10/31/21

This moon diagram sports a resistant fragrance (our last fill of fish sticks).

Oh you know, almost unhappy

You and I supplemented photographs for objective matter, I recall.  
Garland fungus, students from Trinity in the foreground (by an arch to the old dyads).   
 
It’s up to pond structure to model our passivity re-learning the moon 
 
impelled by shore lists off books of birds protecting the hang of it. Everyone   
 
knew that. All the world is transformably alive. A little sick, even unwell,

yet your voice is handsome, calm, also scrappy.   
 
Further down the pillar, my kimono has been entered, explaining prehension, tongue in cheek.
There’s a container for every passion.
Ounce by carbon resin ounce, a take-off
economy floatable within, once
regarded in wholeness, its contours
beeped forward w/ the news, smart enough
though meaner beyond its whereabouts..

Its? I guess ours.
140: Winter too fast ahead, description-wise: cruel. Should we grow mad?
In sleep even a con anarchist gets seasonal immunity. 
Going wide, still asleep, this is appealing — better there were more cruelty washing over time under preseason wraps. 
Snow this soon is a leading surprise.

(Slanderers and snow bunnies are believed in sleep. I hadn’t known I’m a novice enthusiast, the tongue-tied manner of my deserving and wanting pity.) 

Should I despair? Relax.
It’s snowing, nothing personal, wafting like deep winter foam over our awesome hamlet — 

Further out the world blows up with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always. Faster.
Filming at midnight — kvelling schtick is a tactical concept.
And today’s laughter protocols could not be ‘more serious.’ Except...
It’s been remarkable to gauge how sneering, vaporous, obtruding personalities —
A loose term — proceed un-amusingly
Or even uncivilly in opening salvos. Seems a rehearsed practice, perhaps.

By salvo — the first three or four minutes of monotone in character, in talk and in poems.
You can’t do that up in this film.
So much slobber invested from the start, forced discourse, along with any oomph, runs dry.
The seasons like before are morally exigent, shivering in a synthetic valence, coming back, never.

Their thoughts praised us for our purpose —
Scribes were 1st to jot this down — who shall hanker after whom.

Like before, seasons work outdoors among diamondbacks. If you don’t believe me ask them.

In the change-up old seasons are repurposed having lost to conceptual deflation, stratagems. Add the rank

I confer on the notably next available beauty, alive in the future,
because that’s how beauty works.

10/30/21

Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary.
In a way our two universes just feel like games..
2 side by side arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions)
a few hours forward.

Our universal inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer toward approximal rhetoric —

Can waving time like a moony branch
supersede nature,

a piece of research asks. Why open
(structures arranged by) atoms (holding on thru chemistry)
under quivers at the edge to sleep?
Don’t we have a duty to criticize?

Gavel to gavel hours and hours turning the page.
What we inkeep converts to personality and stunt-craft.
What we have to do and say are open discourse, what W. B. Yeats calls the bestial floor.
Please, have your way, fleets of stars, your options. Or have your composite gods do it for you.

(This soon after his last breath, is it safe to mention Yeats? or gods?) (Maybe not.
It’ll frighten no one into temperance.) And some of us are too polite to save the day.
But not all of us will unfriend you now or any time.

It’s natural, all a picnic in the wilderness.

The wilds... on all floors.
71: We don’t remember your life, your name, for I no longer mourn you. Why would I? Forget about me.

Like a surly freeloader / poet, I overhear captions within sullen mechanical clauses... giving vile warnings. It’s vile — compounded when I think you read this line into my thoughts. I’m only the hand that writ …and I plan to negotiate more cash for rapprochement before I go. Hey, don’t worry, my next line is not incompatible with yours, for I love you so.
Pierre Bourdieu threw a projectile that applies today while top donor ‘families’ are in control — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of capital distribution are streamlines like assembled heterodoxology vis à vis subdominant esthetic fields ballooning, caught up in baggier ideas.” 
Speaking of higher consciousness, Bourdieu came home to his Cajun kitchen then added, “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings as insights.” 

The shortcoming between having things to say about ‘tastes’ back then, only a few years like hours ago — and now — Republicans circling the wagons while checks and balances are nasally inspissated through fear.
Physicalism (product brand continuity) adapts to schemes (a speed-up in thought control).
Government, absent your liberty, is not that impregnable. As background, your charter is one colorful PROCESS shot. A lethal-to-pallid vassal group locksteps to your scent. You yourself clothed less formally, tame, save motives for eagerness.

And this is what I did not want to say.
There is product on the loose.

10/29/21

Levitation in words has to be modulated. (The levitators wanted this.) Modulated is like coming out to play, sampling indecisiveness, the masked hostility of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact beats, 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 happy but be on time for signing our release pledge.
30: Losses restored?
Often there’s a new thought of precious friends — I think of you (dear friend) — words we had or didn’t have — those words forewent consequences. Our moaning sessions bad. Bad as in woe, even cancelled grief, since we know nothing sweet summons up remembrance of things past, wastes of time.

Yet I take liberties wailing now, bubble footed, I have a dream of fair housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where our sorrows end. Some of us are going there after work. I’ll pay. Would you like to come?
It’s come to our attention a proposition digs into science or it does not.
It was amazing to meet you and your idea. Anyway


it was amazing to meet your funky penumbra, to be influenced by street life needlepoint 
and other class resentments.


I was astonished to communicate with inky musculature evoking nighttime.

Oceans then deserts.



‘Quoting’ here. I can’t stop. It’s my job.

That’s what it seemed.
Singalong has vaulted to the top of our shared agenda. Shared or snared, just like us. Leaving oversight to environmentalists has a double meaning to off-center the filing (and filtering) systems, other singularities. We have no limits to affirm our denials and retractions. Climate change may not be temporary. We feed our reliance on dire pleasures, earnest plans and, this most generalized I guess, investor interests (Fortune herself) turning back, almost kidding about ‘patching’ some climate potholes. 

