimous
Just unnerving enough atmosphere
— an image of while.

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

Let’s see what we have at the top of the poetry game.
There you go again. Tax and spend. Death panels. Lyin’ Hillary. Toxic concepts infuse social ideology and organize perception. Political samples direct voter behavior.

Joe is sleepy-crazy. Play along or rue it.
You guys go ahead.

I’m going to take my inside voice and ...and turn around and walk this way.

Outdoors I pledge you a wholly hidden idiom of renderings, highlighting themes out-of-focus, left to twist in the leafy apolitical acreage.

Director’s cut.

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

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

I’ll be an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly, deliriously our business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles, no excuses.

What time do you get off work in poetry? Should I know?
Speeding up when swift extremity can seem but slow

I hastened to run toward you
as though mounted within the wind before even starting ..

I sleep all night, chastened by my agenda in a stoned vein. Like everyone else I’ve got business waiting and new places to run over. Tender sprouts green and with sweat, sill alive, pierced to the root by tamarisk and peyote flowers at table, ample liquor and song. The sweetness outside not wavering in rain to any rational depth, I’ve got bed then business in my crosshairs.

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

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

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

Levitation in words has to be modulated. (They wanted this.) Modulated 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 love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold.
Then we go off a notch keeping our eyes shut.
I miss you doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but be on time for signing our release pledge.

To a spiritual father in the future,
Deal with our failures.
The ruddiness of brown shingles looks right at us.
A house down the street, the “sadly” restored one —
If you lit a fire there, for real, and wrote it down,
Our faces would limn how today is going.
Writing forced to the surface for an earthly face off.

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

Who are they who might envy you? Slanderers, even wooers — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to me, shatter me, touch.

There’s always looking out, up, through fitful silence & a humane sense of feeling cornered in music practice. Enough, enough men & women are deaf to ruin...

wherein love rebuilds their smirks pressing on — drizzle would hurt if they could see but it’s only visible as a short, stout white truck rolls under haze, Kia-like, choked in a soft, fluffy diorama.

A fond prayer as the rain falls.

Your eyes are dark dreamy and tell me I never did anything right,

For which our shared experience goes to waste.

A poetry of slogans earns the Balzac Award..
Folk-maverick, a dark scrum. Adolescent in a heavenly sense..
You keep telling lies about me in spacious quarters to our hosts in abstraction.

Sing: I love it when prose or song digs in and flails.
That about covers it.
(One’s destiny is that emotional core between personal and professional.)
The larynx becoming free is a moving and intimate narrative.


Got to run, prose.

If every frontal move forward were interrupted, we’d never get back to bed.

This is a transparency first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

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

as all ‘this’ recedes — putting “it is” mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.

Having only a sec, you never know the glutton that needs you.
Someday tho the fragile male coloration returns as a feminine force with tinctures and inaudible signs from a long history of decision making, preparing us for more retrospective behavior, more implicative speech and strict anger management.

It’s a blabbing amateur that needs you — until

his time is up.

55: Nor aside, a period sonnet doubts purity and softness but addresses war aa well as enmity  
for a living record. Yet the fun workout once was of a full soul, a soul with a berserk tone.  
So why am I dwelling on our bloody ending like some warrior groom?  
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than all that, still brighter than the wealth coming to me thru this poem...  
 
You and I find our own content, oblivious to all posterity, others dead are uninvited — their statues overturned, and we bring our own guests — our memory and our passing. I...   
 
Even closer now to death... I burn with quick flame for wearing out war and death’s sluttish velocity — I’ll not speak nor ask (or shall I ask?) more, should I?   
 
War wastes time, a powerful judgment now at rest once at work.

Admiral, there’s a figment in my soup. While the quartet’s on a mission, higher
up, the soup stands in doodles / parts of speech we can void
as we learn to operate thoughts like fluorescent tubes that meet
over magnets. Tubes lit amid disentanglements.
My views are mostly leisure-loving.

There has to be someone in charge.

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

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

Intrusions encompass free time, coincidentally.

No one would presume elements were strung together out of desperation and a deeply
ingrained exposition to de-mark the unknown. Much as technology funds science, random
sentiment attaches to most liberal singularities.

Compassion goes into theorems.
Maybe I can talk to your teachers. I can debate with them.
I can’t reason with you. I can’t even talk to you. No one’s there. While others don’t hear clearly
when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of empathy.

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

Then both can devise omniscience for a period of guesswork.  
 

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

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

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

Sonnet One: Ornament is surely content.

