There’ll be one execution just in case.
What documents do I need?
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
One new standard
remains (that) the first floor is the planet.
Th e enigmatic under one rule are eaten alive by song layouts;
that’s the power of verse syllogisms over life...
The elevated prose idea of August
helps us get through life wellness rooms
circulating a moratorium on error —
so help yourself — April thru July.

I don’t know that much about you [hh.. ] but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling torture.
Half a day goes by and

You are [hh..] unattainable,
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, [hic aside] this is serious.
Soft fear and recurring despair, the flip end to formalism ...

126: Don’t talk with your mouth full, growing boy. Process self-disrupts into phrases and withering substitutes, fickle process components and stiff, gnomic atmospheres to bring accoutrement to terms, wanting, not waning, to grow! Hold on, hold your lovers there, minutes in pleasure or more! And go on, keep to your purpose, even in power, lovelier.

The effect is real, real enough
to be defined consistently. One example,

errant is not mistaken for arbitrary. Form follows sentient structure.
In a way one thing’s for keeps.
2 spiral arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions) several hours forward.

One thing.. is this inference compressing form? a piece of research asks. It’s asking a lot.

[Edit, from before..] There’s a mood taking a fall. Euphoria, pinpoints swelling in takeoffs.. We miss the good looking small-town drummers chanting versus, as John Waters writes, “the upper-lower class women from a dark place on a hillside, covering the globe with their comic pedigree. The problem is, did they ever smoke pot? They’re stress-busting purveyors of desolating surfeit, solar decathlons with nothing inside, turning their smiles up. Cue the highlights — this is why space and time exist at all.. made of wriggling strings.. and speaking of the pure land, we have none tho we swim in it.”

Attention. 

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

Is that all you’re having for dinner? Explanations that transform?

One will need a simpler download for individual agency on the descent. There’s no humor in discretion. No wind in your hair makes us sick. 

69: Kind eyes are deep deeds,   a small part of glamor all can see,   along with a backup watching you move   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.

Stevens would think fabrication cuts off stubs overgrown and outdone as landscape. By design we open our front door and see what politics hasn’t done. The shortest path ignited by havoc, honest and exhausted across the board. From it’s-not-the-same-now to the science of celebration — folks’ betrayal is addictive, seamless abandon. 

That insight gives one the strength to make oneself at home, stay there, yours in ameliorating; one no longer feels naked, no gaps or overlaps in one’s silence yellowing with age; globality is weeping, glowing back and forth mistily across an immense daze, half of it waxing with the plump tessellation adorned along mortal circumstance. 

Anything Apollonian looks flab prone. In sciency prose.
O yup, refusal to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done
.. In my half we break laws to shoulder perfection or save a life, once or
Either way is fractional in the context / e.r.
In the crazy wild apothecary we call all infinite sets
a rolling surveillance unwraps many poly-essences.

For them, freedom is personal. There’s solid drama down the month of halls,
a binary fission while we’re expecting one new meta-interaction at a time.

Athens is the cradle of alpha reality, 
Hip, stolid, ordered smooth, unruffled for the taking.  
I got married however without knowing the side effects. 
The light darkens. I hate Greece.  
It’s official, we’re its colony.  
Ah, #136, latecomer to the cultural line, all time subservience.  
(It’s not easy being special.)

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.

Sobriety, not mine, makes the case for / against tedium in semi-dirge, that is, in the poem-making venture. Boredom? Blame it on our near relatives, the empire-prone who still ride escalators up and down the Radisson close by.

Sociologists are stepping up and nodding off
Under the influence of futon cramps working from home, owing to driving similar vehicles when they have to work
Transporting pouti debs and elephant men,
Dostoevsky wrote.

Start for free. Let’s call it bones to pick.. or the end of the beginning.
The front gate still won’t front. Its end (or the front end) is or is not a pity.

How does not knowing intrude on want of liberty?
Once I produce Spot, a dog.. he’ll be playing his surrogate, Spot Two.
Both their microns need a moment before emptied of vague alterations. And now, Three! In no time!

while intrusions encompass all doggie forms freely, coincidentally.

We once thought.

At speech therapy you wear wet marks under your shirt — there you go — sent, 
Slotted for long scream divisions raising heads and  
.. bright debate  
 
Drawing boundaries along dark areas of youthful propaganda. And ..  
Our dual-cosmos line of argument self-inflates as a weather injector, fouling the atmosphere into beigest colors, pebble and pale lucent rays.  
 
At this point, colors burn up, each measurement raging over acres of matrices, giving more access to haystacks you call the multiverse, which looks most imprisoned now.

