There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invested then, daylight garners you
several that breathe, toting samples of published
ontologies, torrents of taste alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to recall their recipes.
We politely followed them, tho, unwed yet at peace
until we ran into a couple out cold staring thru ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked, hesitantly,
before the ice covered future grades.

Sonnet 6:

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

the winter leaves through the yard .. you’re much too fair
And brush your hair? Brush it back down.

In evolution we may have had an identity crisis
when who knows how they’re doing this

on our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drain it of weight.

Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’

An emanation is a specter brought up a peg. Just to clear things up for us, you or me. 
I’ve moved to a new couplet.  
 
Enticement entails the fewest specters impossible to imagine. 

So I’m passive but I don’t believe in spooks. Here’s the outline.   
 
A few strings were pulled to get me in this new factual place with wraiths I would never have chosen myself.  
 
I’m here. 
Shall times’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid  
maintaining a competitive smile for a maxillary edge you own only if you go overboard.   
 
No, I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that.

One main test: You can’t waste time.

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

77: Blank careers contain these mind games refereed in shade. For work, we look to a future far outside realia (but always at ‘work’!) or at minimum, we should feel enriched, taking our joint profit as clear if vacant progress to eternity. Vacant. These precious minutes uncommitted, often both urbane and in bad taste, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
*
For work, we were enriched mostly within glass buildings. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and jittery social apps, empaneled or at minimum propped up as official progress (taking all sides). Blank leaves in our journals, we know. Learning gives us memories, tho, too many minutes wasted, mostly overrated. Let’s show how we commit to your book, to nurse your brainchild delivered as a time share of your stealth, your voice,

your beauty’s imprint.

How could I be so foolish in bed, you could ask.
The matter at hand is you.

There are subtitles, various tongues. We write while staying awake and translate the exposed skin of dreaming.
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of taking thoughts to heart.
I’m bringing this up from the back to the throat. (You asked.)

Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.

So I put my name in. Just one. Am I fit for a leftie scenario? The next one. Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. Instead of my apolitical goals, I found so much of what you say sexy and unique, but all our data are adulterated. Male and female. Shrubs and more shrubs. We’re leaning Green Party. 

I have no use for you.
I’m drunk on uses of empathy and bounce. Or plans change. 
Universality is homesick, having lived off the in-laws of physics. But not now, daybreak — 

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

5: No remembrance now. Of confounding beauty. Of your lovely gaze where beauty dwells. 

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

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

never resting, pent in by tyrannical daylight that still excels in leading us on —

I added frontal motion to the story about those looks of yours that intimidate, m’lord. 
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or embers 
floating down to our nose level. That’s cool — creamed just for dating you, blackmailed —   
 
wandering into the new wrong murder guild  
 
chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming  
 
and massive pulses projecting smiles and feeling 
invisible. Totally insane. M’lord’s libido.

This original copy has been duplicated.
The rest is history, throwing leaflets.

80: ...cross-pollination of English and psychology wracks up a revitalizing boundless deep. I’ll assume you suspect I faint when writing 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, pure 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 a series of teasers and the teased but goodly proud, cast away.) ha —

2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims.

In modern tongues, a truly socialist government is not that hot.
Wearing nothing but pilates for motives, eager too,

Mixing shy and rabbity, squeaking in biblical
French — it’s just plain meaner. And we negotiate euros (cash) for rapprochement.

Snapping to / unsnapping.

The power


system is decentralized
mounting a bait and switch to chalk up
the utility of hip lingerie per se,


discreet shipping, and in
this case not a thing can be serene.

Anyway, go to long love making memorizing
parallel futures on a projective plane.

Why go there without force?

When we last rehearsed this,
it made no language difference what we
believe or what the soul is.

The enlightened instant comes down
to how this can be put together
surely, entirely.

High sensitivity equals high urgency.

I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said;

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

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

23: My agent is in a rage. Imperfect
actor whose shortcomings balloon in ‘harmony’ & use. 