The swift yew know how to wear theirs, desiring buds to herald greenness and increase —
much as we eat the world to save it. Together, dilating, flaming, increasing now in riper time, your own eyes contracting, bright, surely fresh, then green.

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

Then both can devise omniscience for a period of guesswork.  
 

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

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

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

Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing real business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory. “Mm,” Mr Dolt says. He was staring at my teeth, wondering how deeply they cut.

Let’s rewrite “Biotherm.”

In this chapter I fear the sarcasm.

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

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

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

— Savoj Žižek

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

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

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

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

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.

Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

9: No form of you
Felt anything but used, average.. a spent, destructive sort, blandness also a problem.

Your world consumed less with guilt for political experience / current status / winning outright =

Hey here I am! Staying married, single you and I may change our minds!
I already forgot to.
Could ..ah! you and I are loved by many. I’ll commit, in sleep ...
We are watched over and settled into a kindly already new shifting
Still enjoying practice, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...
Your private voice as wet as many eyes we can sleep with. Look.

I wake [Ah!] — My own voice a bit hoarse
..a life talking with you,
But no spec of you tonight.

What do we know? We have functional emotions and this much-traveled vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let high jinks belie despair over entropy.
Make falling apart counterfactual.
Make my mind avoid bohemia.
Recover the masterpiece.
Destroy and smooth feeling. Bad or worse.
Imitate killing seeing
the system.

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

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

[...]

Tv interview:
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
The enigmatic verse syllogism under one rule is eaten alive by song layouts,
that’s the power of bounce over provisos.

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

Summer!

137: Love is a blind fool among the true and false. You never see what they see. You’re wide awake thinking this through until a subfocus gets lost. You can’t see, you grow accustomed, so to speak, directly oblique : but pointedly there’s no one name escalated or united w/ the width of what beauty is! And where it lies!

Bon équilibre, someone else won’t choke (and in a common language at that), one a 2nd person, your “someone else,” comprehends. What do you say? Why of falsehood, tell me, speak to the wide world where several are over-partial to my judgment. Why should my heart do anything?

Yet I give up my weak words thinking they seem right, hack at reasons to try for more with the grit of fairer and fouler understatement, neither the worst or best.

And you know, that’s what’s wrong then. Over-partial over you I too can’t see what the world sees..

Ringing again — a prism on top where you can point to the horizon that’s both magnified and revilingly askew. If you admit you rejoice in tricky intersections you’ll have to skip lunch. I told them not to watch.

I should be collaborating, writing this down.

I’m seated back in my studio, dressed in un-despairing perceptions (and reading) of what won’t be contained — o Swami, nothing to discredit nor disbelieve.

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

Are you thinking of me? 

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

Diffuse claims from the storm-injured outer sky, yet 
during the break we reached the claims officer. Big 
thick crazy eyebrows, a swelling voice, easier than the rest. 
 
Planet Earth has been coined Taoist hell. Coinage ringed with grassy estates where men with money like you and the c.o. can tiptoe or fall further. If you invite me... Tag, you’re it, absorbed in my desire to sleep with anybody great.

... the rookie is burning on the outside, your only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy from theology, wellbeing and actionable conditions, missing how far you are beaten into their projections.

Diffuse claims from the storm-injured outer sky, yet 
during the break we reached the claims officer. Big 
thick crazy eyebrows, a swelling voice, easier than the rest. 
 
Planet Earth has been coined Taoist hell. Coinage ringed with grassy estates where men with money like you and the c.o. can tiptoe or fall further. If you invite me... Tag, you’re it, absorbed in my desire to sleep with anybody great.

66: Simple truth, our work here in the desert is beginning to spin. Like the blind we’re disabled by authorities who wiretap secrets weighing nothing in, no credit, no ripped off melancholy, nothing but misplaced honor with a substitution agreement containing you and a more civil version of you in full force, pulled at from inside..  and..
 
Can we cut to the disgraceful part?  
Relax but beware, bilaws of cause and effect are disabled as traffic pours in and aims straight at you. And the other you. Tired with this, the other you will perfect the business end (doctor-like). The civil you and I misplaced our joy since sleeping on it.. applying love to our own flesh alone as well as losing control of forsworn holding skills. Simply tongue tied and tired of all this perfection, I leave my love but attend to you and yours, of course. And.

There’s too much junk in triangles. (Conductors have to know this.)
That’s how I got to live alone anticipating mind control as
disingenuous. As

my own job creator I got a full canoe of alter-egos,
asides, and decorative indeterminacy.

Love memorials are cool if they’re your own.

The smitten dissipate swarming with pleasant memories.

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

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


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

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

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
as a voiceover to operate prophesies of doom humanely,
stacking pessimistic ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.

