34: I have a base feeling of comfort in disruption. One point of a number that overtake me in a way —
Together, you and I define arcs of ironic repentance but worked out in a series of tear-shedding disputes. Just so, we’re still cloaked in loss. Loss of shame, loss of grief. A salve can heal my storm-beaten face but not the offending wind smudging our wounds into a double-cross of rotten smoke. Why?

It’s not enough I lose, ransomed to disgrace. I’m scared; ah, no relief as such. Not yet. I don’t travel well in new grief. I hide from your face even as it’s shedding dry tears, breaking promises, still breaking me.

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

58: Deserting the beach — god forbid 
 
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs, waiting as the wagon sways  
with fellowship. Love in the future, at your call, a handshake  
spreads the rain,  
 
flowers, rain,  
flowers.  
(That’s it! Do what you want.  
 
The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we  
can walk away with. Good. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our  
widows.  
 
This is spring history.)

Beginning to get the picture. Your flash is surface.

You wiggle like a borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & fan reactions:
trash affects we tautologize into cattle calls of glum purity.
At least our calls are directed to one area...
‘holding each other open’ foreordaining our mobile devices will moan to the surface. Your flash.

There may be many areas, too.

A sparrow close-range, a dedicated follower,
packing a double voice range, gets into love trouble,
last blinded by the sea only this evening of the seals.

Two old seals suddenly lift in a renown wave, the same
in each. Humming back, large as the beach
staring away at the first light.

When the light goes there are too many weighted forays around.

It goes for gladness reasons. No
one you know, seals go too, mourning their sea rounds.

81: I forget so much memory is empowered by mistakes = my gentle verse.
Verse versus my taking umbrage feeds distortion = breathing from a common grave.

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

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


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

Lived to breathe your epitaph? Or am I lying?

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?

A sparrow close-range, a dedicated follower,
packing a double voice range, gets into love trouble,
last blinded by the sea only this evening of the seals.

Two old seals suddenly lift in a renown wave, the same
in each. Humming back, large as the beach
staring away at the first light.

When the light goes there are too many weighted forays around.

It goes for gladness reasons. No
one you know, seals go too, mourning their sea rounds.

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

104: You’re fair doing this, my friend. Etc.
I saw both of us stop dials, reset our actual pace. Still, one..

..you and I may be deceived, turning toward the season’s
purebreds for fresher figures, good times and hot pricing, unless  

deception or envy is perceived better.
Burn for me, friend. Two, hues balance details to your green motions. 

Since.. I have seen shaken flares express fear and beauty in your eyes. 
I eyed your figure before you were born  

off perfumes of April standing as axioms for June and later — in cold pride 
you’ve already processed.. stolen for future use.

You turn summer into spring, one’s first guided 
tour — such a future is never old, never overdone.

It takes a while. Day by day. The way 23 hours ago the multiplicity of writing today took a while. Time itself: A brainset, no doubt, occupied .. & this just in — jokes turn into dreams. It’s dreams that forgive us for everything (except melancholia). That’s because multiplicities, ‘sleeping while awake,’ get downgraded to icy normality, farthest from sight, trapping you & me inside a force field owing to our expertise. 

So there’s no lack of constancy in experimental states of mongrel forgery & our economic pull.