10/28/21

The heart is sore as 
Whitman precedes Aimé Césaire. Drink up.  
 
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam (a love poem (one of innumerable), one) aroma 
— Accounting disappears like functions of context (starched procedures) — 
Procedures where love not being is taught  
But fought for in reverse. Freezing one difference.   
 
Physicalism (neural drama) — here we wade slowly adapting to worldly schemes  
More fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Drink well.
The no-fantasies plan, weeks running backwards
After the announcer’s ecstasy — 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.
34: I have a base feeling of comfort in disruption. One point of a number that overtake me in a way —
Together, you and I define arcs of ironic repentance but worked out in a series of tear-shedding disputes. Just so, we’re still cloaked in loss. Loss of shame, loss of grief. A salve can heal my storm-beaten face but not the offending wind smudging our wounds into a double-cross of rotten smoke. Why?

It’s not enough I lose, ransomed to disgrace. I’m scared; ah, no relief as such. Not yet. I don’t travel well in new grief. I hide from your face even as it’s shedding dry tears, breaking promises, still breaking me.
There’s a term for attrition of affects, eyesore. 
 
And there’s a hypertonic struggle to housesit too much information, pliable and glossy. You know it exists. Human body fat is worth $100,000 a gallon.  
 
The good gold. I fall into it.  
 
A life is charged for care. I’m otherwise a coffee head! But let’s pare it down.   
 
Have we ever done anything but tamper with the weather? Oh, who knows?  
 
Oh, Ladytron. You seem so fake-ignited in the sprayed periphery, a three-dimensional muse keeping her balance inside a soft radical vapor of vastness, loosely demolished.
Search regimes in a slurry, plump, downy evanescing into song. The slurry rises above its affixes and dead gardenias. It’s in its notation. Argon and lithium released — thrown in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing lice. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the spontaneous physique. With his gift of sullen agency compounded and uplit within percussive isolation. A bell!

Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s vast. One can shrink to be excused. Masking one’s vanity so becomes the challenge clinging to song.

10/27/21

Can you place our names? I, for one, have a single conceit for the alter-ego, his asides and decorative indeterminacy. In three parts: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating public domains in fair use, and there’s the stagey hand hath put disgrace, which we could dream up for the watchman face (anyone’s) beauty slandered. #1.

#2: Once inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying, keeping faith, mining the richest character veins, designing solid speech that rips thru satisfaction all day, they think:

So #3: Many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs; they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after we couldn’t wait. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaws, so young loves per lifetime meet all their others halfway, borrowing a face again and again, slanting a blurred promise we had or we forgot we had after a few hours, for you, letting it die down.
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.
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 again expect no help?”

Some things you need to whisper again and more, much more ..
(I forget now what you sound like.)
Like Clint Eastwood I was shifty
Once. What was that all about?
I know where I am going gawky, rattling my cage.

What happened? Diagramming conditions of jitters and others’ sentences, I am anonymous either way.

Thank you, cohorts, for cartoons and commissioned videos shrieking with what I must bury.
We message from the ones column deploying 
Pigeons to pattern heaven where detachment is cut off.   
 
Our recipients remind us of a few contingencies we picked up off trays,  
Bright boomerangs that tantalize in what’s feasible, wanting nothing and showing  
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.  
 
And some of these babes are both dead and alive. Chew on that, Hobbes.

10/26/21

Fact: eye contact is mostly on the defensive but our strategies around the eyes are consensual. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane sense. This is how contingency shows up in prayer, making a pattern to and fro altercations sited within a figure-ground colloquy.
“‘In a way’,” he said, “‘nothing saved me until we ran the gauntlet —’”
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 —
91: Who owns property, names, anything under formalism? Boasting of birth,
of skill, we grew up 20th century, 100 years before joy in wealth
felt better in one general way, as adjuncts measure it.

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


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

Love’s body force is better, richer, prouder, always tops!
The best then is having you, finding this joy above the rest.
We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance, manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are nothing less than what we had in mind!) :
D
id I mention your heavy eyelids helped us set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere loving supersedes manners and physicality itself, but where there is no privacy. Not now. Started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, the ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back, and all too near.
I don’t get what you want, teacher
— our lives are directionless without a group, a clan?  
     
The telling problem with engineered simplicity,  
You annoy others (doctored meditations.. I’m telling..).  
 
I don’t mean rampage in a civil sense,  
I mean surgically knocking other chanters  
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them  
From the inside, slicing up!  
 
I was kidding I’m not religious.
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.

10/25/21

I’m utterly pro a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is indirect diversion.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my makeup where consensus drifts in and out like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a leftist glow in radical argumentation like an avalanche that fucks over ideas from the machine age. 
Word of you travels, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale outreach and dialectic — spoken because we both wrote it down to shun sickness, sick of welfare, 

licensed before comeuppance, soul dad —  

Make that a shortstop outreach where all the jazz wears off.  
We’ll sink together deliberately mismatched, true needing yet ignited around the tips by deep compatibility, a healthful state, when we purge  

sea brine and air cutting up the time outside, driving it to a crawl, into a room where we’ll talk.
I don’t get what you want, teacher
— our lives are directionless without a group, a clan?  
     
The telling problem with engineered simplicity,  
You annoy others (doctored meditations.. I’m telling..).  
 
I don’t mean rampage in a civil sense,  
I mean surgically knocking other chanters  
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them  
From the inside, slicing up!  
 
I was kidding I’m not religious.
102: You’re the matter at hand merchandized within rotations from green hues perpetual to earth.

You’re asking a lot.