Imperfect — for love’s epistemology scampers in secrecy 
in so large abundance I hold to fiercer ideas for leveraging your silent heart.
Listen to your eyes, please. 

My dumb mien may adhere to expressive rules, 
pleading w/ you, entered into by trusting you first, always. It’s always 

your clear refinement where character offers libation, a rite
to love you, and I act on my own so to speak —
Speak from your eyes so I can call for love. Can you hear me now?

We’re fidgeting, minding our conceits,
lit by mid-sentence clarity, sporting and alway Floridian — we’re in an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma... passageways to enter then exit like work in progress spreading out in willful overloads of language design — Skilled decor, de-simplified, notional mime in contretemps between science and whose climb? Ironic technologies with no precedent — a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained pragmatics and hermetic syntax. Nice beachfront. Amuse our ears and eyes: why so few and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a..) — it seems an absurd referent and then less off-rhyme.

I’m a metaphysicist to an inner antecendant.
Lemme go.

Info-tainments advance by themselves, lovely distractions, shooting the steepest mountains w/ slime. Thinking back, they segue to riveting motions in our self interrogation — commuting to work where we share high fives & broker a plan!

The cross-hatching allowing ancestors to exchange a few xenogenetic traits for others, has just about run out of steam. We’re left wondering, once more what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

48: One only care, a trifle now..

Save you aren’t here / I feel you are tho. Hmm..

Your tho is a storyline left as prey
For tomorrow’s lies, even before the stealing starts. Seems true
But you thirst for it all, joining all
Arms.
I feel yours up to my chest — you, past lovers and I play
A long shot in thirst now:
Pleasure
Outlasts grief (lost, found, lost, however, in one flow.)

As ‘he makes his profits, remind yourself...’ the ex-president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris’s. Interesting esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a punning bone, also he was a merciless kook. Really his movies remind me of tin futures & allegiance to ice ants swarming as active mind controllers sidle away —

Given to temptation, she reinvented sin. A sum of herself, she’s erotic with no social conscience. Lantern jaw. Not a jaw, but a chin that extends a Fozzie glow like a lantern that shines onto flab, a short neckline. Right. She’s got a weak chin. No jaw. A double chin.

No apparent character but a gray, cerebral maverik.
She designed herself simply drawn, doglike. So she did have character, despite her fanciful, perfidious mien and no jaw.

Switching hair dyes, she sat in the dark waiting until the colors fold. The occasion seemed sado-obvious as well as frustrating her pursuit of prophecy, a number of them.

Log:
Let fish cool down before kissing.
Discover why fish have made Puntacana Resort their 2nd home.

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

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

Off a little.

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

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

53: A substance note:
Drop dropping of all illusion — 

All kinds of nebulae. Curved and hollowed. 

You have some part shadow
as long as a 
-utomatism maintains a
counterfeit value evolving spring and summer shades a
-mounting to zero snow this winter after your beauty, a 
constant show and a 
variable now. You always play a part in this.

You appear in every august shape we know.

I’m a bad judge of character. I just shoot.  
Having a Bud with you.. 
my rage came to a bend..   
 
Holy moly, there’s a way to pay for it!  
There’s strength in staring at a bug zapper, bugs attracted  
to light, staying competitive, coming back.  
Haste is the suave part of RSVP;
Earth is spanked all over 


for snap love — now on the mouth. 

The no-fantasies plan, weeks running backwards
After the announcer’s ecstasy — there are no water edges or dikes
Yet / or we see 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.

A hobby becomes the color of dreams then addiction.
Can it hold the same seasonal affect?
I know what I need, blindfolded.

My life is the intervals it contains minus your presence.

Which is a way of drawing in regret.

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.

A stab at tantrics, a High Service

Sung along both coasts:
Our people are what makes us / great.
Love and heritage go down together.

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

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

Sharpening endurance,
Risking focus.