At arm’s length..
There were dimensions an hour ago enabling 2 events in one plot we’re party to. Tenebrae, we said. Let’s return to the olfactory sketches, in which the cosmos is left and right, unexplained. Constant and converted. Incandescent, then, our ardor comes back to choke a human rocket sidelined by a braided chord worn as Lars’ necklace, a burning space distinguished by diffuse vitality.

What about Lars?
We didn’t kill him.

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
as a voiceover to operate prophesies of doom humanely,
stacking pessimistic ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
No prayer in all directions.

52: I’m in lock-up because of you.

Therefore both you and I are scorekeepers. Ours.

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

Until then, being had by you has been worth it as it were

Like euphoria, proof of doubt uncovering finer points.
And speaking of solemn upper-lower class triumph and treasure,
We find others like us also keep to the survey, chest to chest, mine to yours.

My U.S. idiocy pledge — I hereby ...
I’m holding hot and cool scrims of mist and water balloons floating over a lap pool, views down hallways into stairs cut apart and fronted with metal rock, waking in hazy brightness without a clue how we got here.

I’d be lying if I said we aren’t criminals.

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

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

This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.

Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

This is my first chance in three dimensions.
Others seem to throw theirs away.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers. Keep trying — there’ll be a pop-up quiz.

76: In flight, the framework would be told on telling. 
How can varsity expend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to answer that & help the weather from getting lost on me.   
I know the framework of my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue as light rain. My argument.

Sacrament stays.
There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for a lifetime.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.
Somewhere, who’s a sociopath?

Finalists, top achievers have quit general practice.

This is not a means test. It’s the blues. But who can tell if it goes well. 
We’ll leave it at that  

in case there are higher trending hoaxes.
At least the place was democratized even with trial mechanisms.   
 
Yet the mechanisms blow decorum of law...  
Also, it’s beautifully easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes from now, to have less to eat to soften my last interruption keeping the consonant hoopla around your throat.. as often predicted, that.  
 
Simple to say. But how many spirituals of parallel scenery can we communalists invoke?

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

He called the universe a positive word. 
 
Reading and living are continuous variables 
That ontologically under-simulate his few senses.  
He should be furious w/ the authentic world w/ dogfood dishes. Be  
Angry at literal keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his new parts pull up,  
A parallel prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice.  

Keenau is still guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life.

Note: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early programmed utterance; both are newborn in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how pretending v coming close can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes special-purpose thinking within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The opium is waiting, on a bender. What comes next is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

56: Lament —

Prose enters a poem. It has a work permit, a blunter edge. That’s why
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors. A sad interim:

The poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;
Hey, there are no middle class poem essayists. Yet, we can rubber any room —
My advice for exploring ideas, renew your force, stick to the sentence.
Come daily to the return of love tomorrow today.

To go along continue needing more riches, sharper appetites as it were.
Rare thanks for the view.

You & I wonder about summer’s eternal 
possessions, the buds, shade & a day if we could see 
staying chaste .. it’s on the house.  
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold.   
 
In those same terms there’s too hot  
a reliance on eking a living making out   
Optimizing the center where death dies.  
It will take more than a single changing course  
to snatch life from time, breathing it in & out if we could see. 

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

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

and flicker

as ......

as well as

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

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

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

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

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

(Yay..)

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

79: How it may happen
On a byway, patrol lights 
— Security vans flow in aid. Further uphill 
Hauling “rays of virtue” — stolen beauty, yours.
You can afford it.

He rubbed your lips in his sweet travail.
Your position / your opinion count, an easy argument
Made worthier— he praises you, cheek to jowl. 
Then you hand it over to him & have your way — 

& you thank him —
Pay him what I owe.

No one would presume elements were strung together out of desperation and a deeply
ingrained exposition to de-mark the unknown. Much as technology funds science, random
sentiment attaches to most liberal singularities.

Compassion goes into theorems.
Maybe I can talk to your teachers. I can debate with them.
I can’t reason with you. I can’t even talk to you. No one’s there. While others don’t hear clearly
when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of empathy.

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

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

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

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

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

54: You’re back!

Truth is, we cave wantonly to your lovely sweet odor (fairer in our forgetfulness).
O wooed rose!
Before they were living 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.

Any rule violates sovereignty. This speech pattern has been expanding without genetic engineering.
And the polls are now tightening.

Your proof is some topic you can take indoors to vote for anyone with no experience. Try.
Give it a chance until late afternoon. Even interrupted our conversation never ends — for
You. For you’ll be taken up on your offer.