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

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

I kiss the air. This.
I’m utterly pro a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is indirect diversion.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my makeup where consensus drifts in and out like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a leftist glow in radical argumentation like an avalanche that fucks over ideas from the machine age. 
Word of you travels, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale outreach and dialectic — spoken because we both wrote it down to shun sickness, sick of welfare, 

licensed before comeuppance, soul dad —  

Make that a shortstop outreach where all the jazz wears off.  
We’ll sink together deliberately mismatched, true needing yet ignited around the tips by deep compatibility, a healthful state, when we purge  

sea brine and air cutting up the time outside, driving it to a crawl, into a room where we’ll talk.

10/24/21

Because I’m a particle animal I can do it all day. 
Rank fidelity, a gazing furl trying to gnarl  
A sparkle to figure life altogether, no vision...  
There is tho nothing like no despair.
Focused. Demented.
No shortcuts. Nope.
It’s regrettable, they say —
Twin Peaks doesn’t add up
under binge watch...

Not entirely, but it seems unforced holding to an ideally liberal weirdness.
David L thru Kyle M is an observer with an uncapped fortune,
reflecting what adolescents do when their backbones ice up,
raising all boats, all social levels.
29: I am deaf, “bootless” you say, never hearing I’ve been scorned, despised, all alone for desiring you...

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

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

Looking for you and singing from earth, thinking of you through daybreak.
Can we straddle the divide between convention & sorting through unattenuated sense-making?
Every Harvey Keitel film substantiates you may have a gun, you could be reaching to get a gun, or you could just be, in essence, fronting.
Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom?
I rank his output very high, filled in with expressionism
off the scale, 9 plus or more to exaggerate
(if I could, hmm).

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

— Empress Eugenie

10/23/21

Because I’m a particle animal I can do it all day. 
Rank fidelity, a gazing furl trying to gnarl  
A sparkle to figure life altogether, no vision...  
There is tho nothing like no despair.
We can’t compress enough or too much, even if we were one people at one time. We also is I. This is how a toy psyche researches more conscientiously touching on an endearing intolerance in translation — fucking to read and reread pain extending to your one body one time.  A glistening index ‘of us’ advances thru coordinates within a dominant identity tracing out how to refine / displace our contempt.  Most of the Marxist-self reaches irony here:   We are hooded folk deploying pneumatic hammers of misnomers.  Eating and breathing them too.
Sonnet 6:

We radicalize to what we do best.
Beauty distilled in summer is a 10 and like usury always a forbidden gamble.
My tongue in your ear refigures a pair.
A living hand, a treasure 10 to one.
Happy to repay or loan you the rest, and glad
you’re a willing fan, departing before

the winter scoots in through the yard .. happier? you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.
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.
I can put a prayer this way.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and low, austere yet foreseeable.
And the evaluations are in.

You are part of what we hold.

It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before it gets more uplifted.
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.

10/22/21

Dutch people go Dutch. I go along. 

I’ve moved to the Delft coast, Rijswijkse Waterweg, dunes of Irontown, because my ideal climax is at the salt edge, just across from Spread Eagle where I’ve bagged the dainty, ultra built new guy who lives at the priest’s house, along with the priest’s teenagers.    

[Very few sons of priests hereabouts.]
You are in the settlement.
We were sitting there, and
I made a joke about it.. how
it doesn’t dovetail: time,

one minute running out
faster than other time ahead
it catches up to.
That way, I said,
there’s no waste.
No waste in the settlement.

To come back to
the subject at hand, you,
looking like you are seen, 1/2-
turned around, barely moist, reading me.
109: Mind and body worship seem vicarious, false of heart before conforming to a belief system to qualify. As for my soul, I’m with you, my rose with sharp, pointed stems.
But I like meeting new people as well as having you — that would be more progress, the sum of good times — not with a time exchange with only the preposterously good but also frail kinds of elder blood, yet the sum of all, life changing love of you, maintaining the modified and discontinued.
Career update: drinking exercises can save us from scrapping the mission (& face off) — Bacchantes are survivors.

Follow the process. Tease near-misses out of explosive dumbness to hole up then expose your ethos without cut-off points where ideas muddle on. (Better to become accoutrement for a mouthful of secondary definitions.) All this in anapest.
This is where I lived until I began to write on spec.
I moved frequently to exhume a favorite idea, absence of no desire, not a disease so much as hope in health, loyalty (for sale) — assuming we understand what’s not right from mission creep.
It’s a classic knife-in-sui-generis. 
 
Parts of recovered history come to streets whooshed by impurities of state.  
The furbished carport reflected in this broad point perched high above molecular attitudes of state, grammars of people using data for material, like us.  
 
There’s an end note for those out of state sweating liens on older attitudes.  
 
That’s why everyone polishes the text and hands it in.

10/21/21

A true celebrity shows us the assassin is uninvolved on every emotional level — even the one one holds and acts on by serving others, one one’s bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.
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.
Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a simple turn of the ignition, no big deal... A trek over scrubland back at that bind where you and others were fed all the data beyond evolutionary limits. All in an identical manner, everyone repeating one message while sugarcoating skyrockets and financial news slides by in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can we demo our depth of skill?
Just cause won’t be brought up. I deduce you’re packing another head scene to make me love you again, this time giving no cause to hate. True love, O who or what depth of yours gave the lie to sway me as more worthy now to love you more?
I remember looking up at at the music itself, feeling
we live in a debt growing country.
Maximum restraint = knitting your own brow.

Then let me pull an invisible to the eye hair off your blouse. Blousy
threads & too much sex belong in one pile.
It’s a good look except for soy containers suspended from a branch bow: cowslips
& top limbs drooping synthetic blood over your chest ::

When stairwells mesh & go nowhere either side
between you & your affection, let’s hang in for a while.
Hang our names in artificial druthers.
A fop sur la route is a Parisian invention, an essentialist’s incarnation.

