6/30/23

Rain drowns you in the best ‘hosing.’ That’s a pet name for my tongue.

Surely as there’s a heartbeat to math there are light, oblique truths gaining access to felt qualities.
We’re tart. The new job title, urgent. More pets romp on, ahead of sober ai redales w/ no clawback motives. But I’m underhanded getting to an axiom we can manipulate: No amnesty?

or / & like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness.

This rain surrounds a weather balloon holding some jerky.
I saw you crossing toward the end, and now you’re smiling.
More observant, with a more observant love.

Dress for pleasure, the sword-onion & sweet osmanthus, trance memory drifts
..or let each hiatus be a bypass with memory spice.

Welcome. You got in. Osmanthus in bloom. (Call it devilwood.)
It will be a good year.. Absorbed in sets of eyes, advanced intercepts.. it...

Fizz it vanishes.
(The cloud drinks us — )

A fixed sphere below ocean level,
binary starved, billowing up waves,

a wreath-scape to separate thrum from seeds
& soaring undergrowth..

Cool red bones ..a cold star,
partly the wind, your super gall

& me. Feelings like these move in time
while the lowest button erases

.. There they go
when you say,

well be well... It
rang & rang.

It.. Let’s start with the a, b of it..
A shallow piranha pool still works
for jackpot winners. How does it happen?
There’s going to memorizing. Always,

anyway.
127: C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating ravenous yawns in fair use, and there’s some age old false connection to an eyesore we dreamed up, borrowing a face beauty slanders. There, inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, counting inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining the richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: So many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs they flare up into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after a late lunch. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their lucky doubles halfway, borrowing a face here, slanting a blurred promise we had there or we don’t know we had, in shame letting it almost die down. 
Sobriety, not mine, makes the case for / against boredom in composition, that is, in the poem-making venture. Boredom? Blame it on relatives, the empire-prone who ride escalators up and down the Radisson nearest you.

Sociologists are stepping up and nodding off
Under the influence of futon cramps at home and similar vehicles
Transporting pouti debs and elephant men,
Dostoevsky wrote.

6/29/23

Love, A cool looking Japanese acrobat slow-motioned to me to go for the moody and unexpected.
Doesn’t it freak you when categories are givens you don’t need to work out? Some of you has given in — there you go, retreating, emancipating solitude, more sound-oriented than dance. A

..but that reminds me, your draw is immediate, overwhelming, terse and of a Castilian order. A hundred body moves, spacetime over time, action contained all in one = you at the piano. Leafy veggies tossed for your prancer.
The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense. 

We are told now to ‘ban affirmative action.’  
Come out and play, shoot for nonaffirmation; sample finding  
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of trickster culture,  
backed up with inexact boasts and crooning sounds.. at 
least, um.. [give me a sec..] 45 years have been taking hold, a temporary hold, 
thought now a hindrance to nondiscrimination. 
 
The direct command, ban affirmative action, takes our breath way. 
There is no air, as it were, to speak back to The Conservatory.  
Rather like don’t say gay.

Hiding identity and hardened m.o.’s after silences and now retakes 
on claims to diversity — we confront, again, a prolonged 200-300
year-old project lesson, a pointy-hatted fête. 
Sonnet 100: 

Muse. You.
We have worthless spoils darkening our song 
— an idle song we convert to 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 closer: Your power and skill suspend most of my fears 
even as we love vicariously — even more to love more,
to redeem spending my fury and all my life in satire.
Your movements go by a few names, still coordinated but hidden in.. hardly underwear.

Not dreadful but low, classic, easy, unforgettable elements surrounding a presence (for now) then taking them off — your panties — quiet and respectful in everyday nudity.

For nudity, it’s always a swing dance in practice, a whole new side of narrowing expense and becoming hallowed thru the center, handing over your hard currency and coins.

A lot of Dutch people go Dutch.

6/28/23

Your looks, my cooking ..

An imperfect actor converts expectations.


Stage fright showed his perfection is error.


To misappropriate is to provoke rage in absentia, unoriginal, merely sly



while the ephemeral actor triumphs, wearing socioeco white gloves.
This might have been a sonnet lit from within
visual poetry. I never use that word now.
In better versions, cunning and pathos =
appropriating outsourced flattery.

No such matter to dispute where I’ll...

I’ll try for an overweight, imitative invention
from the horror state, what some call civil

disservice for un-streamlined intake. Soaking 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.
We are ...We Are So Sorry  
Thesis Study Group — writing in 
Extremely quick intervals (about a tenth of a second) and short distances (about a billionth of a trillionth of a centimeter) — just as our dads, quantum fluxes, drive through terrestrial ideas of up/down, day/night, before/after, you know. 
 
Cinema likenesses are profuse or would be if we probed more Nippon aircadet dudes.  
 
That’s why a good workout is a terrific poem.  
 
Usually. I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist. 

6/27/23

At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there spirit is on your side. 
It goes with a backhand irony like a guided missile or extra guards at the gate.  
 
As there are centers of wishing beyond closed doors  
All batteries are charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring  
Molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber — I’m about to walk the spiral and more!  
 
While chestnuts stand around in jobbed hoards,  
coupons expire.
                  Far as we got any night wraiths 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 under a bust of John Wieners..
55: A living record, a period sonnet doubts softness but addresses enmity — nor can we outlive this, against death, advancing slowly.
Not marble nor rhyme so move. Dropping my nor-mood... the fun workout once was of a soul, a tone cucumber, a hue not seen here nor in Lyon.
So why am I dwelling on posterity like a warrior groom?
My own lover’s eyes shine brighter than all the color coming into the poem...

