11/30/21

After you, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing.

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

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving figures. (Vicarious isn’t strong enough.)
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows, o praise the light flow drawn
in odor and hue! After you.
We fell in love, enjoyed it when the vertex saw you off. Later we got dressed for golf, but congregated in the face with peers.

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

Say you’ll be back. My co-pay. A blast of cold air
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.
132: I’d like to bend rules to wipe temperance from a finger painting 
while we dress soberly for the pityiable sky out west — 
It’s so cold here. A place for mourning w/ subdued, heartfelt pain, along w/ rare 
minerals that turn into your eyes and tree colors back east. 

Your eyes I love, and they torment me most
where full stars usher both of us by your grace — 
not half the sun nor half the glory from heaven 
suits me more as two morning eyes become your face.
I owe a debt to Christmas. 
Blindfolded angels thinking in the past — 
All mute waving back,  
 

Protecting us from our unknown predicates,   
 

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

In mind of the New Year, at last.
To Caspar,  
 
I think you asked for this over dinner.  
Ghost buds for twenty-first century renos in a whole range of sentiments.  
No chance, astrophysicist. 
 
So you get it now, assigning ghosts to our planet to feel cathartic  
is dimensionally impossible. You’re dull. Rather uneducated.  
You’re all shine and velocity for us, the living!  
Sap is flowing, Caspar, top gear, top speed.   
 
Grab a sawhorse.

11/29/21

At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there ideal is on your side, time sick. 
 
It goes with a backhand irony like pigeon guided defense missiles or no guards at the gate.  
A free coupon! No, the front gate won’t front  
As there are centers of wishing beyond your closed doors.   
 
All batteries are now charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring  
Molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber  
— I’m about to walk the spiral and more!  
While chestnuts stand around in verbal hoards  
Coupons expire.
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.
Sonnet 105: We express your idolatry as science. Fair, kind, true. Three at once.

Amazing to love you in praise of your science. Sum of sums!



Amazing to feel influenced by your themes, your scope, o many songs.  Your idolatry


Affords me your love of a lifetime. 
Take care, and take time you seem to say; 
inspire small talk and wonder between you 

while keeping your sum in view. You
look good put together.
Our supply chain deals fatalism whose allegory
can shape and twist any desire, except a ready
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us.
That tells me
I love needing what tv does.
It feels great here. We’re on tv.
Shopping sprees are migratory patterns.

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

Take an interest in opulence & stratagems bequeathing us


sherbet, oomphy comforts & massive inflows of feel-


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


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

Looks as if we’re metaphysicists to inner antecendants.

Lemme go.

11/28/21

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse w/in; pushing up deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry. Natant decapods added vowels.  
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Another one. Matter persists, w/o dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly kaput, or snap, running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more ubiquity. Optics unravel in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse w/in; pushing up deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry. Natant decapods added vowels.  
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Another one. Matter persists, w/o dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly kaput, or snap, running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more ubiquity. Optics unravel in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
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.
74: I agree to your bail pro tem. Security should have conducted a more scholarly pat down.

We are still under arrest but you’ve lost nothing. You’re mine.
Ten to one, better parts of our street cred show up in literature and dossier tracking. Faint Milano opera on one speaker in memoriam.

When you have a chance for review, I think all this will be due you. Layers of my spirit made yours & any remains have no other life to leap to, no death, either — carried away then having some interest in what’s going down on this wretched yet contented earth, all it contains, even this one line.
Methods for substitution include straightforward word shifts within text that is otherwise not disruptive — intra-textual cuts and pastes, say — as well as extra-textual processing of found passages, more often now digital copy and hybrid processing from search algorithms, remixed with other types of found or authored material.

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

Panicked, we stood and talked it over until, with Trump-ish aplomb, his stand-in lifted his puffed-up hairy hand and pulled at the tarp and showed it to us.
Leaning in, wise and cruel.
In sleep my heart greets guests, offering immunity.
Going wide, immunity is madness in snow season.

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

Should I despair?

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

Further out the world is grown up with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always. Snow as hustlers.
There’s a method they share, I whisper to myself, falling for the freshest ingredients.

11/27/21

We left our module to look over curricula. 
 
Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..   
 
Filming, taping = reporting: imparting numeric dicta, slathered middle ground,   
 
‘Local slippery conditions’ (where we can tape this off).  
Keep all of yours together. Own your swarm and lend them jackets.  
Up in blanched smoke — flames, sparks...   
 
A red bonfire indispensable for smearing highway color —  
 
Filming made more relaxing, the way things sustain  
 
More opportunities for interruption.
Waves (all the best of them) beat my eyes off. Don’t care, I still can see and lie about what I believe is fact, clinging to both structured improvisation that takes a volume of time, only it’s a civil leave now coming back to bone substance.

Like The Inferno and Nerves and every shined thing since, we are collectively involved engineering the tide of speech desire.