Steer clearly. Highway safety — bow, I love what we do better


Like switching work bags, mixing it up then. We should be mortified but impressed.
(This siegecraft apparently works.
For my driving, I’ve hired a fop strategist.)
We call that yeah
Parentheses to explore..

10/20/21

I see your idea. Gnarly aviation. 
 
Purity of the surface deed is recorded, perked into light  
 
                          handily.  
 
Public-private property hit on a plan wound up slugged in disguise,  
 
A ‘contract’ on big physics, ghastly on its back.  
There’s envy of political haters’ swimming synchronized,  
                          beyond prayer —   
 
(In or without ebon ink, capitalists itemize all bets.)   
 
One pleasure is borrowing sentences to raise our debits.   
 
All experience is seriously snipped off.. How to renew a summer dress.
Nice beachfront but there are so many fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — another ghosty noun phrase —
giving away to how far the modern quill doth come too short,
an eerie surfeiting metamorphosis.
101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses cooled down — praising silence long truant, and still overdue. No amends. Beauty needs no pencil or eraser.

Both our senses I reference, truth and beauty, in primary season.

And I’m back intermixing, fixing and lifting text, you in the foreground with answered memories. (“Make answer, Muse..” take everything.. we need nothing..)

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in twin columns.
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.
At midnight again Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with a master’s degree in these matters, said the landmass of gut feeling, sane behavior, and noncriminal discourse — like mine — that mass teeters on the grotesque tattoo of a human skull. I can’t turn that down. I can’t mean only my language. It’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din nihilism shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. A good thing. That door leads to the rescue of children and all rescue contains, all I could have told you.

10/19/21

Fungibly discerning not wishing to die holds a semantic randomness, otherwise empty space.

There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in real physics... I wonder if that’s true — Our thoughts knitted together like mica piling up, shouts ricocheting through voice tracks from the underbrush holding our breath, bounced, kicked and gloved by catalysts.
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.
89: In relation to conflicts over scale, the big guy and I want to inspect what you and others say.
Truly offensive, maybe. Like so many others, I’m fixated on war, warcraft, loss of democratic principles and governance procedures —

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

And speaking of inarticulate, I’m conflicted about criteria for justice, I have questions how these may apply to our acquaintance and your strangleholds now ...
Anyone can wish for ‘portal trans specificity,’ Me? I replace all the markers to get inside a face. Your face. Your brow sports a few layers of sleep relief, accruing intimacy. Meanwhile we form a new team on portal strategy, yielding larger holds on dispossessed cynicism...

10/18/21

Strategists at the barricades have been taking icky notes as the weather cooperates,     
  
Where reputations precede character, the posterity of apprehension remains.       
  
Who will advocate for peace to empower heavy sleep & exchange?     
For example.   
{most- 
Ly random swagger for the catch —   
Qualified} crew enforce sampling  
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking.
Top of one o’clock — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh — more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
 
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get it done legally — 
 
parliament  
maneuvers. Explanation intact.
5: No remembrance now. Of confounding beauty. Of your lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

Once I played a stealth painter portraying sweet, bare women and men. Subjects were mostly strung out on sofas — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch — gentle work but yes I loved you better frosty / lusty!  

I was framed by approaching you in summer, distilling pulverized, liquid dots
— a pointillist prisoner doing time, 

never resting, pent in by tyrannical daylight that still excels in leading us on —
Kites: pinky juicy crisp
Space parlance —

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

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

Pearls — trance police, a hex video
On top various under-invented heights.
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 — here is where the cards you squirt help.   
 
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. When this is tomorrow.

10/17/21

Top of one o’clock — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh — more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
 
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get it done legally — 
 
parliament  
maneuvers. Explanation intact.
Defense owns — there seem — accents — these:
reticence such on put days, our
moving and light, puzzling in place
of morning winter smiles .. a chorus

Emerges which on canvas ..
noises w/ filled-in-already silence ..
This one is what then? ‘“One’ more piece of funded solidity.” Solidity, not for those who have no more.

My quandary repeats another wish never fulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with abundance.
12: This is a fugue in your full name..
we’ll talk this time.. talk bristly.

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

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

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

We brave you more, questioning you as if we will never waste our time through summer,
your beauty growing so well now into the future..
Very good, Jack. We were going over some numbers, audience shares, I mean maxims, and...
I would like to voice concern about poetry / critique spiraling out of control...

Look, I’m filling out forms by the nightstand.
The point is I’m not writing anything “garbage-y.”

Not
anymore.

Don’t be silly, Jack. You are daytime poetry.
That’s cruel, Rabbi, very cruel.

10/16/21

Taking on a dominatrix. Matins.

Sweaty in bed, fountains, aqueducts..
Above the clouds, would you like me to exhibit agitprop cruelty for our audition? Giving up is a gamble, a bet gone bad in your case.. finding my cause I can’t honk loud enough about the importance of deception, glimmers of withheld affection empire states high, taking on a dominatrix.

And leaving you still alive in many forms, all human.

(I’ll end this as a Euro emigrant without you.)
Here I am as genealogies of sophists file off.  

Rebuilding our democracy requires transitive honor tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I am the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam “I” and “am”..
My own revels and syntheses meet me halfway in assault value.
Is this a document or did I make it up? Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity.. 
Here I am as genealogies of sophists file off.  

Rebuilding our democracy requires transitive honor tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I am the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam “I” and “am”..
My own revels and syntheses meet me halfway in assault value.
Is this a document or did I make it up? Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
 
133: My strategy is sweet sleep until we wake.

Who’s calling?
Your friend is coming. Must I abandon myself? then my next self? both appear wounded players, both slaves, both to slavery?

Who can say? Twice or say thrice double crossed and, again, — it’s not enough to torture me alone —
Engrossed, I can hear my friend’s heart groan as if in jail, double crossed — pent up cruelty that’s iterative, baroque:

As if out of time Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.