You and I find room in this prospect — oblivious, uninvited, I bring guests — death and memory, statues overturned. I...

Even now in our eyes, we find fire for wearing out memory’s velocity — ask (or shall I ask) shall I?

Nor wills posterity rest.
What’s a bleb? It sounds small.
Jumping ahead. A decade from now no one’s too big and famous. 
We’re forgetting nothing moves the needle. This argues for problematics.

*

Should we have 
a message?  
 
Possessive self-possession. Without a bleb or title.

6/26/23

Not to arouse hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. I can’t forget. 
Not even a tenth of a millionth of a second. 
And that does it for this free frame. Proud exclamations have put off even the most uncomfortable of changes, advancing a lighter viewpoint, the world as it is, pressing ideas with multiples. Many observers.
The cosmos in Part 1 (about hard-ons) is unexplained.

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound, remixed pairs to meet their incriminating goals. Chief aim is to march with humanists halfway. The other and better half are indulged through wisecracks; but most of the wayward humanists, the originalists, we render as goofs and idiots in the vulnerable minority and they take the bullets; why?
91: Who owns property, names, anything under formalism? Boasting of birth,
of skill, we grew up 20th century, years before joy in mega-wealth
became the measure for every day, as adjuncts measure it.

Some glory still of hawks or hounds, pride to a category of leisure. Yup. More? Your love is of more delight than dreams of pleasures


that can’t exist — here we go — our love zooms in value.

Love’s body force is better, richer, prouder, to the top!
You and I own one property having love, finding this joy above the rest.
We’re cruising at altitudes of theorem. Quack probabilities dim until we restructure our credit history, nail it to live data. Where does the political economy have us put it? His-her terrain — also yours and mine, since we’re all for one as subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy.. 
Let her go, let him do what he was elected to do..  
 
Sorry, not tonight...

6/25/23

The cosmos in Part 1 (about hard-ons) is unexplained.

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound, remixed pairs to meet their incriminating goals. Chief aim is to march with humanists halfway. The other and better half is indulged through wisecracks; but most of the wayward humanists, the originalists, we render as goofs and idiots in the vulnerable below-minority and they take the bullets; why?

Politics is the gene expression omnibus. 
Each of us is one viral video from partisan fame.     
 
Vanity is promotion.   
Amen to showboats opposing simplicity...  
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 that religious.
Tv bull:
“I still write poetry. No regrets.
We sublet in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
Verse syllogisms, still under one pertinent rule, were eaten alive by song layouts,
(that’s the impact of bounce over provisos).

“Yet impact and elipses disappear like checks in the mail or cool origami

“Taking language into high zones, sectioned hard by madcap contorsions... You in his thought.”
89: In relation to conflicts over scale, the big guy and I want to inspect what you and others say.
What have you got to lose?
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 acquaintances and the Supremes’ strangleholds now ...
Our last owner had an understanding with multiple staff. 
His happiness washes up in our candy bar and cudgel DNA.   
O we celebrated, beaten but breathing in what’s next.   
We have a most advanced gene distribution system.     
 
Try to look better. 
Flames stink up the place. Hay on fire. Let’s dump all this way in the rearview where we can’t see. We will be leaving footholds in town, doubles of blurs in dizzy luxury, punching thru colorless straw and spheres in embers.
 
Hay savors just punishment! — regulatory propriety could care less, looking to nominal trivia — exactly what we recoil from, summoning logical defenses to explain a Hail Mary pass and your first entertaining containment.

6/24/23

Dear, naturally you know you’re a misfit for an assignment like this. 

Monetary policy calls for a quirk of sculpture in a spatial recession. The joy of employment...  
 
It’s no less spontaneous here, now a think-tank answers to its dark alter ego; tho, the specificity is easily lost. [Get this, a think-tank that self-critiques, as a supposition. .] 
 
Take notes, then, about, and in reformed lingo, bullet your ideas, sweet, grading your results.
As no premium withholding option holds, emerging notes can relax,
then go cloud up other ideas!

Are you thinking of me? I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular
and pine sharps keeping us apart opening to our former lives,
A
win-loss for comic violinists in quartets
wearing silver top hats —

Superangels w/ their instruments to sound the alert,
lithe, breezy, w/ a spooky edge.

Fountains on wrong, quaint, drenched thru slackened
ice splashed up with a common pulse..

Lithe Janus is proud to sponsor Janus far away, soaked,
shaking this neap vapor tho no shadow is weighed.

No imbued brilliance for a few years..
perhaps a life-darkening aftertaste..

Above the steps garnets coincided with their light
and a greyer featureless lot of cubes.

Ice-hopping atomospherics, their baste-blaste patching thaw,
and solid, leaning forward once quenched.. holding that.

Bristles, rain within soaks off a minute —
spirals discharge, wind heats the ground, trees open.
69: Kind eyes are deep deeds, 
a small part of glamor all can see, 
along with a backup watching 
in tawny synthetic light.. daybreak. 

We smile, neither laugh, extending our 
praise, looking into glamor farther than the eye.. 

Questions of where, when we’re all right in love.
Passport: There is no absolute diva in me. 
I prefer Power Events. 2nd tier, I’m long hidden from 
deity stand-ins 
until all of us (The What-If Losers) get to take up 
residence, the commercial registry for happiness.
How we run now, power slaves of commerce.

6/23/23

Adjunct Pavel, the most cinched at the waist of our trio, interrupts Murf while the cheater Zoubek jumps into a collaged kitten mural of plastic abridgments joined by static hangers in back. 

First up, an acrobat for the moods Pavel evokes like watercolorists also emerging for enhanced abandon during and after pressing and spinning hate. 