One doesn’t know any more
or if there are good times ahead of war.
20: Like voices & solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.) — smart, amazing particles sleep it off thru traffic, affecting shifting hues up to the rolling bridge lattice. On you
& by you, nature’s face is warm & bright. All hues charged & painted, brilliant to the eye — adding amazement & new purpose that’s stuffed with pleasure, not needing love, except when it comes altogether!

Thereupon we control our handiwork, less false than one’s life, almost like passion’s master-&-mistress gazing on you as passions grow.
Idiot sparrows, wrens suffer rain, finding things out,
Unleashing each other —

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

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

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

I thought of you.

11/26/21

Microscopic levitation gets modulated. Had to be. Modulated is like coming out to predict your hard held views, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact explanations and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold. Then we are off again, taken off, backed up in the cloud this time, keeping our data immune to causation.
Tensions were apparent.

Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to a co-op, wrapped in steam.

Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague exchange, like our national plebiscite, maybe better to pump out to fog’s grasp.
50: A hip cast of super angels strumming harps, an encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus

Bringing up larger journeys for the stretch and preen in vigilance onward —
So far the miles to me are measured from my friends and joy left behind.
I fall back tired, breathe while new cast members come on —
They are casually let go as they finish groaning bearing my weight.

Our joy restored at a slight remove from sharp pain and darkness in grief, putting this in mind, Since we answer to manifold waves that weigh in:

Unprovoked, a heavy vacuum still.. you are away while I am on my way at my travel’s end.
Political direction gets cluttered in secrecy with corollas of shock. 
 
My thought wanders from the epicurean, no?  
No, hear this family man out, the values of terror are epic. How about blood in the waves? 
Joint damage. Same thing. 
 
Then fishing for pain I drove off the roof and now I’m escaping on foot.
One main test: You can’t waste time.

It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.  
  
A severe tone? Start playing. Start writing. Dig in.   
  
The charge there thrills in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to resist your moment. Or ex-moment (now).   
I’m leaving you everything glazed or less remedial, along with fragments in B-flat, thinking them over.   
  
I saw remorse somewhere?  
  
(Should a lad be thrown a pianist’s shh?)   
  
Run for our false/full lives. Or not.

11/25/21

Political direction gets cluttered in secrecy with a corolla of shock. 
 
Sometimes my thought wanders from the epicurean, no?  
No, hear this family man out, the value of terror is epic. How about blood in the waves? 
Joint damage. Same thing. 
 
Then fishing for pain I drove off the roof and am now escaping on foot.
This would be my most empirical debacle to date — a bumblebee
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side. I’m certain its lack of manners or historicity
is a flaw like smearing vetiver over its mad, abstract body.

Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the air in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.
Sonnet 40:

When you read this, my injury appears prior to who prompts it.
Not you.

We were informed of your deceit in our sleep, a line from Aeschylus.

We’re playing with new features and a few we move in any direction.
But not you.

Take all my loves, my love. You steal from me and vice versa since all of us are in use.
Billions of highly intelligent beings with high degrees of morphic freedom
interest me only so far. More curious is why we approach poetry in English primarily in terms of understanding it.

As though propositions and semantics were key to poetry’s necessities.
Not you.
Hands are everything. You might say
It was past conjecture; ever since  
The atmosphere upsurges when the rules stick.
His eyes & yours fill with knife jabs.  
Your brain stores all kinds of pleasure. & his the same.
 
A genome led you to him..  
He smiles with no wisecracks about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
 
— nothing to discredit or crib  
...no hell to pay!

...the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.
Could there be Thanksgiving for the dead?  
                      hold on  
I’ll put you  
on greenish “pallor enhancer.”  
 
Strangers breathing around us, sweating under a river of skin 
flowing out, living now for compliments engraved on secret ballots. 

11/24/21

The float seems to learn fever can be unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things,” had 
 
Simon Schama anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been   
eloquent as to the fair, to the bright, we’d need no caption.”     
 
The float throughout anticipates some base point ..   
What does there’s still a move to go do?   
Keep nursing desire past cure — a psychic point 
or three feeding your appetite to please. 
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.
113: Replete with you,
I selected a rogue anime — you with improved vision to reform my mind
catching birds, creatures.. even the governor.. her mountains.

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

My point then is awfully slight — I’m incapable of more, out and about, unkind
~ For leaving you, to me, seems effectually rude ~
rude as sea-doves and crows paying homage to you, shaped by your outdoor features.

So many, rudest like me to crudest, impart your functions
and they get noticed — yet fail to deliver any part of you, true mind.
High sensitivity equals high urgency.

I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said;

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

tilted sideways and faithful as he is he’s destroying
our bed, our non faith and consequences.
Painting formalism. 