42: What do you need now and for what?
You may ask if I loved you.
Is that my bravo question?
Do you test, tease, defame always to get the best?
I ducked his punch, closed the distance.
My loss is my love’s gain for my sake.
I told him, no, I have to bolt.

Loving offense more, I excuse you both.

A truffle and goat cheese pizza, for all its ambition, feels contrived next to Talking Chimp.
The Talking Mallard Dogs sounded as good as they looked; they learned how to speak for themselves, and they came off so authentic you and your pet would think they were Talking Chimps. But they produced only vowel sounds from a larynx implant device.
Talking Chimp is laughing now unable to stop rubbing down there. Spa services await you, Talking Chimp!

Captain your thoughts
then opt for an Ivy safety
school. Push shyness aside,
spiff up & sign the skee-ball of smog-
sniffing affirmation.
Regulate your embrace multi-nationally.
Es geshah am helichten Tag —

Never feel sorry for some diva
who has brains and eats
them.
Hypoxia — the poor, the lost make us sick.

A disheartening work pile supposes its completion. A muse speaks up, tho, in dialog enhancer
mode, increasing the volume a good amount.
We have to stop adjusting the margins for your low, meadow voice... 
for giving up missing your skin

...a good amount ... speaking of meaning?
That would be as far as I get
with you so solid a wonder, ending our aversion to near infinity.

115: Devouring you and reckoning.. I love you best, but. A doubting aspect of my fiction holds. (I could not love you more in the course of altering anything.) I have no clear incentive to divert strong minds. Nay,
mindless myself of taking chances, I’ve already changed through fierce blunt talk — too much talk; I’ve raised a toast to loving you too desperately... A kind of madness profits as our judgment’s grown less certain over the course of a million accidents (how angry rewrite gets, afterward) and how it makes your tan beauty (and me) enflamed for pale, poker-faced poets like Rene.

Fun time. Is it time or times?
Personally, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic, one at a time. The fun colony is firmly democratized, sir. Slightly pitched voices from the wraparound porch reach to the sky. The season seems and is interpenetrations of parallel scenery et al running this.

Instructions are errands in advanced circles, to tell or read it as fake v. the real fake sprawl with the naked around Marie Antoinette’s. They were textually modern, even respectable among Euro folk: They undressed for success

and survival. They avoided careers that were intellectually focused, peering
back and soaking up the city among savages of their own designs.
I’m my own boss.

The flamenco troupe darts of light & sweet algorithms in chunks.

(The subtracted j-walkers return with renditions from a dense counterculture.)

I’m thinking of giving head, until my spinal column heats up, thinking of you.

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

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

41: An abstract, pretty temptation below gentle laughter: Ay,
Beauty for your years .. Ah me.

Ay blizzard.

Together, you and I follow a twofold point of wooing / then-forced-absence, but I’m not that far from following your lead and therefore, like you, assailed. Ay. Dating youth is tantamount to body snatching, another point. Tempting but false equivalence even: Ay. We chide the other’s choice — where this follows I cannot lead, leaving me in a riot of your beauty and my liberty where you are.

Blame for his mockery — Orpheus thought a musician would deeply apprehend radiant, interactive forms (and defects, among a few variants) — soberly, having liberally looked over ornaments of beauty, alert to surface details, part of his work week. It’s all hideously exciting if you’re fair, unstained and the sweetest. 

Justice for all is as the crow flies only made to look uncalculated, seeming so it’s said. Liberty with caution, minuscule, unexciting.. again. 

Hands up.

On the corner of statue and the outer cape, there’s
a beyond just passed an easy show of hands
beyond what we imagined an hour ago (one mild altercation took it
into a shade of de-constraining tease).

A heyday of hands.

To be a stronger critic I went to a dark place with you (universal reach). 
You gave me hiccups back then, up to floor six. Now, years in the future, my senses are restored. An unoccupied mind long overdue.  

And I’m back in my vertigo seat, reading over and writing disciplined boilerplate, fond of mnemonics. Why worry over explanation?  
 
To explain is to run up against narrative: actually a proxy measurement, one affected by all other expressions of interest over future time.
As the future holds, I’m lying about the lies we’re telling.

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.

Sonnets are sizably ok —
Let’s get through
any ostentatious breakout from pensiveness.
Your lab door is open.

Lab animal overboard!
Freaked by what lunch with you
means and does, you’re under whose
thumb? Handsome, on the other hand
your partial mind is a floating
weapon. That’s why this syntax
can relinquish human polarities
as sonnets set traps..

throbbing red traps, another the color azure, bright, digestible.
They just coincide.

You are part of what we hold. And the evaluations are in. Justice, liberty, rule of fitter enablers to soften the grid... The air fills with top results we can pin on like tendrils. And you can use them later, maybe on blind dates. And this is not a test. Every utterance is a collaborative impulse passing from desolating satire : even while little consonants in your throat falter, you’re holding firm. It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before achieving insight.