Ouch! buckets of rain coming down, undistinguished and going away. Someone has cut the grass, no favors, that greeny, wettish smell is everywhere. Hay. Optimism. 
Remember to slam the parentheses behind you 
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang 
(to be on the safe side). 


— James Schuyler
I have a sonnet
Going... almost gone in my thoughts
But why stop?

Only, let's call it
O baby
All the way unnnhh..

Our yesses 'antenna' in advavce
Shimmer
And crash. Al-
So dreams get sonic
Stacked like lowly bards
Selling off shares.

Comatose, I'm yours...
Returning the favor.
76: In flight, the framework is told on telling. 
How can verse expend tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to try to answer that & help the rain stop falling on me.   
I know the framework around my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write to you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue as light rain clears. My argument.
A burst of daft tone substitutes timeframes. 
Wait. There’s nothing. A blank referral. 
No tone, no daftness.    
 
And rightly so o I know  
I lower the volume to closest approximate parity   
and we have the yard puffing, bearing poetry sounds..   
 
.. I see your potential; don’t wait, time is temporary; eternity  
Later... it’s not much.  
Get your share,  
knocking any love-moment down with small talk, unscripted, unpredictable:  
Some standards.  
Shined asides.   
 
We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,  
Really a vase,  
 
Set it, let sunlight pitch in its foam. Infer  
Poetry goes thru many drafts.

6/22/23

In a nonlinear way, every right wing worm thinks / every owner of a worm is subject to restitution 
even as most tax pros evoke cuddliness w/ breeder values clad in mute colors..
I’m here too, waiting for someone I can’t stop waiting for.  
 
I live in a container house near the city  
 
and wait w/ sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to an unmooring of consciousness. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.  
I work w/ text, that do? .. I’ll grieve later on,
turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass drowning out the dog track.  
 
Nah.
We’re a special team. We’re circumspect. 
Our sharing mechanism (uber text) gives no voice 
to repeated wandering motifs over long hours 
we back off from. Nightly 


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


the next step in the training. 
12: This is a fugue in your full name..
we’ll talk briskly this time..

We won’t listen to the hideous silvered clock — tolling in its barren prime..
Yes, we’ll be keep in shape, spry in our bravado, our spring movements,
motives, agile yet underhanded,
thinking in the past to catch the hang of how time gives and takes.

You may notice we’re also defenseless, forsaken, since we have to go on
regardless, wives girded in sheaves, old men with white bristle on biers
Any time today subject to change
as sweet faves, beauties are disarranged —

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

We brave much more, as if we can never waste time through summer, your beauty growing so well into the future..
I follow the rules about Nordic weekends along with a more palatable wardrobe. That’s if hit by what you feel in the a.m. 
 
I believe in you. Evening you’re different.  
You give me a big temperature, a fine spray of messaging cavils.  
What are we fixing up? I’ve discovered squeezing you around your hips brings up more meta-activity as superstitions based on fact —  
A cult of dance per se sharpening endurance, risking focus..  
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, heath ringlets who advocate for peace. Their reputations recede but their early apprehension has held sway even before guns were worn.

6/21/23

True and lost — complex gangly, mostly mute yet histrionic, not cruel 
-ish. We apologize for the inconvenience of modular adjustments.  
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll ..  
 
We’ll correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventual
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie).

Quiet room in the West End near the ferry. Shared kitchen & bath.
No calls. Text name, recent work history.
True and lost — complex gangly, mostly mute yet histrionic, not cruel 
-ish. We apologize for the inconvenience of modular adjustments.  
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll ..  
 
We’ll correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventual
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie).

Quiet room in the West End near the ferry. Shared kitchen & bath.
No calls. Text name, recent work history.
It’s about time for the moody and unexpected.  We mosey back to 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 pored 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. Over time.
36: Radical repetitions. There they go. Altho each seems the same, 
you’re the one, almost mine. Yet you get so far then stop.  You’re not alone.  
You may not be my one delight — for we are not solely the other’s. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner living love as it divides us into blotted hours, alone. I confess — or let me confess here, both radical respects are separable, each shamed into other loves of one sort with altered effects —  
 
Your love, mine — honored remains from our nervous systems that distort both of us, it seems, set to break in two (but don’t), both borne alone radially.
Withholding time-inverse we reupholster & improve levels of comfort across consciousness / we, that is, the explicator in you & me. There’s a chance laden balance.

That balance rotates with our fooling ourselves over variant hazards in our heads tilted 
vertically to catch some sun. Inelegant in our common way, we look down on square plots of thought outlines.

6/20/23

Start writing. 
It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.  
The charge is here, thrill in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to  
remember the (mission) exchange. Or extra charge. 
 
Virtue for now is farfetched. / Let’s consider what might outrank Zen. / Your  
dialogs sound libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio, some science  
fiction   
 
— all right, let’s start in the open air in complete command of nothing.  
Wearing a wigless wig is 1 method and standard model.  
Measure = unbending contradiction, full, official division in one’s mind and 1  
other, you!
What a night! No problem
I slurp eating what’s reflected in your mind.    
Milk white saucers containing light — ergo
The dreamboat approach never grows stale.
You just don’t patent it.
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, seemingly 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, bent to your will)
— how can I be dated, the elder of us two — your breast comes alive in mine and mine in yours,
fixed in air, we stay in love, nursing love. Expiators.
The catch, a fading ailment: 
Ten or so
gulls’ kick it off, startling  
over brown trout.  
 
Tearing in mean  
swimmer’s blue,  
in a supernumerary mense,  
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta  
more down surf, slaughtering  
partisan swaps  
that swell  
the color skit among removed attributes.