1) Bad philosophy pulls you into art markets like painting, you along with lab wonks, emphatic cat stranglers, lesser rogues. Screwball robots, all interpreting the same aesthetics of action hulks who stand as proxies for casino archetypes.  
 
2) A bad market estimate demands constructivist concepts like twine notebooks — a photo show projection over notebook sketches in twine, high and low brow volumes scanned by market members and their flamboyant offspring.  
 
3) Ask if show attendees are “happy,” knowing there is no way to measure stagey inculcation.

11/23/21

My counselor affidavit registers our deficiency of pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with another self.) 
 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters chose Trump. Yet this is the latest case. 
Everything I note here is integrated by law. Remember those days?
The local is inside you, sang Pete Seeger and Bob Creeley.
First heard this when I tossed my head and rode, hey
one foot, pawing the ground before taking gallops.
As for my consultant that day, he shook
the bed, broke his baby toe,
So much as ‘the way things were’ stay the same that one day.
Hold on?
..membranes are functional! It’s an open

Darwinian algorithm to back more
nano-proposals, say, walking in, “hey..”
106: In love, a practice of counterclockwise seems like not much at all, only sustained focus, innovation of hand, foot, lips, of eye, of brow, nowhere expressing all your beauty ...

Nope,
all right, I lose. I’ll open in complete command of nothing, no skill to praise you.
From the outside the sky hints of hinges, bolted prophesies that you master —

I can’t waste time — we’re tethered here. Mostly.

For love we’ll ingest all of you, prefiguring present day,
inflating while we info search, I could say

exhaling descriptions
w/ eyes to wonder on the full worth of your beauty making beauty.
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.
I have no use for you.
I’m drunk on uses of empathy and bounce. Or plans change. 
Universality is homesick, having lived off the in-laws of physics. But not now, daybreak — 

Conditions look staggered, first up, off-ivory — wanting a universe to admire (me too).
Then a profane Rubik of dawn’s assured color range,
yet how far & vast connivance redeems all that
to put aside loss, cheek and whiffs of misuse. In concatenation, O dawn.

11/22/21

After you, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing.

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

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving figures. (Vicarious isn’t strong enough.)
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows, o praise the light flow drawn
in odor and hue! After you.
Once there was a crutch like levitation, it got modulated. Modulated is like drummers and saxophonists, women coming out to play, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our environment and backing it up with inexact beats and multiplying sounds from what they were doing before the session took hold.

Sexual scaffolding hovers in the interim, instantly recognized as male identity. Identity and hardened m.o.’s then evaporated. We invented them from silences, lies and a feral sense of feeling cornered in a soulless piano practice lesson. Enough — men as well as women are resigned and re-acclimated to generations of processed shock of the simple — the safe-zone simple, where infectious pop is authenticated, highlighting some weak spots.

Wherein a smirk presses on — mass culture destroyed by life-changing sex.

That would be the solid thanks to no progress.
90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model strains of passivity and its onset by the rear shore. Only don’t drop in.

The tide pool holds scraps and parts of nesting authority as an after-loss. Rainy tomorrow. I join you to re-reference an arrow and bow made out of many purposed m.p.h. gusts — and this is your and my body as well — a priori nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.
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.
Psalm make me sorry.

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

11/21/21

Sex is a sardonic comfort with a sober edge.
Time’s up. I have to guide this girl back to her tapestry, a big beldam of friend with a visual cortex attending what’s neat in the future, and she finds me attractive! At arm’s length..

There were dimensions an hour ago enabling 2 events in one plot we were both party to. Tenebrae, we said. Let’s return to the olfactory sketches, in which the cosmos is left unexplained. Constant and converted. Incandescent, then, our ardor comes back to choke human rockets like us, sidelined by a braided chord worn as her necklace, a burning space distinguished by diffuse vitality.
Something came up. And what’s not mentioned expands underground.
This is unlikely as lightning gaining on fog. Lightning understands

it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no tingle or lasting appeal.

How is it falling with grey streaks that look glazed or remedial well past

the exercise and expense of

the seven seas.
Sonnet 10: We lodge now (holding evidence of physics-oblivion) 
like headless pedagogues hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap repairing top figureheads top speed. The murder option more centered per theorem.  
 
Panning back fast to grant your audience your evident presence, the love you bear — as your beauty grew  
beloved of many. But tampering w/ these modern thought experiments.. you love no one? Not me or him?  

We think not. It’s a regulatory equation = hating him =  
ruining yourself feeding on non sequiturs as kind-hearted concepts (only a few 
repairable through nominal trivia and fresh paradox).  
 
For you change your mind repeatedly. Your changes of heart, so many — ruinously, murderously possessing English poetry so you can be taught .. (a disgrace — a conspiracy partaken in by such impassive numbers for centuries, all of us.. so many!)
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.
After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to cut down the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.