The air is sawed off, wishy and doing better. We were dangerous, once.
Smooth rhetoric is purely blur. It’s too late to make it sparse. Now we’re appalled. Even our restraint is razed for its own sake.
We could see from a solid distance, your rakish notes to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no shit. None of mine.

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, rotary forces of moral density will drill several meters down underground, a strafed, ethical spectacle falling into proverbial and natural coherence like a case of mumps, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.

69: Kind eyes are deep deeds,   a small part of glamor all can see,   along with a backup watching you move   in tawny synthetic light.. daybreak.  

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

Questions of where, when we’re all right in love.

Sundial-changing give-and-take contests a thousand bees stinging our feet
— after we improvised the text and handed it in. The theory here,

pleasure is to ethics as Spode is to gastronomy

while across the terrain a recurring nightmare, film tunnels’re lifting wax paper (in wind) when the water is abusive — yet all ends adaptively.

The strategy is
like any landscape, wait for mistakes (1) and (2) pounce.

I believe I can see into the future.
There is a civilizing process to space
entered into by spotting it first. It’s
a clear new world where character
offers liberation, supports you
from underneath. You
can go right in. They have an
open table. Everything on sale.

Side streets go down to hourly weather over the power grid; 
Rain’s over, its light flow an oily example.  
This extends through night rain to rain’s surrogacy, a more serious and newer down.  

More anguish driving over to a panel on reasoning and not writing anything down, a stomach turning experience  
 
in its emptied refraction through a taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence) on a muddy drive.

112: Do you like spiral staircases, scandals that strive to branch out to the un-alive, an abysm? 
Facts there are a marketplace whose figures look young and green when least derivative. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B).   
 
Our nervous system can distort music in an adder’s sense, Charles might say, to emphasize changes in people who are snakes, radial evil neglected by the super ego. B is for Bukowski. 

It’s about time for the moody and unexpected.  We mosey back to right about where we want clarity about motives.  We’re in no hurry.  Snow and sun? We’re expecting something.  Ice or melt go missing but not lost.  The reader note went on, One afternoon while relaxing one poured over a confusional book. It reads we are at the dawn of epistemology raising consciousness we can’t get from career studies alone. It continued, the mood wobbles. It does. It vibrates. But nothing’s lost that’s unexpected. It’s about time.

I picked up in a flier my soul is a hypothesis. Since the soul thrives in new enterprises and ecologies, you and I begged its wiggly self to swim further and stick with a sublimely experimental school of thought, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding sprays of looking glass.
Sudden lightning over fogs of drizzle. Over ravines. Knower and the known, all branches, all matter — 

You and I went for all 3 doors assuming no threshold ahead where materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no interruption.   
 
Three ways could also be the middle,   
 
since Buddha and Buddhists are different things.

Pollen eclipses stain both moon and sun with borrowed-spores.
Again, I don’t know much re: pollen, rising to block sky views
while I’m playing with borrowed-writing.
Any contention is biting now but my spores speed ahead 85 to 100;
that’s slow facing a chilly gust. I can’t do much more, not even for
track officials powered with centrifugal disclosure, tweeted from their past.
So forget

Any legal plaudits, forget public jubilee — I should add my power
gamut goes faster. My pollen instrument serves haves and
abandons have-nots holding guitars spinning all ways in gelid, hilly winds.

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.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went:

There’s a bright debate — where eager heartbeats bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out,


Drawing youthful bounds along dark zones of propaganda

And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a date or sacrament. Or only one of many as notated by back-up flutists.

My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud examples
Gain long advantage spreading the plan. Imprisoning refinement.

Her evolution springs from prior copies. 
Petunia Pig. Premiere then curtains.  
 
Childhood runs out, our taxonomies still  
unexplained as temp time permits.   
 
We loved the pig’s attitude, her trafficked facts, but  
we mostly fear anti-humanist divas like her, 
wound up in her senseless atoms packing all those uncertainty principles —  
Just the tips loaded 
...you don’t know what I mean standing up there, promoting ‘apt’ acceptance.. You’re a diva in fact with nothing to give or defend, not mad enough, feeling too little.

A rhetoric
Gone terribly right, and so 
We draw together 

If we’re to make a life together. 
The dead never see us because 
All that pulls us apart. 

When it’s just the two of us, paired, oh 
Clearly we follow policy 
Filling speech balloons like Supermen ..

Sonnet 93:

Better to live more as love may near
— supposing I’m in many ways a deceived husband. So?

A coterie of enablers cooperates fully. For both of us,
a love interest is altered to look calculated.