But let’s be rigorous now and agree while we’re in prison I am in you. I am yours by force.

And I keep you in my heart on guard of you and for all of you in me.
Commune-wide, Kung-Fu’s math disappears like factions of perplexity —

Defining angst beats up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects — 

Internal ‘gears’ regulate caution, rushing in nauseous effects, which are natural for you, to your wordsmithy advantage,

No substitutes for new meanings have been approved. Staring into the candle you start to think, 
This is warm beeswax, hardly a domain for definitions. 
Our crash test is named Defens(c)e of Double Identity.  
 
Of course. You.. your desire and I were (are) habits of empire living off the clock, off proceeds, motion futures of one of each you / each of you.   
 
The world-without-end news is those who are pro-slavery rue property, nonphysical property. 
It’s feasible if you keep watching the clock on board one’s auto-bio.

10/15/21

Here I am as genealogies of sophists file off.  

Rebuilding our democracy requires transitive honor tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I am the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam “I” and “am”..
My own revels and syntheses meet me halfway in assault value.
Is this a document or did I make it up? Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..  
 
A nonreligion of eternal cold, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:
Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

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

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

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.
A nonreligion of eternal cold, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:
Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases down 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.
I’m right beneath my shirt. Sort of a theory laden species.  
What if there’s a non-theist way to prepare, provide? & what  
if we’re both wrong, but less wrong than who?  
 
Let’s keep to federalist motives, far from fashion simplicity,
& let’s live together at night while we impel  
 
malfunctions that blurt out permissions extemporaneously,  
licenses to re-authorize no god’s sorrow over death.
I remember looking up at at the music itself, feeling
we live in a debt growing country.
Maximum restraint = knitting your own brow.

Then let me pull an invisible to the eye hair off your blouse. Blousy
threads & too much sex belong in one pile.
It’s a good look except for soy containers suspended from a branch bow: cowslips
& top limbs drooping synthetic blood over your chest ::

When stairwells mesh & go nowhere either side
between you & your affection, let’s hang in for a while.
Hang our names in artificial druthers.
72: When love is missing, shame is worth nothing. .
You devise virtuous lies (dear love) .. I picked that up, false, smug, cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name is buried where my body is. .
the body I pray you love.. ..
.
I’ve just noticed you haven’t praised me, imparting nothing, Gabby. .
Let’s pronounce your true love untrue. Make it count. .
Tho even in this I fear sarcasm.
A nonreligion of eternal cold, a High Service
Sung along both coasts:
Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

The last nonpoem eases down 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.
More breaking news, I was 
unfriended by an intellectual property owner. You know,  
plagiarism done in loose quotes.  
It’s cold indirection (sangfroid),  
but my metabolism really took off, along  
with emotions from a huge songbook  
I’m freezing,  
 
‘quote’ watching text spin like sentience  
refined by distance; since  
it’s none of the above ‘end quote.’ This could be for you now.

10/14/21

Often my partner sits in a fortress, deliberately passive-aggressive like any fool.
I’m kidding. Even alone.  

In our farewell, as I see it, our descendants build a museum to spy
on
us & others. They look great — stomping out corners. That’s their

moonlight, indispensable today for smearing glows


down walls that follow a trajectory
aimed at each atom of both of us in maroon cords.
Career update: drinking exercises can save us from scrapping the mission (& face off) — Bacchantes are survivors.

Follow the process. Tease near-misses out of explosive dumbness to hole up then expose your ethos without cut-off points where ideas muddle on. (Better to become accoutrement for a mouthful of secondary definitions.) All this in anapest.
This is where I lived until I began to write on spec.
I moved frequently to exhume a favorite idea, absence of no desire, not a disease so much as hope in health, loyalty (for sale) — assuming we understand what’s not right from mission creep.
146: I’m talking to you in American. 
 
The rebel went missing. No more dying then? Not going to lie, I watched us dream in a.i. economics, weeding and planting over a cemetery’s radius, destabilizing temperaments of worms eating itty souls. Body losses. Looters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing their time respectively — great work for the power reserve, cuts straight through the soul’s restructure creating more chopping patterns to abandon like dross.   
Shanghai chips mounted as background to the film score muting key words. The largest source is not Asia in total, but time, so long a lease, epic lost or sums won on slender, empty shots. The 21st century runway and humane instrumentation are redone for open combat. (One reason might be feminists like us are on genome probation.)     
 
Don’t know. Not going to lie. (Ideologues get stuck on last lines.) 
I like it when pros of song dig in and flail. 
That about covers it.  
( It’s that emotional core between personal and pro.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. I got sun.  


Gotta run, pros.
Longhand example:

Anguish over a panel about reasoning and not writing anything down, angst in its emptied refraction dancing on a taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence) on a muddy sidewalk.
So that’s one.

10/13/21

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?
I can put a prayer this way.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and low, austere yet foreseeable.
And the evaluations are in.

You are part of what we hold.

It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before it gets more uplifted.
13: Son, father, if we were only ourselves
we’d bear up against cold instincts..  So
                              hard  
to put back in the valise, bare love. We pirated the code.   
 
I can’t say we did it willingly (signing our leases through dueling storm gusts). In honor? None! 
 
No fuller determination, love, you love no longer than your life in full.
Others like you, mere semblances to me, hold to the same lease.  

You give me sweet forms of love against a certain fall,  
against coming death and barren winter, my love. O you now —
 
Surely you know each of us ‘should prepare’ 
For none but life and love, holders for a full life, eternally in love.  
This tune’s one constant is 
 

a laptop lies naked on my chest.  
Dibs on the effect of my discourse, clammy & pink  

on the brink of aspects vanished in air.  
 