6/19/23

Secrets of satire have to float free
Finding an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) & structured
Lasers & nanoleaf hexagons (& deep reeds for all-holds sex).
Loyal or lucrative, are you healthy enough for consummation in a gridded environment?
A mold of our dialog brings up others, dried-out, impressed, even as beauty’s struggle over time gets slipperier.
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history & waxing satirical, as the poster read, the word or hieroglyph ‘time’ encircled on beauty’s behalf.

For a circular ‘time’ those impressed with grids talk that way.
Pull over, this is serious.

Muted desperation, the flip side of formalism, the in-your-face improvisers hold our attention. [‘We’ = a match in perseverance.] Hannah Weiner is perhaps our most performative, non algebraic example. The young John Wieners (and I’d stress the elder as much or more). There are texts and opuses that look unplanned and freely improvised. Can algorithms be improvised? According to code, of course. The human names are familiar. O’Hara, Ceravolo, stretches of Notley, Mayer. Sometimes Spicer, sometimes not. The wildness of not knowing where each is taking us would be a common satisfaction. Today’s practice comprises the layering of plans and improvisation; post-Coleman we speak freely of fake jazz and listen for positive results. Similarly, the fake improv of atomized procedures — to point to a solid phenomenon — allows for a number of false questions — Can algorithms be improvised? — along the way to sketching a counter addendum (nachträglich) between plan, no plan, a bicameral entry to inquiry about where writer and the writing are going away.
4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = no thing.
To traffic in deception, keep a record of your writing. Take fast notes
.. and I’m being frank, beauty lent to you
will oppose evidence of previous loveliness gone unused —
a perplexed legacy (taken outside why or whether acceptable

to audit profit and thrift). I’ll lend you
my saddle for your extrication from delirium ..

Love whom else? Is it ‘no thing’ for me or you to go free? In a coin flip, we

address fog to bequest lilac-dark to the air,
spending upon you and me
a denatured octagonal gloom.
By our own natures, sum of sums, we must write our notes alone.
I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.

6/18/23

“The French know it’s summer. The rues de Lille unravel.
— a puppy, Golda’s aid

disengaging emotional ties to higher purpose.
The goal is to savage any foresight —”

Henry James is a crazy bâtard. He hangs and continues,
“To my donor offspring ownership will be sweet.
The goal of foresight though is to i.d. another’s
sexual boasts, never far from the surface.

Freudian documentary airs
our loudest commercials over 10 decades.”
Let’s break up. Broken, giddy up, trouble maker!
Today I face no opposition. How to pay homage...

My instinct when asked is to inch back
To the moody raw nation where prosody
Jettisons its own use. No half-soothing opponents awake
On top,
No heights at all outside, only a few problem solvers
Off looking into what we broke —
Sonnet 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, too near home it’s like taking your dictation, taking after your love of my love of you.
Something came up. 
Little.. no, nothing. There’s so small  
 
an exchange to transact, no tangibles, only  
 
exhibitionist’s subtopics, within a power den (conscience),   
 
proving repeated effort is self plagiarism.

6/17/23

No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for singularities ahead until there’s no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption with a new status quo: perpetual and sparkled amid twists and perplexities that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a backcountry of more unboundedness. Opinions unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.
Hate altered. 
 
So we’ll carry on. We can’t do better. 
 
True physicality fills our minds with other matters even as  
Our hair hangs down to the ground in a consciously mixed media rehearsal. You can’t throw consciousness out. It helps there’s a mating dance to appreciate what we are shadowing — we’re working on it.   
 
There’s body hustle, along with cargo rips in funnels of spacetime where uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth... yours, accompanied by addiction to risk.   
 
Work, work, work.
92: To my love in constant revolt, stealing away... 

Our life together won’t work. I’m almost happy, I guess. Love pours a 100 proof — with intramural scars, a heightened blush, and hard labor. Staying power we dread the most, having had your love — now... what’s a fair question? ...is there another, more thoughtful stage to live through?
Depends on you and me, always. Yet I find lifetime love is formally a drag, or oops... I am reading others happy to die are on fire. 

Happy to die! — do we take their place?
Also, sex has nothing to do with nourishment. Breakfast never eaten.
It’s a joy problem, love called out on a technicality. 
The dichotomy produces a smooch-punch 

Per bantam partisans in gauged caution 
Toweling off for the next bracket. 
Boxing’s always hospitable. We’re not that stupid.

6/16/23

Follow instructions.

We got in surrendering our fingerprints

humming to each other. Our hums made us a windfall. We

toast anyone else entering first grade


w/in one’s center, letting the adult night slide.
Here’s a favorite. 
 
Baking became a big puzzlement of natural selection and locals uprising. Here, the audience rises.  
 
(That is, artisans among the audience rise, impetuous (hex 46, top line), some from costive stock, unflappably happy, even brusque.)  

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

And that goes for the lively sun shining with its blush-to-blood over the streets, bankrupting grownups.
What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation? As atheist or decision theorist?

Act gathered. 

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

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

6/15/23

We will lighten free speech, replacing ideas with clean / dirty order that rules in silence, a kind of stripping down to the disposed stems of aroma-exoticism and quote-end-quote unspeaking.

To that end, I’m more of a slowpoke when it comes to animal power and subjective transcendence, but I still refuse doing penance with you. I’ll stay free of hell or near-hell, swallowing hard.