11/20/21

I work here but not much any more.
Cascading circumstances.
My travel limits are pointing to a chimera. Not a destination.
I work here but not much any more.
Cascading circumstances.
My travel limits are pointing to a chimera. Not a destination.
Our dual cosmos doodad self-inflates as a product injector covered by cultural exertion, just like weather bombs wearing Beirut postwar colors, pebble and pale, lucent grays.

Colors go up all right, each color of stone seething with a claque inside, giving access to haystacks that we call the multiverse, which looks most imprisoned now.
Sonnet 7:

Outgoing at noon, attending on what? I’m not going out. I’m about getting on (mouthing off) with or without you. Just look how my sight’s scripted by high pitched infantile alienation, falling over you. Again. It’s not too late! New optimism apparently pays gifting you burning head. Another way we’re both blackmailed over there is nothing low, nothing sacred.
I really don’t know what I’m buying.
Materiality, tho, can’t exist. No dissonance, a new status quo that’s 4 ever and sparkled, meandering within ordered appearances that go dormant or run off with incentives in unboundedness — unraveling our optics, dissolved into attitudes about that first time behind all the good times 4-ward.
Blatantly un-shipshape seems the new daring..
I have no idea —
The bemused, deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning.
We should seek co-equals now, an engaged handshake, clear speech
To thank the whole body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.

11/19/21

Post-cogency, you still doing that? That’s what’s long about sadness,
the real overhead. Lost time, money. A sky of ice cubes for what party in sleep?
When I leave, I’ll take no
memory for a drive. And just the sardines.
The cat owner in me is unknown to me,
permeates me. Consequences...

Lost time is sawed off from a vast range of gravity.
Once there was a crutch like levitation, it got modulated. Modulated is like drummers and saxophonists, women coming out to play, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our environment and backing it up with inexact beats and multiplying sounds from what they were doing before the session took hold.

Sexual scaffolding hovers in the interim, instantly recognized as male identity. Identity and hardened m.o.’s then evaporated. We invented them from silences, lies and a feral sense of feeling cornered in a soulless piano practice lesson. Enough — men as well as women are resigned and re-acclimated to generations of processed shock of the simple — the safe-zone simple, where infectious pop is authenticated, highlighting some weak spots.

Wherein a smirk presses on — mass culture destroyed by life-changing sex.

That would be the solid thanks to no progress.
98: Smothered abstractions — Absent from you in spring, I think it’s winter now. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams drawn after you, dreams that forgive me for holding the moment for too long — for paranoia’s trapping us both. Summer’s story, flowers’ smell sweet, lilies white, roses vermillion: The sweet spirit of youth’s hue and odors. These are your abstractions, all these pattern figures drawn for and after you.
A warm nearly winter day.

Solved for the resplendent spelling, but not remorse.
Now it’s a year later, a fine day emanating will go,
good news tho.
Typo, I’m late; it’s fitting, weeping inside before you go away.
Not at rest, circumspect. (I’m just beginning..)
Well, most every worry or mistake is literal, based on trying to rewrite
hellish varieties of you getting fingerprinted from eight
perspectives, from xvith-century Italian drawings..

..The stars are out of their miniseries
one boomerang day after another. Every day’s
important, I see. I remember your aroma, &..

..Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing coterie added to sempiternal space &
entered into w/ a worldview w/out achieving access to felt qualities.
You put a question mark after feeling genreless — in a screenplay, it would be a pick
-up line.
There is no personality, only successive time frames, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by others’ labor, enabling and overlooking our conditional first day together...

11/18/21

You put a question mark after feeling genreless — in a screenplay, it would be a pick
-up line.
There is no personality, only successive time frames, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by others’ labor, enabling and overlooking our conditional first day together...
Any non empirical approach compels outsourced argument.

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

efficacy for streamlined intake. Soak up the view.
4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing.
To traffic in deception, record your writing. Take fast notes
.. and I’m being fra nk, beauty lent to you
will oppose given facts of previous loveliness gone unused —
a perplexed legacy taken outside why or what’s acceptable

to audit profit and thrift. I’m lending you
my saddle for your extrication from delirium ..

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

traffic with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air
spending upon you and me
so great a denatured octagonal gloom
by our own natures, sum of sums, we must take our notes alone.
O ouch. I’m not sorry.
This is my first try in three dimensions.

There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace — w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —

Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, a humanist quiz.
I’d like to thank the Academy  
and ignore X to reinforce ignorance. 

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

11/17/21

No interviews today. Triumph* is creepy**.

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


**Authentic triumph, group or personal, cannot be construed.
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.
107: Even tho you can’t concentrate, you’re in a balmy place, well,
A place I’ve never been before. You’re dreaming on things to come.
You look fresh. You have on your eyeliner again.
I like what you’re hoping to proclaim this time.