Ideas rather than ‘aspects’ conquer errors 
of the moment lost 
 

more to transports of desire — an ill that’s not  
 
an ill — a gaze upon the sun that leads precisely to a dare, 

not a death sentence.
Criticism “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, colonized with off-rhymes; my lexicon of rhetorical “skirts” wrapped around a few “legs.” 
 
Between a minimum and maximum, 
Buddha retires in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the new office alcove with murals of doves dropping out. His critique has no name; it’s all about listening.

10/12/21

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 reproof to make fitter (more adhesive) decisions for correct behavior.
Fact: eye contact is mostly on the defensive but our strategies around the eyes are consensual. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane sense. This is how contingency shows up in prayer, making a pattern to and fro altercations sited within a figure-ground colloquy.
“‘In a way’,” he said, “‘nothing saved me until we ran the gauntlet —’”
115: Devouring you and reckoning.. I love you best, babe. A doubting aspect of my fiction holds. (I could not love you more in the course of altering my accent.) I have no clear incentive to divert, mindless of taking chances, since I’ve already changed through fierce blunt talk — too much talk and I’ve raised a toast to loving you too desperately... The certain madness of it, as my judgment’s grown less certain over the course of a million accidents (how angry rewrite gets, afterward) and how it makes your tan beauty (and me, too) enflamed for pale, poker-faced poets like Rene.
The gist took a slurry, plump, downy evanescing, then it took the elevator. Up buzzers rise above affixes and urgent notation. Helium released — pushed in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the un-spontaneous summer physique. With his gift of sullen madness signing everything in burlap, compounded and oncoming in percussive isolation. The upshot. 
Attention.

As you advance, there are four surveillance cultures from which to plagiarize a response, while materials become more complex, building on what’s been put on the record.

Is that all you’re having for dinner?

One will need a clearer message for individual agency. There’s no humor in discretion. Winin your hair makes us sick.
We can provide hacks for frenetic formality. And when you come to a three-syllable term you don’t know, you can just reference your dad’s manual to nab the one-syllable crib.

10/11/21

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

A huge agnostic discipline
About attitudes behind morals.

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

The balance left over. Inhabit the brim

To the point you realize
We know now — now less than nothing...
a view down a corridor of great numbers.
Credo:
Misery looks a lot better. Go. Fees balanced. Get out!

Staring at trains’ inhabitants at South Station —
Our blankness fills in family trees offside. After.. there are instrument
Channels (word flares) for composing love. We never saw this before.

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

To admire oneself, one’s distinction,
There’s a lot more ahead.

Poetry goes thru many drafts.
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, like you, assailed. Y. Dating youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even there: Y. We chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of liberty where you are.
Clay-toned physiques
fighting their relatives, waving, receding on one another

— everybody under an influence indoors, thoughts that are
filled with light, rotating in
reverse as if knowing how to purify their offspring & manage forever
in bionic lurches of nibbling torque .. adjusting ..

You may notice I’m after zest constructing new meanings in your arms, and oomph — one long eyebrow (for wingspan), fuzzy and continuous like our séance now, now in the present that has no update or purpose, just falsetto in your eyes.
An awful virus. Just an excuse.
Rhetoric as privilege dies. 
Came from outer space; was well radicalized before it got here. 

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

But no one tweeting lives a commune of ideals. Freedom is personal 

As we go about hungry like other animals brushing up on ideas...

10/10/21

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

Your first lover, dull, expressionless.  Tho

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

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

That’s the gist.
Filming at midnight — kvelling schtick is a tactical concept.
And today’s laughter protocols could not be ‘more serious.’ Except...
It’s been remarkable to gauge how sneering, vaporous, obtruding personalities —
A loose term — proceed un-amusingly
Or even uncivilly in opening salvos. Seems a rehearsed practice, perhaps.

By salvo — the first three or four minutes of monotone in character, in talk and in poems.
You can’t do that up in this film.
So much slobber invested from the start, forced discourse, along with any oomph, runs dry.
35: Your slightly shabby rooms are elegant.

A scent of acacia and soft frangipani, sweet but no trespass at all.

You are triumph.

Don’t sweat over past comparisons. Done. Good-bye.
I’ll muddy up your love of skiing once and your playing chess against yourself, may I?
It makes sense at that, loving you is a civil war — sensual to a fault —

Roses, grieve no more.. nor silver fountains, nor clouds, no eclipses!

Good-bye everything.
                  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..
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. Morphology covers all bets. Scars are as good as drapery over stays. 

10/9/21

Hate altered. 
 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
 
True physicality fills our minds on other matters even as  
Our faith hangs down to the ground in a sensibly mixed fellowship. You can’t throw self consciousness out. It helps, after, there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are stalking — working on it.   
 
There’s animal hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, I think, accompanied by our addiction to uncertainty.   
 
Come here often?
The terms are, go settle down through the evening, finish your addenda
at gunpoint. Perhaps heartbeats get covered by a shroud that frays
and unspools to gain advantage spreading the plan.

Without license, we impart numeric dicta slathered with platitudes —
with all the conviction of a third episode —
(the century-old themeless module) where we sleep (wavy
fields of inaction) and continue our innuendo to bear being
kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me yet obliging me to rule you out, generously.
Sonnet 61:
Simple enough picking up a pen . . . our land and those living on it have material functions; similarly I see you.

I watch your synthetic imagery through writing, 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 substitutes, one at a time — less formal, so near home it’s like taking your dictation, taking after your love of my love of you.
It’s about time for the moody and unexpected.  We mosey back to right about where we want clarity about motives.  We’re in no hurry.  Snow and sun? We’re expecting something.  Ice or melt go missing but not lost.  The reader note went on, One afternoon while relaxing one poured over a confusional book. It reads we are at the dawn of epistemology raising consciousness we can’t get from career studies alone. It continued, the mood wobbles. It does. It vibrates. But nothing’s lost that’s unexpected. It’s about time.
Didn’t they tell you  

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

we wander back home muttering “TV,  
  

TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia  
  

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  

Talk? You hoped we might &?