Naval voices wake me up. 
It’s not embarrassing 

pulsing in a deep mirror 
as light rain to snow performs butoh. 

(Ethical boundaries pertain.) 

I’ll put it this way and call it done.
I misfiled my core principles, went 
for higher ones in baroque-neurotic dream. 

Any higher, they’re not talking ..
(there’s tighter discipline) 

Highly apéritif all around, 
morally camouflaged, cold indirection. 
But our metabolism really took off, along 
with rare emotions from a huge palimpsest 
with no exposition, just burnt signatures, since 

it’s all of the above. 

Pragmatics: I can steel myself to make something up and call it mine...
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent:

I might also mean pragmatics can be textually modern as respectable Eurocentrics undress for survival, avoiding careers, soaking up the city among savages, them of their own design.

What happened, you look so radiant?

I’m my own boss.
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! May it help us solve you and me for X!
when we let them.

Own then discard a tuxedo.

46: Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand intangibles
like unforgettable elements
within sight, touching and holding the
moment, dividing it with
illusions of taking off for an un-
known mortal war
spinning or spun /up/set, out of control yet
just outward parts of how our eyes impanel freedom and my rights
to your fair appearance, to your gut quests and thoughts, an inward heart.

Literally nothing is granted, nowhere, no how.  
 
Progress is progression here. There’s a centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut as progressions. 
 
Iconoclasts count them in a series as foreground to falling cornices. 
 
Cornices did (in plurals). Fall.
 
Now months later, here’s good news, 
Since you wait for a change of fortune, not for empowering others. 
Your freedom belongs hiding in plain sight, free for you, down on the ground.
 
Fuller discourse than that scars others, yet you cite nothing but simple facts, slaughtered by pressing the remote.
 
Free, in subjective sensation.

Any non empirical approach compels outsourced argument.

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

efficacy for streamlined intake. Let’s soak up the view.

There’s no one way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capital. 
Try feeling polyphonic with an uncapped fortune, reflecting what you did when your adolescent backbone iced up, raising all boats, all social levels.  
 
Our greatest fear is going deeper—  
 
That would kill our real parents.  
 
They’re dead already.  
 
Hence the family corporation is casually hidden  
 
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.  
Solitude, confidences, you’ll earn times in the day,
the plays and jungle, many in a series —

36: Radical repetitions. There they go. Altho each seems the same, 
you’re the one, almost mine. You get so far and stop. And you’re not alone.  
And so you’re not my only delight — for neither of us is solely the other’s. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner lives, love dividing us into blotted hours, alone. I confess — or let me confess here — we are separable here, each shamed into taking up other loves of one sort with altered effects —  
 
Your love, mine — honored remains from our nervous systems that distort us both, it seems, set to break in two (but still don’t), both borne alone repeatedly.

Suspend suspension..

Our hesitance to go there is weather related warmth riding in and a similar improvised fog going out, all but darkness offshore the day before.
The atmosphere wheezes through its pace emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in we’re musicians.

Any non empirical approach compels outsourced argument.

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

efficacy for streamlined intake. Let’s soak up the view.

That thing? It’s a slide knot. Or a kind of travel document. We have functional props for digging up emotions and this much-circulated vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let fine fettle overcome despair, swamp entropy. For a quiet start, take down zero gravity bans. But you don’t keep any larvae. They’re apart. Their cloying song goes out mutely and you feel a need to ache in their baby blue blather, calmly accruing intimacy. Hey —

Never stop prospecting.

36: Radical repetitions. There they go. Altho each seems the same, 
you’re the one, almost mine. You get so far and stop.  And you’re not alone.  
And so you’re not my only delight — for neither of us is solely the other’s. It’s a shame tho we honor our inner lives, love dividing us into blotted hours, alone. I confess — or let me confess here — we are separable here, each shamed into taking up other loves of one sort with altered effects —  
 
Your love, mine — honored remains from our nervous systems that distort us both, it seems, set to break in two (but still don’t), both borne alone repeatedly.