For there can be no hatred in our eyes.
Tho, facing true love, the early light seems to
Urge us to go out, rehearsetoo much and get wasted, frowning, growing moodier —
Eve’s apple was Adam? One love’s face? Or another’s? You and I cannot know.

What have we if our heart is in another place?

Men and women are spangled with sugar, genetic machines. That was at the start. We know that. Taking chances put us in this lissome interpretive state (birth). Function varies widely. Lilac is a favorite zest. Again. After aging it’s fodder beets, watching what we can.. something real or unreal as a freshly poured sidewalk. By design, all utterance up is for sale. We’re delighted in our forties and fifties, illicitly relaxed, every core opens like in a ribbon vex, flying, bracing an intense ride.

Voices in funnels, a trickle down of some futurity,
Dropping my sights — now, they’re rising
— this is the fastest way to earn points. And yet
We’re surrounded by a new opening line:
We write for children, progeny. So
Forward, a debit resonance favors our successors —

We’re nothing but voices that bell without simple words at the moment.

Simple makes a difference, please, make us an offer
As Baby Wateau vanishes
& the cake sale flags — vanished out of memory & sight as I am now.

Then. This is a formlet of propositions. Like digital vinyl or handshake web painting. Or prayer warriors that are non-contagious. Then I stumble over the “highbrow posturing” and “chin-stroking art crowd” noted by Nate Harrison. Harrison chronicles how names such as the Winstons whose original drum sequence, the Amen Break, from the 1960s has been copied over decades, sampled by 80s hip hoppers, and those samples diced and re-arranged by jungle-djs in the 90s. By the late 90s, dicing / re-arranging might be pushed to extremes, undanceable “fetishisizations” for chin-strokers — Harrison cites Squarepusher, for instance.

I surely wish you didn’t invite tradespeople over to the house.

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 the guy, on war, warcraft, loss of democratic principles and governance procedures —

Dealing in procedures again, only this time they’ll be writ 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 any justice, I have questions how these may apply to our acquaintances and the Supremes’ strangleholds now ...

By not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal;
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable
indeterminacy.
A given. Someday.

Crime: The noun to which much is given. 
Can you spot the q and a between shorelines?   
While in the time-motion garden, a parallel door banged all night.   
Next morning I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground,  
Our encampment after, ridiculous, you can guess.. juxtaposed,  
 
Anglophone, atonal.. fuzzy. It’s just so. And we know it when we hear it: 
Or not. One expects a clearer message for an individual payment system.   

To save life (a), a blur of messianic pronouns disembodies subject matter; (b) matter is pruned and run through demi-graphic filters. It’s moderato brooding, adding to a cobbled blow-up — (b+a) Here dubs of complaints dovetail into an opus of no ideology.. You operate in English but (c) you resort to braying tactics, but yeah.

(You might infer lack of taxonomy.) 

90: Hate me now.
It’s up to pond structure to model strains of passivity and its zero sum onset by the rear shore road. Only don’t drop in.

The tide pools hold 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 — nil in inner life razing names of sorrow.

We just saw (a few feet minutes from now, however)
your address changed. We could have done it differently before
you discovered the user charts; the parent company was yours even before you took over.

You’re not going to be delirious are you?
Just for a patch of language..? good for you —
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...

Good for you!

Then. This is a formlet of propositions. Like digital vinyl or handshake web painting. Or prayer warriors that are non-contagious. Then I stumble over the “highbrow posturing” and “chin-stroking art crowd” noted by Nate Harrison. Harrison chronicles how names such as the Winstons whose original drum sequence, the Amen Break, from the 1960s has been copied over decades, sampled by 80s hip hoppers, and those samples diced and re-arranged by jungle-djs in the 90s. By the late 90s, dicing / re-arranging might be pushed to extremes, undanceable “fetishisizations” for chin-strokers — Harrison cites Squarepusher, for instance.

I surely wish you didn’t invite tradespeople over to the house.

What is curious style?

There’s a cool but thoroughly staged oral tradition that’s like trail mix, so rhetorically honey-sealed and narratively palatable anyone with a few years of good high school English has in. Its clear long jumps and pull-ups in tone signify irony and distance about avid prep and galley stainless. The gestalt is to flare up yet relax a while, stay urbanely offhand and sound normal, not superior in any overt way. I’ve been saving a few hours for you. Do hang on. Dig in.

102: You’re the matter at hand merchandized within rotations from green hues perpetual to earth.

You’re asking a lot.

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

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

I kiss the air. This.

Over the spring and summer construction advances.
Uncivil also true, summer advances, supreme over the construction.
Everybody goes!
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.

Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, mostly. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for recovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast, proverbial laughs, even laughs:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were not reneged-on. It’s
not that large an irony tho the freehold repaired to is offered only in over there or ‘thereabouts’ patterns...

It’s up to future officials to unpack Zen’s base ironies. Where are they now, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to supplies flowing out since they make love too much — so and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, too well and staying relaxed can lull you into a slippery tranquility. 

This’s Zen-not-Zen up to when?

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 our wet skin.   
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 poem is.. 
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write (if not well).  
To tap on the keys and wander out above our welcome in a retrospective..   
 
Again there’s no title because nowhere  
Are my thoughts so hidden in use.  
 
It’s a contraption. But that’s required.

My soul’s on break, thinking in a style of leased boats,  Obsequious, sharpened, very
 
Few motifs — the wash of light might be exaggerated.  
I need you to wander on (some language aerie).  
At least our calls’re in the area...  
‘holding each other open’ formatting our interpretive devices to 
Moan on the boat surface.  
 
There may be many areas...

Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up nonphysical servings
standing off
from having hay fever as a backdrop — nothing
hidden, nothing.
We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are! Nothing
to explain ignition inside a more collaborative framework.. 

Adoring you as a full service enterprise assumes a moral politics where clouds of electrons follow us into a manner of simple orbit.

80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I feint when I wrote this. Situationists use the shallowest fare and re-chart it onto subterranean literature. When I write about you, I’m in worthless sympathy, humbled and worse, tongue-tied while I try a couple of poses —Ha — there are great benefits spent by proud, broad-minded recruits afloat, ocean wide! Wouldn’t you know they are in an infinite series in the history of fame and naval bavardage. (Or from another angle they are the series — teasers as well as the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) Ha.

Back home we have Romulus and Remus. Appetite and style — 
these guys work the night shift thru classicism, romanticism too. Appetite  
includes style but style directs taste, other pretenses of appetite.  
A she wolf looks after style.   
 
I never use that word now. 

Wool flowers
Are harsh.

Ducks flying down
Splash some roots..
They are flattened grey
Popping on mauve

As kennel light
fences the barks

Yet impassioned so
Nowhere

Wind-
In-tent-flap sounds.

I count 9 windows in the dark.
Here.

The tallest paintings remeasure your height.


Painting ideas.



You had heard critics for hire eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sides, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s a full view emaciated into planes of junk, splendor, restoring emptiness.

Painting double quotes. 

31: You remind me of lovers gone. A morning crew, weathermen
Waving arms in endearing hidden patterns over their forecasts —
This was their 1st stab at tantrics, due many now.
They merited love trophies — yours alone now, all yours.
You have all of mine.

My tears buried viewing you. They’re inside you,
Removed, disguised as glare hung from all-in loving you.

Walking thru panes of sunlight —
how many hours are we talking?

Fog over my hair.
Big-eyed instincts?

Nothing new. A feeling continues you write until you drop ...
a feeling from in here buried below all the animation.

The half that’s not familiar but we’d like to pull off,
replacing that half with stripping down, not talking.

Speaking of you, with you, I like walking, being
charmed and not worrying about what passes through me.
You, me, of course, are an expansive subset of charm, trinkets I believe.

You and I go over the graphemes. I also was thinking it’s hard for us to get foreign sports equipment or a new license without indices of suspicion and objurgating.
If you agree, I’m happiest procrastinating. We’ll have a pleasant sencha. It strengthens our attention for doing so little.

Random influences could fill in our cancelled checks. Filling in on stretched hills, cute and cuter butterflies having at butterflies, why?

I’ve been on a nihilism binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a structuralist’s degree. 
 
I won’t cry when it becomes...   
 
Greyhound hurling on seesaw but feels fine,  
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s  
Bingeing is no ot so entertaining or serene. A maelstrom lights  
Up the foreground, no questions asked.  
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites.  
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox. 
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..  
 
Being scared is a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door to nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.

126: Don’t talk with your mouth full, fair one. Process self-disrupts into phrases and withering thought substitutes, fickle subcomponents and stiff, gnomic atmospheres to bring all accoutrement to terms, wanting, not waning, to grow! Hold on, hold your lovers there, minutes in pleasure or more! And go on, keep to your purpose, even in power, lovelier.

The tallest paintings remeasure your height.


Painting ideas.



You had heard critics for hire eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sides, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s a full view emaciated into planes of junk, splendor, restoring emptiness.

Painting double quotes. 

Vainly but not fast in never induce italics: 
We gave at the Office.  
 
This is hardly ever for the 1st time  
disappearing in molecules like other words, just modulations ago.
Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.  
 
Don’t smolder, show us.

Leave everything : down, self.
Prune leave less, some more:
our night still external, vanished cloud
odor..