10/8/21

Louisiana, East of Eden: That time of year with smarter definition. 
How’s that if your electricity is out and the phones won’t work?  
We needed smarter drywall too, to excite twilight in the   
ferns and moss growing other side after sunset, every-   
thing about the yield blowing in its news  
of recurring unitary joy...   
 
that must expire.  
 
I liked getting you to this point, nourished by you. 
The terms are, go settle down through the evening, finish your addenda
at gunpoint. Perhaps heartbeats get covered by a shroud that frays
and unspools to gain advantage spreading the plan.

Without license, we impart numeric dicta slathered with platitudes —
with all the conviction of a third episode —
(the century-old themeless module) where we sleep (wavy
fields of inaction) and continue our innuendo to bear being
kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me yet obliging me to rule you out, generously.
97: Before apologizing, pre-winter is fantastic, like late summer for wanton beginners, a civilizing pleasure messing up eternal categories, removed by you. Your absence now offers a waiting room (decoherence), libations & it supports how I feel within. & speaking of the pure land, it’s freezing. Barely recognize the place.
Your bromide is familiar. You’re gaining attention for the wrong infinite reasons, Jungfrau.
Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow lost, fast.

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

There’s much history.

Shadow sensory awareness, one chosen medium.

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

for their audience, saboteurs of the heart.
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 — here is where the cards you squirt help.   
 
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. When this is tomorrow.

10/7/21

Hail, love, I was in hell with you
Having seen again all the mud we throw.

We’re not living there now; it’s too far to drive, leaving us out drenched to the waist, hanging down on the sidewalk looking a little ‘filmed over.’
The now is? I don’t know where it went or was. I wonder if we’ll show up there.
These questions are battered about.
Folks from a gridded compartment have decided
most perfectionism is out of step
while playing us as aficionados of the vulgar

to provoke both nature and full disclosure.
Those organized under their strong gesture have to triumph.
Those compartment folk know this and tap
all our communication, born of necessity. Our own dialog reflects
gritty highly-trafficked back alleys of seduction and violence.
Oooo we’ve discovered our voice.
49: Let me hold you ... better not, I’m a defect in future law before and against your time.
If ever that time comes within my own knowledge, know, I’ll know
love is no more, no less the thing it was...
                and no cause alleged.
I raise my hand now, called to, on your part
when you scarcely greet me as we pass.
That’s how with all due respect works in both our times.
I’m a conservative about behavior. That’s before I put on your fragrance —  
 
A calm never resolved —  
because we’re only one muppet and one marine  
reigning over Proustian project boards, cost curves, our endless waves of shame. 
The 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 in 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 orchard, company-owned. “This is a very nice benefit,” a leisure pursuit like playing shipwrecked, held for ransom. Those were the funniest jokes, too. I don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. Or I can’t recall.

10/6/21

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
still 
untrusted and abstract, a heavy rain

snapping into randomness.
No orgasm. On second thought, call me. 
 
I want to remarry in quick fire in a church in white. Or did I?  
Marriage makes me horror-struck either way —  
Aghast in wake of our previous melancholy.
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
still 
untrusted and abstract, a heavy rain

snapping into randomness.
87: Sodajerks. Their stock was luminous. Once adding

a noun phrase furthered ambition (we’re sure any goal was theirs), amusing
vim shaken out from the inside. Each jerk had a skeleton curse, after all; the lot growing
fewer over time. (Youth — not occupation, no greater riches, nor better judgment — remains the determinate object of love.) An emotional matter
language models for 3  dimensional firewalls while waking you
then not knowing you. You jerk.
We can take empty form into perpetuity where I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up “encircling purviews” for travel — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious integers-to-be. 

A buzz keeps my eyes open when I am (or was) looking misplaced or miscalled, taking dictation to wrap up sleep.
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions with different possibilities blow town including the best halo effects and feelings.
They and you’ll come back.

It’s nice finally to put a face to the humiliating, hand-covered breathing.
Today, every day your open censorship flourishes,
filtered, praised as token austerity.

10/5/21

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 working motive, working the ropes.
Cliché inflects empty chit chat.

More serious is only the dreariest aspire as such in the abstract?

There’s a key to forget this mess when we mask how often nobody gets a hearing was mentioned —
disproportionate to the vacant bits transcending that of hearing itself.
60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, time feeds on us and ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

Sing: this changing place, this pebbled
shore is in the repair shop because
it is the repair shop — as miles streak by...

We contend and confound — in the main of light crawling to maturity
set on the rarity of natural youth and beauty.

Each changing place against slim odds.
Almost the same as hopeless in times of hope
Yet younger guardians that follow grow tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; wherewith their hold on the land is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

When? as soon as today.
This is our ur-season & with these search tips I am free to cut nothing off.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, your questions washed over time —
For starters: Did I test, lease, defame to get the best?

& the answers in a day wherever that is if ...
Is it time or times?
Personally, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic one more time.
The colony is firmly democratized, sir. You sir.

Other voices from the porch to violent finches in the sky,
The season seemed & was interpenetrations of parallel scenery
Et al in all of this.
This is our ur-season & with these search tips I am free to cut nothing off.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, your questions washed over time —
For starters: Did I test, lease, defame to get the best?

& the answers in a day wherever that is if ...
Is it time or times?
Personally, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic one more time.
The colony is firmly democratized, sir. You sir.

Other voices from the porch to violent finches in the sky,
The season seemed & was interpenetrations of parallel scenery
Et al in all of this.
To want as well as have nothing
I shouldn’t ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
Surface depth. You shouldn’t expect to rework this at all.
Self restraint & perverse incentives, an unknown future’s cart

Before ew teachers, new stratagems, even newer phenomena
To run down & over — any & all mayhem will be unannounced (achieved)

Or they won’t be since we talk thru flexible models &
Already what you say takes us off the jet trail! quelling fear of pain.
But.