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

Suppose forfeiting doom, suppose
Peace with no death in a world wide with dreaming endlessly.
For practice, renditions of this altogether. Take care, and take some time, since to censure another’s progress is groaning effrontery and off the mark, much like not approving a pianist’s shoes. You can do this, feel free, but don’t expect to be asked back to the next marathon. Likewise, avoid rejecting criticism, keep your catnip under wraps, knock down with a glance, nod, and inspire small talk while keeping watch. Mad Kitten and you look great together!
The guys with magic marker eyes who paid for this were enamored of throwing off articulate signatures —
But everything was their idea,
reaching back where no limit whirrs & now sings..

11/16/21

Cocktails, 4:00 pm. 

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflecting gritty, highly-trafficked back alleys of jinx, beaming seduction and violence.   
 
Are you healthy enough for this perfection?   
 
One is a little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
A stencil of our dialog frames many others  
As a thought pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.
The work-together bellows forges random events from a momentary lineage we’d overlook otherwise. No line proof required, especially. A range of conversations whooped into uncluttered opinions, dedicated sentences. 
 
A flaming kitchen to heat pizza.  
(more below...) 
We’re imprisoned to reach our markets — 
 
Otherwise, normal project staff on the roof, smug in taut outfits and at the top of their game, which is often synchronized, perforated by news breaking. No naming names, please.
154: Once asleep I’m sick of disarming love; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of yours.

I’m sick and so I take a vow to a better life of heart-inflamed desire — never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil I now know approximates healthful maiden hand abstractions.. (branding
..each true heart until warmed up — as hot as any brand) ..and so strong a flame we can

mind- and body-worship by your side, worship un-quenched, a general practice that perpetuates our trippy belief system. Or

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

11/15/21

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
Granted on a more personal note, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic for one more time.
The place was firmly democratized, sir. The beginning seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this. Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush sopping in devotion to their next decimal of the scenery. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when.
33: I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that, only maybe — maybe I’ve got a thought altering ‘mentalist’ landscape up my sleeve. ‘Heavenly alchemy,’ your words. My love is the sun in the morning .. You have a roundish face, green eyes and a slender yet blunt nose that hardens your otherwise sad, unrecognizable features and sovereign eyes. When I read about contradiction and ‘splendor’ I keep wiping tears from my neck, but I never had read the sun in the morning as your love before I met you.
What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena — what older worlds once could say —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One chord after another.)
We already have what we ask for.

Vainly but not fast in never induce italics:
We gave it up at the Office.

Driving this point is hardly ever for the 1st time
disappearing into immense molecules like our other words, just molecules ago.

Sitting down delivers the good news, stateliness while steering already had its faint say. Now we can text and ‘drive’ over time and zeta functions mowing down hedgerows like highway dividers along an infinite axis.

11/14/21

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

Then in time we can be on and in our way.
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.
152: A selfportrait in loving you with hedge clippers in hand, fighting blood sugar.
[Zygotes follow commands. They’re a collective to do good.]
I remember greening hedges thru 3rd parties, their deep viney-ness.

Sunrise. Whose-ever rhyming system — Uhmms call up homonym oblongs,
Back strings pop into songs. [The RNA of things doing more good...]
To enlighten you and me I’m

Mashing oaths-to-love into phosphate genetic tags, keepsaking your tag = good, mine = good, ours = ourselves!
Achilles, what can you do or not do? Are you sitting on the floor 
listening ? wearing nothing but  
eagerness for a motive to  
hear what we were afraid to be?
Foundational bias underpins Achilles’s argument for or against not being sure.
A signature concern throughout the night is the cosmos’ experience. The bigger the better. Peculiarly, one other point — so many writers simultaneously figure out the brute’s foot and heel, studying nature and truth within supposition and guesswork. Achilles becomes enamored of writers turning toward stage experiment and utopic closure.

For then a separation point emerges. Harsh.

11/13/21

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

“Great ... I’ll just hold...”
Spacetime.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while evangelic angles of light conscientiously make a big deal taking us home.
Vaccinated, I have a merciless itch.. just what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
Quote: Passing the “casting
of cities,” thinking past us — end quote.

I’m never sure. I’m still a novice,
numb to knowing what conscience is.
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.
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also = I. This is how the toy psyche writes more conscientiously touching on a couple of endearing dual roles in an algorithmic translation; desultory of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling for the first time.

Next, a glistening database is advanced by textuality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace your contempt.

[..]

Classification will be adjoined by evolutionary adaptation passed on to descendants.

If we’re lucky, Euro notes will rule our major commitments, puns of data solutions on the punishing ground looking up. They’re bearing full dark 18th- and 19th-century ideas.

(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand over our new theory.)


Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused. Confused the way

A rusted barge dries in the sun painted orange.

Ok, this is no water view. Clinically proven.
But theory is something else.
Here’s my favorite.

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

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

Somewhere I float in. I’m late for the prom fitting, weeping inside. Funny place
for a dance, Mr Baker.