The complexity is engineered simplicity for true confession, both as affectation and prerequisite, since you have to give license to upper boundaries of dignity (made up) that so annoys others. As magnets lain flat on the horizon seem very passive-aggressive. Internal ‘gears’ enlist nausea to personal advantage (ugh), which I waive anyway, as if / as though indulged opposition were some urgent treasure I can share with anyone else.
Unable to help you play a single practical joke, we hadn’t spoken for months, having found direction and refinement backstage of a human ‘construction zone’ perforated by bad faith, swindles, procedural lunges toward more pranks. I said I had had it. 
 
And Eve had. And something else.. 
The 10,000 mistakes by that boy who won’t correlate the enormity of it all as evolutionists run back to delve into causality —  
 
Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn. I am 
 
Eve, a family planner ahead of my time. 
I’m still not finished, Adam says.  
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke first.
63: Hours..drain..blood.

As I am now, Max Planck fellows are running off with radical research incentives for a frontier in vanishing unboundedness: Cramming organized treasures into small packages, tethered particle immolations. The dignity of boson appearances, confounding cruelty and love, alike, fed from memory and accute eyesight. With little or no motive, the sky foregrounding processes of mere appearances, stealing our ‘just anarchic joys,’ all of them, always.
Falsehood is an actuarial stat, a subjective quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height. 
This is a true/false dance question. Fibber Perseus v ‘radium’ (his mom). Which are ya?  
In one draft Perseus can place big futures and puts as taller mouthpieces enter the salon rolled ‘into’ spools of their opposites — tendencious pedestrians (1st- or 2nd-years} sweating lead colors.   
 
They can’t help smothering their loved ones, the dying. The bluebirds are instantaneous velocity.

They were just here. (It’s too late.)

6/14/23

Big guns Fric and Frac. Remember them?   
 
Fric just called, admitted “We were swimming naked, a word I often use to characterize our government and binding. I wasn’t looking when I came out of my laps and grabbed Frac by the throat, and moved in. I felt something strange but familiar. And I gained social capital, among others.” 
To bring this up this late in the morning is fiduciary. 
(I fell silent and wrote it all down.) 
 
To reverse Frac and Fric would switch from intractable to insoluble.  
 
The split couplet, a principle that cannot be considered just in words 
like suspension of liberties and financial slaughter.
I stay physics-free for someone nice. 
A sunny, boyish grin.  
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.   
 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things.”  
Back I said, a piece of advice.   
 
Reputations precede character, a history of apprehension remains  
deferentially. Creature masks are a precondition in reprieve. 
 
In bar lighting, one’s eyes drift as if  
undressing underwater. I see why snails  
 
build big deco houses. They stand around, slowly tank,  
coltish to the end... Jacobeans.
132: I’d like to bend rules to wipe temperance from a finger painting 
while we dress soberly for the pitiable sky out west — 
It’s so cold there. A place for mourning w/ subdued pain,
along with rare minerals that turn back into tree colors back east. 

Your eyes show I love you. They torment me most
where full stars usher both of us by your grace — 
Alone, not half the sun nor half the glory from heaven 
suits me more as your morning eyes become your face.
I’m listening to Sonny Rollins’ Blue 7. Choosing a next word, like deciding music, is a significant event entailing parallel yet soon defunct experiences unmeasured but hypothesized in a quantum construct. 
Choosing words or choosing most anything — an extraction process merges quanta, happenstance survivors plucked from a number of now-dead parallel objects or topics. “When a word is selected as a ‘vivid detail,’” Wm. Empson insists, “a reader may suspect alternative reasons why it[’s] selected.” You’d think a given detail had been spinning either as two, three or many more meanings finally resolved (finished up) as confusion collapses, and one number or topical mood pops up and out, anecdotally at random. The rest are put to rest by now.
I’m listening to Sonny Rollins’ Blue 7. Choosing a next word, like deciding music, is a significant event entailing parallel yet soon defunct experiences unmeasured but hypothesized in a quantum construct. 
Choosing words or choosing most anything — an extraction process merges quanta, happenstance survivors plucked from a number of now-dead parallel objects or topics. “When a word is selected as a ‘vivid detail,’” Wm. Empson insists, “a reader may suspect alternative reasons why it[’s] selected.” You’d think a given detail had been spinning either as two, three or many more meanings finally resolved (finished up) as confusion collapses, and one number or topical mood pops up and out, anecdotally at random. The rest are put to rest by now.

6/13/23

How can Trix (better) hear the extremes and not speak against separating external compulsion from weird desire

...even if speaking through a trap door on top of most every word?

Trix, again, can’t care as she leaves for woodworking school, wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with great stuff. Stuff she wants more than a group-regulated ethos for comedy and verse.

The archives are at risk.
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.
Sonnet 78: 
 
Disperse my rudeness.  
Captain scientist, see what influences we’ve advanced, doubled? See what more you can do! Your eyes throw us down a hole and we keep going there, cover me up. You are all my art. Learn / teach my rude ignorance. 
 
Only these exceptions: I wasn’t talking to you. I was singing on high to the fair interest of the sailing corps. Ah, same time, so often I’ve invoked you as a muse, I’m deeply afraid I can’t keep working with you looking over my shoulder.  
I hope I’ve been clear.
Sing (wryly): 

I’d like to thank the Academy. 
Try to ignore X to reinforce ignorance. 

I.T. warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. Can I have an amen? It registers I’m not religious. Nor are you. I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind divorcing you. 

Oh, tech services, tell us more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams — How did worldviews crumble into poli-environmentality to pantomime the common numerator undercutting American literacy?

6/12/23

What of misprison in these shoot to kill syntactic schemes? 
 
And. This Uncle Thing & the will. I find it confusing.  
The man was your uncle. He died.  
He didn’t leave you diddly. You’re upset.  
 
Full stop.  
 