0) nothing horrible, just horrible 
 
1) both perceptions of opposites leveraged simultaneously  
2) meaning not one and more original than none  
3) causing internal illogic along w/  
4) passing out on an ashen chaise to bring you back to your senses, shouting   
 
5) I love your idea and I repent only to appease you   
 
6) adages first thought / never think lose both death and life

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

46: Truth is we’re feathery.

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

Feeling comfort in disruption is one tall order. Together, you and I define an entire affability arc of ironic laughter, a genial series in slippery zoning disputes: Two feelings or more (identical in all respects).

Abstract attitudes are buried below our strip-down (the whole of reality) to relatively unspeaking, as tho history was a full set of realities without language.
Body-snatching, the third point at hand is you and I have to enjoin different orders, since our lives are directionless in Cambridge. Good night, ensign.

Good night to expose an accident or two that don’t matter, made tactical as we circumvent a few exchange elements, remaking spatial morality into a closed agency, no vision, no dash, no longer having to know.

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

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

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

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

If you can wake that guy up perhaps you should.

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

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

Sonnet 119: Software permeates adolescent philosophy. This madder hell points to asphalt perimeters, why error messages commit to wretched structures (applying fear to hopes)
:
:
building up un-manacled distraction so amor in the head is amazing, far greater, madder fever!
:
:
Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate Greek — evil still made better — for amnesia’s fixed width, blessed never, rebuked to our heart’s content!
:
:
And ruined, we kept losing, true, losing you .. spent, shaken tame.

Social progress is in hot water. Talk
of art goes for cheap and too far in other directions.

Finalists quit general practice — their art converts to cottage ministries  
with little or no honor system.

Nothing much about jazz dance, for one - it’s almost curtains
for the prom fitting, a horrible hot mess.  
The shortest path ignited by havoc,
overworked and exhausted ex-employees.  But crowning the present,
Thin dancers are perpetual winners I guess.  
I wager at least we scarf their uneaten take-out on the table. Slashed 40%!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every cent in our scheme is fungible.

But not in all cases. This brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good investment prospects drive you all over. Recent example — no longer victims,  you and I grabbed the momentary offer as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse — 
A moment to stare out the top windows, a lamp over our shoulders to herald the swindle in American wind farming.

36: Repetitions. There they go. Altho all in one
you’re mine. Yet you get somewhere then stop. You’re not alone.
I may not acknowledge you my full love’s delight. You’re not solely mine. It’s a shame tho as we honor inner living love it divides in stolen light. I confess in that respect — or let me confess this: our two loves are shamed into love’s altered effect —

Your love, mine — separable remains of the nervous system that distorts both public kindness and our two lives, our loves radially.

Solitary dark 
the air pushes                       ..aside   
 
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
 
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  

When struck a lightning rod emits a ballet of dust and after that a solution, a chemical substance that recuses itself and turns over in our thoughts as a cognitive coloration, a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.

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

— since we have a method for choosing topics, don’t expect me after all.  
 
Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform top execs  
You’re not serious, never are.  
 
Like you we’re turning state’s evidence holding on to meet  
even newer phenomena                      (‘the stolen parts’  
To run over) any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved).  
Or some won’t say since you & I separate thru flexible equations.  
 
Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.

Testimony, transit to.

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

(Also refusal.)

139: A poem fires up photoshop. Excuse me.

A poem is a picture as love well knows

That your cunning lays upon my heart...

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

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

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

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

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

Any non empirical approach compels outsourced argument.

I’ll try for underweight blunt invention
of the non willed state, or what some call civil

efficacy for streamlined intake. Soak up the view.

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

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

Athens is the cradle of alpha reality, 
Hip, stolid, ordered smooth, unruffled for the taking.  
I got married however without knowing the side effects. 
The light darkens. I hate Greece.  
It’s official, we’re its colony.  
Ah, #36, latecomer to the cultural line, all time subservience.  
(It’s not easy being special.)

129: That slap in the face harder to explain now,
on purpose laid to make the taker mad — a waste..
 
Traffic jammed under the apartments — tropical action — 
A cruel lemon sliver caught in your savage nose, past reason,  
Extreme, despised, tangy..  
Romeo and Eurydice. A rude joy proposed behind a dream. Just a wedge. 

After glamour there’s revisionist power, a legacy inside us. Wo- 
lfed down improv crap — we’re pre-wired or is there a fee? 
Radiance now is in a lather. Remember deliverance?  

“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?” Everything works. 
In any time and place of our choosing: Act gathered, there.  

True love brings on a physician practiced in the art of relapse.

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