11/12/21

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?
Combustion and dust spores filling avenues becoming identical, your honor. People borrow shelter in ice cream convenience stores, then bolt for the subway, running with asinine language (you can’t call it dialog). Ugly apartments. Life-draining clothes. New affections. Highly recommended. 
85: It takes substance and breadth; the going price of unlettered, brusque desire

(a rare cigarette case, may I?) looked after in coded forms and knots...
No thanks. Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice... Or let’s
Practice being still. (The high meal.) Inductions to other habits — hearing your breath,

I think speaking, in effect, projecting dumb ideas.

The woven haze drags down sculptures of floppy appeal

Like light praise warmed over by spinning in “Amen”

— I cannot phrase scents of snow, sunlight and your utter loss

— my tongue tied crying, folding you into thoughts.
Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions with different possibilities blow down including 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.
Bathing in enjambement, my naked duty —
‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children
blurring the terrain,
a stenciled closure: he shouts,

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

A miracle.

11/11/21

Playing with tonalities, how funny you are.. 
These are chords you kept inside.  
Between description, silence, a periphery.   
 
Any variation can be thought out and checked by fooling the authorities.
 
There’s no description I can give or want to,   
 
No way to rhyme turning away, hiding on the loose.   
 
Chords have their way in the air wondering how mediocre an apartment we get.
Your bromide is familiar. Let me text this. You’re gaining attention for the wrong infinite reasons, dummkopf. Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow fast.

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

There’s so much history.

Shadow sensory awareness, a chosen medium.

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

for the audience, saboteurs of the heart.
43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Like on 1st base at 1st touch.

Urgent, dizzy, all agreements come down to time on earth in earthy dreams, darkly bright, best seen darkly directed.

The more you put on earth, you know shadows, their colorations, shades are imperfect (un)seen, but blessed (more adhesive) and happy when I’m looking on with you.

It’s much clearer in light. Yes. That quick. This is a speaking animal heavily asleep, remembering regression —

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

11/10/21

The dharma of learning penmanship is monotonous. 
Reënter the Style Of 


My Dreams .. Lubitsch films  
 

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

escalating visionary disappearances  
where our purchases speak to taking the edge out..
 
 
Tiny discourse like this runs late (even when we were kids);  
this is my youngest scouring moment  
favoring the specimen objective 
or other nominal for adult achievement.  
Modesty is unimpressive in itself.  
There’s an either / or for attrition of affects, concision or eyesore.   
And there’s a struggle to housesit mucho information. Try: Oil, vinegar, mistakes...  
 
become defects in the emulsion. While pairs of prime numbers have different sapors, pots, odd sets, syrup-simple to complex, some devolving into a brawl, tugs of randomness, others’ chaos, as well a gaggle of self-similarities... can’t make it out, call them alloys of function routing. I’ve highlighted this one, Apollonian male familiarity that will never feel safe, topped with a Mainline ranch dressing fabricked in aromas of surfboard polycarbonate.
28: Robbing the cradle, babe: The big picture shows me my modest place. 
I’m technically adept dining in (or out) day by night and night by day —   
 
(We flatterers are oppressed by grumpy distortion,  
fractured logic — Hex 39 — and our own debarred morbidity.)  
The while you, child — I always flatter you in long consent —  
But daily, nightly I work on my music farther from you now,   
 
happy to toil even with stronger sorrows and griefs. So we — you thru me —
never sleep, exactly what the cradle requests; the place rocks.
Teen to older person:
cornered (not to say conned).

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

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

OK I mean
I’m done.
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.

11/9/21

My eyebrow arched, ‘That’s my room when I was a kid,’ I gasped.

The view outside, apples, Fuji oak, null passages in fog; your cheek and forehead are evident. I then moved us to the rubber towel, leaving everything else to chance, a luscious, noiseless bonding. When I put a few highlights on your lips and we drank, it was like no milk ever tasted. All we want now is to grow up in sleep, trust and telepathy.
(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
  
That’s like the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate full clemency.   
  
What kind of government overthrow takes bicameral 
maneuvers more lightly?
11: 1st choice for a sonnet: to solve you for x. If you must, be rude, foolish but coalesce;
An x factor takes up lives like ours.

Let’s hear it for the yea page!

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

Wait. Later, with or without x... it seems cold here, a waning world away...

And so like-minded so fast —
We convert yea to folly ..

The world you call yours we make featureless, barren.

Inky smoke releasing a genocidal collage, living
Thought in agitated waves, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions subtracting best practices —
Look for nothing to help harsh times that should cease.
Cold freezing nature, per se — nature will age, perish, decay.
But we keep x in mind, cherished love..
The more you and yours live on .. we are given life back .. what you give.
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.
BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when he can’t dream... parking lots have a word with him. Children are the future —

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

I don’t deserve lots of friends like him or you.