What about your writing poetry together? Was there always animosity?  
 
Yes! Ever since I ran over his schnauzer, in my villanelle, to be precise.  
 
The “my” you reference reminds me repressively of what it sounds of, Sibelius
 
& forsythia —  uncle said. 
The forsythia is trying to warm up. Still.
You put a question mark after feeling genreless — in a screenplay, it would be a pick
-up line.
There is no personality, only successive time frames, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over more recent work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by founders’ labor, enabling and overlooking our conditional succession, a day together...
148: Denoting esthetic correspondence! it can whip you up, call you back in your cunning ..  
No marvel then how love is falsehood? love’s eye can’t be true? — 
I mistake fault in my sight and fair similes for love you’ve put in my head.  
 
How can the world say it’s not so,  
how can it say it is? No ..  
I’m mistaken in my view :  blinded watching you thru tears —   
the sun itself vexing until it disappears  
 
— Vexing me! O You!
The Civilian Conservation Corps formed and disbanded long ago (1933-42) but we see their handiwork in a few large cities. Parkways, esplanades, gardens.

Public works. With a smirk, one’s rather excited. One leaves it at that.
The places were beautifully democratized.
Justice, liberty, rule of shadowy lures...
Also, it’s easier for, suddenly, one has more greens to soften interruptions, using soft consonants down in one’s throat.. one’s holding firm. How many parallels do vowels take?

There’s no contest as every path dug from the ground by the Corps expresses a city, smirking, telling jokes.

6/11/23

You behind the evaporation 
 
— we owe you nothing  
 
                                                  falling out w/  
your idea of daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer precipice..  
every day events becoming ordinary knowledge  
 
in parallel ebullience  
 
waiting to come nearer to round us up
half asleep; 
steadfast in geometry we assign the horizon horizon, our whole body. 
The once conservative invention of worship is over. 
A wall of calm thus put up. There are no sure thing facts in the future.
For now, love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing adult ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering political parrots and consensus. It’s not known why parroting caught on. We’re mostly redistributionists for sure, youth symbolically living to do it over but scale their calm up. Everyday politics is practiced by young and old thru anger, useless, bruising rhetoric, forcibly asserted. 

Cultural obligations shape who youth are, a later phase of withdrawal from deadlock, again for sure, in eerie nuance with our future attributes.
95: Hidden pretext takes over. Your story, a bad-will report but a kind of praise, per the report, re: habitual wants, billing inquiries, etc.

What would be less fantastic? First, an enclosure of stainless vice. A full shelf of great non-privileged, lascivious plans.
Naming your name tells the story. The softest will lose. How sweet — you’re every blot and sin in one, preached against, but seldom commended against ill odds, for shame. One spots your pieces of sporting nonsense, hard beauty’s humanly tongue un-negated, but verbs regularized randomly, veiled, knifing one’s love out.. out..
There were chances.
Then none.
I don’t believe this.

Rain fading under a moving bough of heavenly bodies 
Like stars in fog on top of steam  
Adjusting to bright, vermilion bushes of mist.  
They have names now ...  
 
Tow trucks!

6/10/23

We got a grip on the heebee-jeebees.
Times, these times are an outrage. Good times, lean, treason’s treason.

We’re tracking sick jokes thru rat data —
for prejudice plays its revisionist biases. Looks like
a XIXth century habit of selfish accommodation I’m deeply not interested in.

Tax breaks for the wealthiest keep’em watching their cable.

To look is to be

(we note now at the presumed end to physics-oblivion)
seen.
I feel socialist. Validating market snapshots, optimizing
The practical mean as center
More than any single middle system,

A huge agnostic discipline
About anti-sys attitudes behind algebra and morals.

You know the fault line open and shut —
Take it down / or thumb thru

The balances left over. Inhabit their brim

To the point you realize
We know now — now (less than nothing)...
glimpses down a corridor of greater then greater numbers.
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 yours.

Let’s hear it, yea!

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

Wait. Later, with or without x... it seems cold here, an ebbing 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 come to an end.
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 .. I get my life back .. what you give.
I’d heard a heart beats faster waiting, at ease. Wait time takes ‘full effect’ without attachment to addictive capital, arresting back.

This is an edit. That’s as close as I have to lush, less certain, near-ennobling a pulse.

Or it’s what’s put back.

6/9/23

Violet mist. This is a prison theme bar. 
Any gaudy evidence. Hic. 
 
Losers = worshippers of their detractors.  
 
We toast their takes on civility and their runny flan, both mistakes.
All experience is seriously correct..   
But what is?   
How can it if I tell you what I’m?       
 
I’m in no hurry. A life was charged    
now curled up on the menu.    
 
(Have to go.)    
There I’m preaching to your eyebrows.    
(Cave safely.) 
147: The impressive, impassive float seems to learn amour’s fever is a disease  
as desire is death, unwelcome overnight: 
“The float is radiant, jammed with wares,” 
 
had we anticipated, not long ago, “but no, had I been  
eloquent as to the radiant as well as to the sickly, the bright
— we’d need no captions.”  
 
Mad, a lover’s discourse throughout anticipated that very base point, past cure, past care ..  
Why does reason leave now when there’s one move to go?  
Tho vainly expressed, longing is still well fed by our appetite to please.
This cloaking device forestalls detection. Slanting, lost, an hour later we’re beginning to ride over borders. Borders are still porous, just look at this phonemic adventure! I need some top wipe. 
 
You’re turning me on.  
 
Reading pulp, there’s an interlude between devices where I wish you’d taken up singing of thingness. 
 