Leave everything :
while we go uprooting.

I have to take you —
months & years
with the slow ones.

I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless inexact I wave and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My hands are supposed to cohere in what I cull from hearsay. Raising one hand exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness — raising two, always a wretched misdeal.

59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new — going backwards here — 
 
Let’s vote Labour —  
an ostentatious luncheon in ‘old world’ pensiveness,  
beguiling etiquitte, self-admiring praise.  
I might say more, fool my brain, the one mended by you and your composed image but
I stay in character.  
 
More sure — we’re easily freaked by what antique words 
dig up and how re-inventions get composed, still we have to keep our wits about us
— looking back under whose  
 
thumb? And am I yours?

I can’t get into specifics,
because it’s nonverbal, a compromise.
I know I’m next, flapping my arms in front of me.

Maybe I’m afraid of being abducted.

At the top it’s shrew pink and all mapped out. So I’m ready.

Falsehood is an actuarial stat, just one anto
-nyms assimilate since you haven’t countered anything to colleagues wearing thar reflection, giving in, doing nothing with shades over your face...

Once a Marxist, now I’m a Darwinian. 
To let cleverness exceed incident levels   
 
we had a taxonomic relationship.   
 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.   
 
Some wind, just above freezing, the cat’s tongue is puffy and disheveled.

72: When love is missing, shame is worth nothing. .
You devise virtuous lies (love, dear) .. I picked that up, false, smug, cute. .
a braid of welts around your neck. .
My name is buried where my body is. .
the body I pray you love.. ..
.
I’ve just noticed you haven’t praised me, nothing, Gabby. .
Let’s pronounce your true love untrue. Make it count. .
Tho even in this I fear sarcasm.

Frame: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources our way as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up temp and humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the feed in balance for two (or three, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, semblances that comprise enmeshments in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed for poetics; appliance hint: metronome.

Forever all night. 
Look around, what’s background?   
Barely perceptible lightning over fog. 
Homology then prudence. Peck v immolation. 
No questions asked, we work the lower jaw 
for the same carbons to put this together as refuge.     
 
Meanwhile nothing else came up.    
 
You’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop.   
I’ll invade your space then leave later,   
lately not feeling calm over you but crazy.

I’m for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is that indirect.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like an avalanche that drops acid over the pre-cognitive machine age. 

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.

Bathing in wishful enjambement, naked duty —
and ‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children who blur the terrain,
a patterned enclosure: our caller, composer, shouts,

Let’s search for reason in nature’s chaos...
No one belts out a coda like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful.

A rationalized miracle.

Combustion and dust spores filling avenues between half truths.

We delete any plagiarism still missing
— but up to now they have fewer words for it.
Fielding skepticism makes money harder to borrow. Clenching-tight,
I’m in another century where hoax passes for coming near.

Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale,
immaculate. The sky has its style, subject for close attention. It’s said.

Paying attention is a field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends.

But it does not impinge on the field.

Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.

123: Lament — I defy you and your truth —

I trust only timetables born of our desire. Nothing novel. Nothing strange.

Our continual haste, our poor retention, our brief dates give me the butterflies and more butterflies chasing more..no lie —
as 10 to the 10th more wind up as polygamists barnstorming thru
a winging-it hemisphere where I can never forget you. Not you!

Experience is impulsive, according to unrigorous physics out-evolving pretexts for concealment with no plausibility in the future of the past.   

No such work experience for a pay grade gaining access only to weather bombs in a manifold vacuum. No instructions      

Would be taking you on and over and winning without willing to keep or junk your composition.      

Final orders are that vicarious. I thought no way, no ultimatums to rephrase, no immoral aspirations — nothing but work slathered with work!

— The world becomes flat falling across 

  The telling (of)   

  (Instances of)   

  Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic   

  Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from   

  Rain ceilings (off)   

  The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),   

  It is (falling) across   

Morton Feldman.

— The world becomes flat falling across 

  The telling (of)   

  (Instances of)   

  Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic   

  Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from   

  Rain ceilings (off)   

  The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),   

  It is (falling) across   

Morton Feldman.

Feeling is feeling. It’s official.
Then it’s repetitive, suggesting emotion has gone too far 
& some at all levels will be disclosed, then not spoken of, 
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting 
our lives together & whittling wry self management into grift. 

101: It gave me hiccups when our best senses cooled down — praising silence long truant, still overdue. No amends. Beauty needs no pen or pencil.

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

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

We grabbed the narrator (we couldn’t rule him out), staying blithe in twin columns.

Once a Marxist, now I’m a Darwinian. 
To let cleverness exceed incident levels   
 
we had a taxonomic relationship.   
 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.   
 