Suspend suspension..

Our hesitance to go there is weather related. Some warmth riding in and a similar improvised fog going out, all but darkness offshore the day before.
The atmosphere wheezes through its pace emboldening dreams.

What hinges out?
Hop in, We’re musicians..

I do my best and worst work north of you but best or worst is nothing if unobserved.
And I still get picked on — now in a major way.
But business proceeds — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured abs.

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of abs.

In lounge lighting, our eyes drift as if you’re

spanking me underwater. & I see why snails

build their houses near the sea,

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

146: I’m talking to you in American. 
 
Our futurist savior went missing. No more dying then? No lie, I watched us dream within a.i. economics, weeding and planting over a long radius, destabilizing molecules that eat itty Taos. Our body losses. Our Taos. Along with ooters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing their time respectively — great work for the power preserve. A ton of cuts to molecule restructure, with chops on key language turns. Our biggest ideas — not from Asia, but time itself, on lease. Enough time for epic sums of cuts along with 21st century instrumentation reduced to dust whirls from open combat. (Maybe some new futurists / feminists will clear the air. Gulp.)     
 
Don’t know. Not going to lie. (Ideologues often get stuck on a make-sense line.) 

At some tiny level there’s spontaneous disintegration of what’s on my mind until I find myself in a “half-life” where speech still matters. 
By way of a PS on bohemians, Schuyler (ravaged of course) was more of one than Ginsberg, unravaged. And Brainard (ravaged then unravaged then ravaged) was a big boho. Auden? Think so. Jim Brodey, a boho. Even less narrowly, Harry Matthews.

Outdoors a muted roll call gathers under bright archways,
A hazard to papery aircraft taking off.

We’ll be seen for sure...

Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation now or a few seconds from now after others’ surveillance but before I look you over, with only a few spy cams to snatch our poise inside hypotheses and vice versa... the constant hiding.

What happened there?
“..you have to paint the walls under the pictures.”
Narrow rails, sheer voile of curtains..
Step out of that church.
I hear a boat. I hope it’s the mailboat.
We’ll ever confess.
Windy, and the waves all running sideways.
Straighten your teeth, vampire.

Sonnet 105: We express your idolatry as science. Fair, kind, true. Three at once.

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

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

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

while keeping your sum in view. You
look good put together.

Meantime we’ve moved off the mainland. 
No unknown futures present newer phenomena, fenced off. 
It can’t be easy. Dig 
around for numerals and replacements.
We have no perverse incentive to take any more chances as we talk thru our replacement words.  
 
CLEARS THROAT. LAUGHTER. Suave slaughter.

Homeric language trends...
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time (1,000,000 bce).
We also =
glistening statistics advanced by textuality. The underground =
stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal (capitalist) identity.

ID traces out how to refine / displace any remnant of multicultural contempt.
Classification adjoined by adaptation passed thru descendants.
This break and entry ensue under a hot air balloon holding our beef jerky.

149: Cruelty goes by a few worshipful metaphors. Loving you, or not, down the road.. going against myself.. all due to future lunar invasions!


Heavenly and new, classic, easy, unforgettable metaphors to our surrounding revenge for taking off, fawning over you / fawning under you, quiet and respectful in everyday nudity. For nudity earned your just respect, commanded by your eyes. It will always be a swing reunion in that ritual expanse, a whole new side of narrow and hollow at center, a vacuum spinning wheels!

Meanwhile you’re almost epistemic staying awake, translating all you compose, the back of another dreaming.
Nothing accrues but a life of waking thoughts.
(Sleeping on nearly nothing
you can exit the profession at any point.) Humming inside, you can add features to nodules, like self-control in foundational philosophy.

Cupid is a hired gun who swoons anywhere. Cupid’s id? It’s a violent,
smoking culture so we need straight talk.