But you never can tell. I won’t.

10/4/21

Long day, maestro. I’ll butt dial (this still happens) you,
egressing. We’ve achieved very little even with our arguments intact,
noting there’s pride — I didn’t take any — pride in our measures
— to section our mountainous itches and engagements
— to go over, mix more with money types,
top cashiers — it’s called freedom of worship.
We are the last generations who have short lifetimes.

Later, you dangle squalid transfer balances netting zero, netting 
a big zero on the demeaning upper ends and 
capital variables w/ an October surprise. 

That’s every transitive with successive membership enclosed .. 
How the prose poem squeals w/ common sense, folds into dreams. 

Everyday events like planetary ellipses emerge that change programming (for greater disorder) in fluent business English.
84: Partnerships were counterparts, 1st a little lunatic, more than most...
                Even worse, hotly culled. And who can say?
Let me copy what’s clearly writ, how writing lends some small glory, substituting for natural praise
                — you’re admired everywhere! Fame dignifies your story.
Adding no curse, I lower my voice to approximate parity.

To such immured an example, who can say more? You alone are you
                 As your story goes. And you let it go.
Rich in style, but fondly penurious compared to what is writ in you.
Repeat this until approved, 
“I don’t know about you O astronomy”  
But in a tone that’s affirmative  
Like the jeweler’s tone words for whale  
-bone / measured blues − while  
 
This stretch, like all happy comebacks, tells a story of the future dropping hints of a larger, full-mouthed I-don’t-know − was it something to do w/ a heap of focus to one side, therefore blocking another? Do we lead a life another sings w/ you?
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.

10/3/21

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

Our tarantulas grow mute subconsciously, in dim light over and over —
burbling with a kill-agenda that’s swayed into decisions, aching to blather.
In the interim I’ve written hate jokes,
All natural as parfait clouds beginning to part — over 1000 —
The aerodrome softly moans .. it could be roars of laughter falling into introspection

slotted for long silent scream divisions with fearful levels of id emergence
— And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a date.

*

How can I neck you into warming
up with tomtom heartbeats, migrating
to far boundaries by hand
to hand in a laughing matter?

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

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

Our tarantulas grow mute subconsciously, in dim light over and over —
burbling with a kill-agenda that’s swayed into decisions, aching to blather.
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have worthless spoils darkening our song 
— an idle song we convert into argument 
with little or no honor. Still it ‘sings’ to the ear.

In numbers and verse I surveil your fame most everywhere.
You return time and again, lending my base subjects light
— you’re faster in my time. 

Come in close: Your power and skill suspend all our fears 
even as we love vicariously — even more to love more,
to redeem spending my fury and all my life in satire.
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.
Ah, you’re driving me to a convenience stop — I don’t care.
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you what we’re doing.
How there’s a piece of karate, fragile backs we erase, how
there’s turbulence... something else active, pointed. Your
push reaches a piquancy where time management is unleashed.
I’m just commenting on efficacy in speaking clearly, knitting one’s own
brow.

10/2/21

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.
We fell in love and enjoyed it when the vertex saw you off. Later we got dressed for golf, and congregated in the face with peers.

Better now if we didn’t digress but file out a shade apart to trail so many copycat champions of democracy.
Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos, documents, from which large scale dull instruments are tossed upon the freeze.

Say you’ll be back. A blast of cold air
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.
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 a precious jewel, manmade but even true words have always been devised.
And therefore there’s no escape beneath the social parasail of rhetorical infighting. Plain speech commits us, forces us.

And do so, love. You are as fair in speech and knowledge as in hue.

Devised in love, that’s the plain worst case, and here we are — let me give you a hand.
I’ve got to hold back. Not go down.

This is in response to the commerce-vector coursing through pop concepts, bringing unique comfort to support our cushy position in the food chain, which is in dispute.

I adhere to the same late-filing rule as you. We are keepers of years at night.

Love is moaning all right. I’m almost a novice enthusiast.. years from now.
Then, inscrutably I shall break down and sob.
Having only a sec, 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, winning-losing before comic, breezy violinists w/ silver hats — Superangels w/ instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.

Time’s up.

10/1/21

A petting zoo cannot stand for practice?

As a curator of sorts, I have to ask. A lot.

Your space calls for more.
Defy self interest.
It’s alpine only in one direction,
but metabolism will live trailing off anyhow, all
along with clumsy fearless tempos,
a framework for rants surrounded by cool ceramic
wallboard, balmy alter figures.. worth conserving or not?
Swimmer:
Our models are you & everything I can live by w/out being
sequestered or bitterly charged for my shortcomings.
Ballooning in harmony around some parts of sky

I understand as profuse clouds. Understand as in take in.
Huh? Is it the fire? Up in ideal sparks’ glow

made indispensable for smearing a light force
that travels down in a tiered border-like scrawl?
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 ...
32: You’re reserved outdoors, for your love adds layers
And exempts us from showing up to enchain, knife, subdue.. 
That’s once I reach heights of happier men but none like you —
As Satie plays, giving away what we’re better at 
— gosh! I read an earlier 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. 
So a redraft prompts special inquiry tho tentative as to the meaning of structure. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you’ve been here before, you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. We’re happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and objurgating..
Voices say, personalities, like voices, are loaned to us.
Early winter colder rain or snow draws us audiophiles —

Minus wind, light rain or snow construes visible silence,
plundering contexts with non-rhyme, much asymmetry.
Rain or snow’s great undercurrents cut straight thru reconstruction,
roughing up shadows turning over in a reserve of self-abandon

Turning shreds in searchlights for a soundtrack over time.