The thing is ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe a grain or 2.. anything too graceful. What are resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and all bloodlines.  Um.. one thing more, there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘votes’ we put in reckless hands — 

6/8/23

How was it to record a full soundtrack, none of the script? Was it like jotting items down
from a retrieval search with trees of rhetoric leading to ersatz non-acculturation?

Simple enough picking up a pen
. . . land and lives on it have dossier functions, similarly

synthetic appropriation by composition, the vigil
and force applied putting some form of youth

into a piece, since prospective landscape does not come by itself, regardless of beauty —
the river bank played by

metaphors and substitutions of the time — more informal:
it’s taking notes, substituting after doing the math.
When I hear topical shifts forward hidden risks it’s iterative, baroque in other words —
oh yah pulled awake again.

That guy is the 1st to get a grip and hold.
Mr Peanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. But what choice did he have?

There’s a term in telephony, ‘room tone,’ ordinary silence. My heart stopped altogether as I held my breath, then he answered.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh, em…”

“No. It’s not.”

“I would.”

“Well l—”

“You know what..”

“Promise..”

“Yeah, I think —”

What I heard while we both waited was room tone. The next five or six seconds would matter. In an hour he would walk us both down to clear our heads. He waited a moment more, then he said, “I’ve just noticed I haven’t said anything.”
117: What’s virtue? First, I have to repay all bonds as punishment, my willfulness and errors.
I recommend free time with ex-writers, video vignette note takers, engineers, others unknown, indistinguishable from applied scientists.

For now, after work we non-haters accumulate human octane wearing our Ray Bans and tailored tees.

To which (given time) ‘should’ = ‘want to’ = our bravo waking proof — scant proof without you, dear, dragged, transported far from your tri-level.

All to the winds since our inner bonds still tie me day by day under your august love:

But there’s also solitude, as conincidences accumulate as desert constants farthest from your sight.
I prefer a clean hotel room. 
I’m calling time-out dull  
outside regular hours.  
Looking around we need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss growing  
Up, shiny, imperfect, not held in place —  
your nose looks finished as the stopper.   
 
Breakfast at Starb’s and we’re off wandering  
headed for B terminal,  
a legacy installation in profane solace. 

6/7/23

To be unmarried
Where the sky went.

There’s a benign debate — where brightness bore in, grateful prenuptials ran out,

Drawing bounds along dark zones of propaganda.

And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a holy day, merely a stampede.
Only one of many noted by a crowd of flutists aft.
My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud example
Gains longterm advantage stretching the launch over months,
Imprisoning refinement, captive for captital ill.
What can be done to a bore? I register nothing. Never again? 
 
Boredom is poor experiment, our supervisors said. And that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And 3rd cousin to dream: Knower and known in clean osmosis. It’s clearer every day we’re way, way behind the suitably flared zoological frontier.  
 
Time I guess to air-lift our eagerness and cover it with worn-down Keds and Swiss Army knives. I might think I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to any eager concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,”  
Btw, it’s “never death.”

I still consider head scratchers boredom managers. They hold genetic information but don’t understand. It often skips a generation.
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 approximately yours.

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.
Writers like me consume their own slapstick 
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max, along  
with requisite ethical structure to examine taste levels.  
 
Now you know what to expect.  
 
You can’t put limits on free-lancers’ exuberant leisure  
within a theoretical commune of vengeance..  
Smart money on the solo stiff up against the writing board.  
The ethics staff sat this out, sweat-soaked, shaken.

6/6/23

Should we have
a message?
We’re talking to what must
be figurative breakpoints listed under fate and fate’s consignments.
For instance..

Just kidding. Since the launch of designer housing
empty messages remember nothing of detached
sensory esotericists.

Granted, we have
a message strategy.

A politic paranoia recommended for laying back, cool and stable
in an emotional tri-level.
In this lunar diagram one fragrance was my last ounce of politic hope.
Oh you know, I’m unhappy. 

We supplemented photographs for topi, I recall, 
topi of garland fungus, students in foreground (by an arch to emptied parks). 
It’s up to pond structure to model passivity’s
mother tongue, marked by stray vowels discharged by shore conditions
and savage birds in flight.

Protecting the hang of dignity threatens it.
Everyone can swallow a threat or two. Everyone alive. A little sick, even unwell,
still your voice is extremely handsome, calm, how scrappy! 

Further down, one kimono is entered, explaining prehension
without perfecting one’s tongue in cheek.
51: I’ll be an angel investor in spontaneity, no need but love, for love.
This is strictly, deliriously our only business, self-realized adventure
losing daily battles.. no excuses.

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

I hastened to run toward you
as though mounted into the wind before even starting..
Microscopic honesty — we used to say — is the sanest practice for complete thumb control and body fitness. 
Let’s go thru it again, generations of ample volunteering and worship set these scruples up. They come back. Soon you relax your balance, honest equipoise for a good writer is common enough, even now. 
We went over our defensive appearances, for instance. Keep to schedule. Key is your keeping a regimen for hours at a time before it can wear off: So never let it. Curvatures in spacetime affix to our high expectations. If they pass muster they’ll slant any promise you have, had or you don’t know in the aftermath of your hiatus (hesitation), revving up.

6/5/23

One cause is edged with distant buzz, intervention — you have the touch —
tides by the book rotate out to here, the rim and pliant acreage possessed by that touch.

Emotions in gear, a snake tail in quiet we won’t notice until eased into rote phrases,
foiled by moments of tact, a finespun balance awaiting a lull.
I keep my mouth shut, listening,  
Escalating all synonyms to inhabit received logic.  
I’m measuring a timeline by chance. I’m  
Concentrating on coloring in valuable sounds, also 
 
Pushing the most extreme among core arts,  
Refining defiance as self defense.  
 