It’s a gay culture so we need Cupid. We’ve been up
for two centuries fighting overseas.
Head-on war is a mistake (Diane di Prima).

Strategists at the barricades have been taking icky notes as the weather cooperates,     
  
Where reputations precede character, the posterity of apprehension remains.       
  
Who will advocate for peace to empower heavy sleep & exchange?     
For example.   
A {most- 
Ly random swagger for the catch —   
Qualified} crew enforce sampling  
Coerced by the life of the owner’s party speaking.

81: I forget so much memory is empowered by mistakes = my gentle verse.
Verse versus my taking umbrage to feed 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 do I lie?

I can’t get into specifics,
because it’s not verbal, but still 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. Why is being next not past expiration...

Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in mocking forms. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.

I thought as a lyricist you’d follow the leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —

(I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bear bar repartee.)

I can see your voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it happens fast.

We wanted to go to
This point, stabilizing the office — over the ocean
W/out ‘water- or personal-contact.’
1 enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit, sponsorship
spreading out in self-willful overloads of idiomatic design —

Skilled chattel, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
Ironic technologies without precedent —
A corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax, all noun phrases.

153: & so. I’m ready.  

Ready for these proving grounds in which I solve: 

1. Love / god / heart inflaming fire: Steep ground, unwise yet wise  
since love-kindling abounds — as well as — coincidental as loving golf & going to golf school.  
2. New heat every time, your eyes — no cure for this —
your eyes are the beginning for me as my swing improves in their flare. 

3. & so we’re teed up for a trial bath, in your eyes — 

Heated inside each word I borrow or steal —
Syllables fall in a ‘Cupid fountain’ of steam & desire, sick withal
curing us & others with love. 

At the Tropicana
They call us flummoxers amid the full time wash of copters.
We panelists are on a biz talk show with no host
As photons reinvest in the world, leaping out of windows.
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..

Here I am as genealogies of specialists file off.
Specialists, yes, rebuilding requires verbs tied to such esthetics that numb.

I’m the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam channel
-ing of normality, sleep, hope, repeating.

Nice beachfront but there are so many fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with poetry, not doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — another ghosty phrase —
giving away to how far the modern quill doth come too short,
an eerie surfeiting metamorphosis.

Anyone can wish for ‘portal trans specificity,’ Me? I replace all the markers to get inside a face. Your face. Your brow sports a few layers of sleep relief, accruing intimacy. Meanwhile we form a new team on portal strategy, yielding larger holds on dispossessed cynicism...

45: Sir, libido and swift words send and return messages — coming back as light air (thoughts) and rapid fire (desire). Air and fire are both with you (wherever I am).

When I hear nothing from you — I’m no longer glad or assured, merely present-absent, oppressed by melancholy

as it were.
It feels I’ve sent my desire away, far away from me, sad for you.

Finish that tho
The underground = career trajectories. Preparing is special. Many will come. What sounds lunatic? It’s impossible to separate the churned out understatement from the performance; both are adolescent in the good sense, pitch.

Amerigo fell into swelter in untamed aromas 
that led his black olive dogs to you, making clear    
 
his off rhyme, his blank stare =  
a blast furnace expending heat.   
 
Amerigo pulls the curtains revealing the dog-permitted street  
where pet people pass by in walk-on roles.   
 
My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor  
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s vision of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo — 
Another wish unfulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with more choices and repose.

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

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

Other voices from the porch directed to violent finches in the sky,
The season seemed & was interpenetrations of parallel scenery
Et al in all of this.

Sonnet One: Ornament is content.

The yews know how to wear theirs, desiring buds to contract brightness and increase —
much as we eat the world to save it. Together, dilating, flaming, increasing now in riper time, your own eyes profusely fresh, then green.

[adverb not here] I can’t face facts auf deutsch. I invented my elbow railing thru intimation, insinuation, innuendo. 
Also it was something I ate control-grouped by coughing.  
Never believe quite a theory, we never say it’s only conjecture.  
To translate costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, faint of. 