11/8/21

Lots of us are gifts  
and land across our example   
while we watch the wind taken   
that the waves under you lift  
Tho see-thru as doves   
which today are nothing more,   
swept with a visual certainty   
no matter how we change in love.
So a redraft prompts an urgent inquiry tho tentative. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you joined the service, expecting long hours. You know how we leverage missing you talking about it. Happiest procrastinating, I’m indexing suspicion and objurgating..

Publicity is the soul of justice. 
That’s a great question.
15: It’s your last day of youth when you throw trust out, as well as clear sight and now telepathy — you’ll never feel his perfect arms around you again. Never feel the wet air on his skin, or wake up in his sap on his secret warm bedsheet. You’re done, you don’t get a chance to influence, comment on or try again for anything, not even for something you’re not. And I’m not.

I can’t do any better than what I’ve changed for love of you.
Let’s dance. I defy you.  
Empiricists map it, we know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness. 
I will be true to conventional physics and change nothing empiricists spell out  
 
but pure benefits accrue. Newer inconsistencies never grasp for governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know they show up in an infinite series w/in each day’s scuttlebutt. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history over, as we have heard.) As you were.  
 
(The Chief of Staff said.
 
Suspiciously correct.)
There’s no one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capital. 
Try feeling polyphonic with an uncapped fortune, reflecting what you did when your adolescent backbone iced up, raising all boats, all social levels.  
 
Our greatest fear is going deeper—  
 
That would kill our real parents.  
 
They’re dead already.  
 
Hence the family corporation is casually hidden  
 
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.  
Solitude, confidences, you’ll earn times in the day,
the plays and jungle, many in a series —

11/7/21

Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to interminable sex. 
Learned consensus becomes early performance; both adolescent in a persistent sense, the deep pitch shows up invisibly,  
 
unspeakably, as libido constitutes knowledge modules, glistening aimlessly.   
 
Candy later.
No foes, no spite — 
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting 
Back there uproots a retro series, exalted then stiffened into parody.. 

Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray 
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in what’s feasible, wanting nil and showing 
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.
Sonnet 26: My life is charged by your sweet respect. A merit so great
I don’t sleep much, but I'm given exemption, I hope.
My thought is tottered, all naked but mostly fair. 

Dear you,

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

I don’t think driving in my mind can be boasted of only moving from point to point but it’s great I don’t worry it gets easier.

Un-reproved, how I do love you.
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
It’s close to a curio.. writing in sheer Lucida Sans
All the time, staggering!
Tomorrow a friendly caveat for the melder up there,
Pal,
your ‘work-arounds’ bully sarcasm to un-wit ways and means to spiraling.

“My regrets,” switching phones.
In lounge lighting, our eyes drift as if you’re

spanking me underwater. & I see why snails

build their houses near the sea,

& why we & they stand around & tank, coltish to the end. Complicated.
& we & they gain weight because we despair.

11/6/21

Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. Who’s missing? It isn’t safe yet. I won’t forget. 
And that goes for this gala rehearsal. Proud exclamations to postpone further vaping, advancing a counternarrative for co-stars stepping slowly waving gold torches in flames, pressing the troupe into feeling nervous in observed time. 
 
I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out scene out of martial arts, sparkling pen-  
 

umbrae, a pro ring barnstorming on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.
My love as a fever costume, inky hell on opium.
Back I said, a piece of non-advice directive.

Hell, like innocence, wrongly revealed, concerns ethics, not intent.
Adoration had had a lilac scent. Still has.

Reputations get worse preceding character, even when apprehension remains
Deferential. One fifth of known marriages are conditions in such unreasoning reprieve.
Who will advocate toward peace, for the tranquil
To empower mergers & exchange?
136: I am nothing. What’s my business? Blind soul systems led me to — O you

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

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

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

Drink for nothing will hold us, nothing
supports our love-suit from underneath. Only you win the job!
You’re my own nothing-boss!
That thing? It’s a slide knot. Or a kind of travel document. We have functional props for digging up emotions and this much-circulated vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let fine fettle overcome despair, swamp entropy. For a quiet start, take down zero gravity bans. But you don’t keep any larvae. They’re apart. Their cloying song goes out mutely and you feel a need to ache in their baby blue blather, calmly accruing intimacy. Hey —

Never stop prospecting.
Leg:
Let fish cool down before kissing.
Discover why fish have made Puntacana Resort their 2nd home.

10 unique destinies sharing an ideal spun for decades, elegance without pretense, embracing and enhancing fish.

A chance to remember for a moment a fish held with the lamp switched off.

A little.

Life is death if you don’t have a little fish now and then.

Like that exotic-looking new fish who showed up at class one day, Ed, a reader-responder, a bit of a dichotomy wrapped in newspaper. Ed dressed in black. Thinking it legal, he wrote once upon a fish.