This introduces the cult of the squish
Factor.
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 birth, this outcast state without you, when..
Almost enjoined as to the sullen, least contented, almost cursed —

Looking for, singing from earth, thinking of you through daybreak.
Never dine — a term of 
distance.   
 
Meantime I’m a member of the takeaway school.  
Mean something, take something away...  
 
how my twin psyche writes more conscientiously  
touching on raw parts in endearing translation.   
 
Symbolism weighs in  
as a shortcut: Some future of the past thinking & writing (as if). 
As if I stress  
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho  
 
I never use tone shifting while throwing a cookout together.  
For what party for sleep?

6/4/23

A petting zoo cannot stand for practice?

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

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

I take for profuse clouds.
Huh? Is it the fire?

Or what else sits this out, lit for smearing light force
traveling down in a tiered border-like scrawl?
No appointments today. Triumph** is that creepy*. And counter-intuitive.


*Creepy widely construed as deafening tendencies toward plundered contexts for altering the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology.


**Triumph, group or personal, can be unscrewed from abstraction during critical Q & A’s. How does triumph threaten a referent? when going straight to the point of quasi-autonomy. Was ist das? 

I’m asking out loud for one reason only, so the receiver will sound an alarm (an autonomous light).


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

Will you think of me?
Good I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of misnomers. Eating and breathing them too. 

Ghosts roam with the panicked. (All of us.) It’s like a last dance in respect to what you guys were doing — working off a 20-year watch list.   
 
There’s hustle to market, along with rips in the divino cargo of spacetime whose overnight vessels burgeon on blobby warmth, piped in like Berlioz, accompanied by addictions to ennobling risk. Come here often?

6/3/23

I live in an echo of a country.   
 

In the interim we had a blast. Knowhow
could be redubbed genetic sleep deprivation.   
 
I’ll admit this view is crazy or a breach of somebody’s manners, a soft thick quilt the sun  

might marshal over the property. 
I should break my leasehold, ergo. Not really, she said out  
loud, a breath ahead of how I could know. 
 

This was the last first time or a fragment.
I will never betray metaphysics oxidizing beauty goals.

The main thing is to tell a story. It is [....] very important.
— O’Hara et al.
Composing like this focuses on writers, how they are unionized and almost surrounded. Refocus is prewriting.
15: It’s your last day of youth when you throw trust out, 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 bed. You’re done, you don’t get a chance to influence, comment, 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.
Slumped over in gaffs,

many without pulse, how did one stand tall, pause

then brush his hair back? Men


like him looking up like flight risks; say


“Exactly,” in that miracle voice?


A faint breeze on zoom as you slip


your phone in his pocket — How against

containers hanging along the bow all fonts

are justified by defacing matter —

1/2 this, 1/2 that I’m sick of nice things. Whiskey.

6/2/23

There are three pleasure substitutes (tablets).
The frayed honeymoon is first and,

second, blushing is normative
with its little feint from guts and neurons.

After a honeymoon deflections accrue.
After homesickness, there’s new inebriation,
one way to cut down the dynamism of capital.
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide.
Sonnet 94:

We can’t go on without thinking it over.
If I had had the foreground I’d be subsiding in attrition as it were,
I’d have heaven’s grace to weed out pleasure as well as caution.
& if I had taken fewer notes I’d have less power to hurt,
expressing “you,” “me” and any unclenched feelings

which we can’t pinpoint or supplicate, my lord, husband...

May I live but die if fair ever turns sour
or our summer festers rather than show summer flowers with no pitched provisos
and integers-to-be, no part to fix, no comeuppance, none.
Production through retrieval and communal ethos is a distinctive feature of the medieval era. It’s not ironic in the least digital data assembly enables our return to those earlier kinds of production and ethos. Work produced now is parallel along almost incalculable dimensions. And if most of that work is still authored, we can posit the mushrooming of art production (including poetry) over an arguably short time will totalize individual product into a kind of chillingly 2nd-tier relevance (with a few nonconceptual exceptions, of course).

6/1/23

Our last owner had an understanding with multiple staff. 
His happiness washes up in our candy-bar and cudgel DNA.   
O we celebrated, beaten but breathing for what’s next.   
We have a most advanced gene distribution system.     
 
Try to look better. 
Sex flames stink up the place. Hay on fire. Let’s dump all this way in the rearview where we can’t see. We will be leaving footholds in town, doubles of blurs in dizzy luxury, punching thru colorless straw and spheres in embers.
 
All savor just punishment! — regulatory propriety could care less, looking to nominal trivia — exactly what we recoil from, summoning logical defenses to explain a poem’s Hail Mary pass as well as your entertaining containment.
Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the big garage 
(filling up with accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like a pair of chairs.
76: In flight, the framework would be told on telling. 
How can varsity expend their tribute? How spent? Why?    
 
This café, I think, is going to try to answer that & help the rain stop falling on me.   
I know the framework around my notes craves attention, that’s why I always write of you.   
Why I finish a stretch and new and old lines get confused, showing their new birth.
 
Fuse the way they
Continue as light rain clears. My argument.
Baby Watteau —

The empty sale window darkens and I’m on the move (or we are). Early or late, the sky’s not falling as a point of fact. Watteau glows like a stripper in spirals. Another point, harder to verify. More blessed, Baby’s greatest comes early; Cézanne was late. These data still matter, in a manner of ungainly small talk — I’ve found someone else, Looking more deeply in, thinly veiled versions of a fossilized Cézanne.

The glow is hard to describe — an infancy on higher up, going blind. Perfecting for a fall. (My baby traps me.)