Some wind, just above freezing, the cat’s tongue is puffy and disheveled.

Pass the very white.. I think they’re gloves.
With further directions your understanding registered.

Off the rack, but great

— a good to a very good response

inasmuch as speaking about or through gloves, the gist comes across the border over thin night.

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflects gritty, blind optimism and violence. 
 
Are you biologist enough for this perfection?   
 

A little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
Stencils of our doctrine line up behind some marines 
as good critique pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.

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

His eyes & yours swell with knife moves.  
Your brain stores many 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 &  
— no hell to pay!

...the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.

How may I help?

In robotic evolution there’s an i.d. crisis 
... who knows we’re taking these steps   
 
for whose agenda? Eat and lose some weight?   
 
Brooding Siri or I could use another i.d. for either of us. Or anyone.  
I used to have an ersatz ‘power’ dependency that’s reasonable to regret. Even today. 
Now I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness’
replicated many times in mum succession.

Should we have
a message?
We’re talking to what must be figurative breakpoints with fate and fate’s consignments. Example.

Just kidding.
Empty messages remember nothing of detached
sensory esotericists.

Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame and no literal disapproval.
We have it (we got a message). Look for
a politic paranoia recommended for staying cool and stable in an
emotional tri-level.

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

I love to hear you speak.

And there’s nothing like your hair, your breast, my master, not a god! your eyes, more delight, no on-point comparisons come to mind, nothing like the sun.

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

How may I help?

In robotic evolution there’s an i.d. crisis 
... who knows we’re taking these steps   
 
for whose agenda? Eat and lose some weight?   
 
Brooding Siri or I could use another i.d. for either of us. Or anyone.  
I used to have an ersatz ‘power’ dependency that’s reasonable to regret. Even today. 
Now I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness’
replicated many times in mum succession.

On mortality,  
 
I’m a big baby. That’s a big b, for clarified as black-and gold pelage, married and vulnerable, exploring reiterations of my own duality. 
 
I’m alive feeling the swansdown of DNA. Soon I’ll be comically dead — that’s married to a triplicate database — sinking into forest behavior, giving up fish, emotionally shot ..  devoted to background intelligence in seamless disproportionality.

You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, and the wide sky 
to laugh down compliments from insurgents binding heartache.
The sparrow’s wardrobe above, beaten but he’s breathing. He’s on our land, 
his way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capitalists. 
Otherwise, there’s only our perpetration and fortune to hide. 
After homesickness, there’s profound inebriation 
running a tab, also a little suffering moving in with your 
parents (their sunroom) because they like me... 

I just don’t worry.. your eyes breaking into immense mist clots .. hard 
to reformulate .. (It’s up in the air.)

The sunroom goes on for a while.

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.

The named oceans are dated, right, left
Pouting, getting better!

Meantime, ping. We’re here for discovery via inflection of lap pools’ recurring
condensed matter.
When we come to — there will be perorations in suspension, ripped,

1st choice for a sonnet = to solve for x. Be funny and coalesce.

Dear multiple choices from eternity: Send us a message we can wolf down.
Convey a sense of urgency if/when superfluous. Then put off all force.

Piano shenanigans on beauty dined.

Never put your object before verbs — prefiguring
solitude.
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

I never use tone shifts while throwing a cookout together.
For what party in sleep?

Hanging on contains the universe. Imagine the hurt.

128: How often the ear takes hold as silent partner, confounded with sweet concord. To be in concord .. (I know nothing about this ..) 
To stay in concord, how often envy jerks us off — as tho entr’acte — wiry motions, nimble boldness to harvest you:

Blushing to be tickled inside and sway.. 

Lips, either side of lips, poor lips, more than nimble, blessed, tickled as well inward, taking us gingerly into our vast stretches with lips to kiss.

I’m Aldo.  
 
No, you are.  
 
We’re a special team. We’re circumspect; sharing mechanisms 
(our pretexts) gives no voice to parrot motifs over a long fly we back off to catch, nightly. 
 
What about cleverness and defaming character?  
Don’t be involved.  
 
What does 1 say? A few shaky words,  
hacking at reasons to try with the grit of understatement.  
And then 1 thought, that’s what’s wrong.  
  Hey hey my.

I went to hell with you.
The unoccupied mind long overdue. 
 
Meantime I’m losing a fortune   
While I keep my mouth shut & listen,    
Escalating with all my implements to inhabit received logic.    
I’m retracing what I think you see. I’m   
Mastering every projectile color, finding new names,     
 
Pushing the most nonoblivious among motion arts,    
Tai-chi of self-watch. There. And these     
 
Steps entangle bosons of mine, of yours along with everyone  
Rushing us toward long careers in revisions & redefinition...  