11/5/21

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.
Sonnet 3: 
 
Now is a long time.  
A fair image & posterity aren’t everything. Same for dying. Stop Pis cean disdain.
Face to face,
Mark self-love as no fond option. Unearned.
Yet thru clear windows, a firm face April will renew — another golden time taking form, 
Beguiling as light flows. “Could you be more specific, my 
Episteme?” April in its prime calls you, repairing you,  
Your ears, your face, lovely forms of golden April, fresh, remembered.
We just saw (a few minutes from now) 
your address changed. We could have done it differently before  
you discovered our abuser charts; the parent company was yours before you took over.  
 
You’re not going to be delirious, meow, are you? 
Just for a now... good for you  
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...   
 
Good for you!

11/4/21

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 we cross 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. 
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.
17: I can’t be a second late — I’m hellbent to write you down on paper, to put down the beauty of your eyes where whole numbers enumerate all your graces (even as one ‘poet’ lies) —

Tho my paper yellows with age... by your grace you can live twice. But who will believe this half-truth could be living in parts of you without tangible proof, without your offspring stretching all the way into the night, keenly inanimate now tho living in time.

You say no way, I only half like it, bleh! / The poet lies
...lies, but no more than other earthly tongues filled with living rights to antique songs...
You may have noticed I write over your face, a kind of praise,
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of roses, choosing you out
of many then forwarding you as backdrop for my dear heart’s old face 
We reach some element (full sail) within the (verse) set where perfect
touch is unleashed, and by either/or well taught. But the scenery is
suddenly beyond diagram while the crew calms down. It’s approaching nightfall.
There’s a dual nature of ghost anonymity that makes what’s inside us
disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of our escape.

Either/or? My/your silence cheats at hearts —
unless we’re in love to win over sparkle to figure it out?

11/3/21

$ transfer: I’m asleep.
An only hill / a huge stage
I’ve been searching
Awake most nights, debates that decay:
A clean face in the morning − caped
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best.

When I hear dogs and woods in salt air
Together, like them and like us.
Can you dig a stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.
There’s too much junk in triangles. (Composers have to know this.)
That’s how I got to live alone anticipating mind control as
disingenuous. As

my own job composer 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.
16: It’s hard to do a mock-up & care. One idea for you, keep giving yourself away.

You have no better nor sweeter skill than to fortify my grasp and rhyme-on on me.
Girlfriends, boys, gardeners, all “outward fair,”
Nothing less! No less and still another idea for you. Only a wish.

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

I can’t tell you I don’t care.
Whom will we discover? How?
Do you both laugh? Per rules,
regs of sounding it out, for x
it’s overdue.
You’re back in vertigo yay

yielding authority with no mediary.

Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon
: any of your fix gets exaggerated for good :
                  What’s this the (x) about?
You say yay. (For x.)
I remember those breasts..

A geometry that respects the brain,


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

Drifting toward us,

It’s a back-drift

Under your blanket. I’m

Over you now, half-awake


Falling asleep halfway thru a larger presence.


Larger than that really.

11/2/21

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

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

the mirror shows a raiment of my heart — therefore
so long as your beauty & youth cover me

— praise & the opposite grow acrostic, seemly rife, stirred by your love
for days. I tender my pen to write down what you bear in your true heart
(washes of shadows, unrehearsed, at your will)
— how can I be dated, the elder of us two —your breast lives in mine and mine in you,
fixed in air, we stay in love, nursing love. Expiators.
An awful virus. Just an excuse.
Rhetoric as privilege dies. 
Came from outer space; was well radicalized before it got here. 

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

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

As we think like animals brushing up on ideas...
Uma’s son.. me..

Let’s file it down.
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer
All the time, staggering!
The fit has to be good.
I noticed you work away from me making your poise smoke.

11/1/21

Folks from a gridded compartment have decided
most perfectionism is out of step
while playing as aficionados of the vulgar

to provoke both nature and full disclosure.
Those organized under their strong gesture shall 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.
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
8: Music to hear? Truth is we seem sad and feathery, as tho speechless, self-killed.  
 
Only short distillations where unions marry for a time  
like this mutual ordering to our touching and grasping the moment, now surrounding it with songs of taking off for the unknown, spinning, spun,  
 
upset, out of control yet  
 
that’s how we fasten sweet music we hear to move around objects. 
 
100% our touch.
Dinner in precision blizzard-words, drifting,
Reversed decisions rotating in cavernous surf like mercurial quanta
Shifting soft, whispered — this could occur. You’ll go in circles digging deep, redressing
The boat’s mortality —
Say when. Pulse, how did we say when?
There’s the written form, a cool word
Clambering, feeling its way...
There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invested then, daylight garners you
several that breathe, toting samples of published cook
-ing ontologies, torrents of taste alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to recall their recipes.
We politely followed them, tho, unwed yet in peace
until we ran into a couple out cold staring thru ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason
before the ice covered future grade markers.