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

112: Do you like spiral staircases striving, branching out to keep no one alive in so profound an abyss? 

Nonlinear facts are stairs to bourses where bottom lines are dizzying when least derivative. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s a creepy snob racket (Charles B).   
 
Our nervous system distorts music in an adder sense, Charles might say, to emphasize poisonous reversals as in snakes’.. radial evil, neglected by its own super ego, snaps. B is for Bukowski. 

It’s probably a head cold. 
 
Unhappiness breeds from flu-like abundance. That’s about it.  
A common cold means at least a dozen things or more.  
An embedded satire about too much, just too much, and... 

You know what I think?  
 
A physical being hears what one wants, has a fever and takes in a lot  
Guessing this was a sample.  
 
And service areas are where we drive satire home and choose.  
Our upper hand is no joke. Correction, our lassitude is.

I’ve got to hold back. Not bob around.

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

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

Love is moaning.. I’m almost a novice enthusiast.. but years from now.
Then, inscrutably I’ll break down and bob.

Time after time 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 undo any promise you have, had or you don’t remember in the aftermath of your hiatus (hesitation), revving up.

99: Stay on the hunt, tough to please, borrow, speculate (ouch)

even as tectonic plates jump over
our vengeance, our fears, shame and despair.

Annexed to you, violets are grossly dyed, your soft cheek
raining havoc with the lilies.. marjoram, my love’s breath, your breath. (Uh.) Here’s where you and I lose the (or a) scent. Ever


-yone does. Clouded (ouch)
flames ennoble the sky to blush through


your love’s veins, your hands, both among the thorns ..
condemned for pride — proudest I’m going on all nerves stolen from you.

A monk asks,   
 
This is why I hate you by myself  
 
and keep loving you under wraps?  
Take care, and take more time. Acts of omission are presorted, so they keep numbing, so like fixating on folks’ shoes. You can do this, feel free, cadet. Monk. But don’t expect to fill mine or adapt to my avoidance of frontiers, rejecting anarchism. 
These were the funniest jokes I know, the baldest too. I’m from Tokyo. I don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. Our project failed but I can’t recall being as excited as I am.  
 
Space also presorts sometimes.

There is slender lovemaking on square obstacles. To stop tremors, rouged slippers are warmed as leftovers, something a lapdog in one room repairs with, to a separate bungalow. The commissary situated down in the sub-chambers, getting there aimlessly onerous. What will they spell for lunch today?

A private-public distinction, extension 8, 
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force.    
 
Besides giving you empathy-like babble  
I rewrite over your agenda,    
 
A vapidly growing handcraft   
once I launch it —   
 
We got married without knowing side effects   
— wait, I forgot why I called.

140: Winter ahead, wise and cruel. Sooner or later. Are we mad?
In sleep even a con anarchist gets seasonal immunity. 
Going wide, this is mad — better it were no bad news washing over time under preseason wraps. 
Snow even now is no surprise.

(Slanderers are believed. I didn’t know I’m a novice enthusiast, the tongue-tied manner of my wanting pity.) 

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

Further out the world is blown up with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always. Faster.

Greyhound hurling on seesaw feels fine, 
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s  
Not serene. A maelstrom lights  
Up a foreground, no questions asked. 
(I wagered my face the minute I handed it to you.) 
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites.  
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a shiny fox.

Land use. That’s what the new world is about. Are we breeding steer or picking pansies? 
Just two modalities. Sorry, I have no other apolitical associations I can share. I ran through a dude ranch then tried raw energy.

Don’t know why the ranch stands there still in no summation after the transaction but before I turn away, circumscribed, all hat, no cattle.

116: One’s {most-
ly random swagger looks on the edge of another marriage as a catch-all to crush self worth — tho unknown to
one’s } naysayers: The nays encourage sampling —
Never coerced by an alteration of stars or human form, fixed on this one trademark: Love is not love;

No one, nothing concentrates like our love in doom. I’ll believe you more as I’m a fool, never loved or unloved...

But let me take our partial love’s temperature — your true will bears this out —

What are we fixing up, hitting a few heights in only a few weeks, but only for brief hours as naysayers find softer, more musical alterations. Marriage? Alteration? None for us...

Love is no half-way fool. Love goes off the boards like water lilies kicking off their boots, women coming to rule. Snipers crouch, removing

The edge to their lips and cheeks.

Marriage makes me horror-struck 
 
Aghast in wake of our previous melancholy. 
Blindfolded angels thinking in the past —  
All mute waving back  
 

Protecting us from our known pasts and predicates,   
 

Taking on more pain, taking many more onboard, putting them   
 

In mind of us affiliates, at last.