José has a libido viewable within antic constructions...
A log cabin for paired centrists, a flight down,

A perimeter of memory foam and asphalt where metamorphoses are cast off.
Just for the deep ride we round this into latinate stencils for amnesia’s willfully
fixed width...

Spirals discharge. You were great, shook up, yoked.

What happened there?
“..you have to paint the walls under the pictures.”
Narrow rails, sheer voile of curtains..
Step out of that church.
I hear a boat. I hope it’s the mailboat.
We’ll ever confess.
Windy, and the waves all running sideways.
Straighten your teeth, vampire.

103: You’re showing up more. I got wind of it, put you in
Just to make our list. I’m from and form the periphery;

My muse makes it so. Don’t blame me.
Say I’ll be back. We’ll look into it. You never can tell.
Poverty is all right but not extreme poverty. Without you I’m barely striving

“How do I love you and have the scope,
And again expect no help?”

Some things you need to whisper again and more, much more ..
(I forget now what you sound like.)

To take on a galactic stare, 
Occasional intoxicants  
Every 10 yrs —  
A decade comes and goes and still you are unattainable!   
 
Say you’ll be back. Speaking of that, you remind us of a better space — blasts of cold air  
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.

Due to erotics all frontiers are neutered in place. Cynics were the dry numb linguists hauled onto the barque of cleverness. Grad cynics. Do you like good lit? There is nothing like listening or being listened to to find your voice, propose your semantics, style.

Quickest migraine control:
the patter of little consonants
like in a chem lab on a sensitive night —
in it but not of it.
Consonants landing unilaterally
like a fleet of empty airplanes
handing vowels over to sheep owners.
Staff in hand, pharaoh.
Call our reps for further contact.

30: Losses restored?
Often there’s a new thought of a good friend — I think of you — the words we had or not— all our words forgoing consequences. Our moaning sessions went to grief, since we knew woe, even when it’s sweet, brings up grieving of in the past — wastes of time.

Yet I take liberties grieving now… I had a dream of fair housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where sorrow ends. Some of us were going there after work. My treat, even now. Would you like to come?

Why do we need a ‘quest’? 
 
Each year corrupts the ultra-field, infatuated mostly with active measures. The elders have rules. Stay funny and comfortable is one.   
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert handkerchief. Shave twice a week. Does your dad look selfless to see you slung in the eyes of other men?   
 
What can we do without sleeping around in our measured subculture? Serve meaning with a sleight thru science and art for all.   
 
Last, best, fair in gay love. Then I’ll ask you about immaculate being, rondure and cold feet. That’s dashing on to allegory, the one they call Stepping Up:

Acquisitive Quest Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.  
 
* 
Oh My God, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.

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

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

74: I agree to our bail. (Security should have conducted a more scholarly pat down.)

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

When you have a chance for review, I think all this will be due you. Layers of my spirit made yours & any remains will have no other life to leap to, no death, either — carried away then having some interest in what’s going down on this wretched yet contented earth, all it contains, even this one line.

Informality keeps a host busy — maximum stress & refined inelegance.

His doo-wop’s creepy; let us through:
Factor in plug-ins for calisthenics, one more load off the mirror.   
 
Resonance turns into reflections out of which you finger-point to temporality,  
 
magnified and now askew, flaking off. So note what happens. 
Yeah? It’s a soar sport. 
 
Soar and insert any bonus and exchange — what do you know!  
Tongues, clean up to your neck — a radiant  
 
pattern. Your drain pipe is a phenomenal co-circumstance that can end  
in a draw sustained by   
getting up, stretching your solar plexus.

Horror porn, an unjust parody paying homage to our one subject.

‘A nude means more when the head is chopped.

Can you pass me the white gloves.’
We’re aiming
It seems cuckoo

Plagiarizing a response, more germane, less error-
Prone, building on what’s heard

Before midnight in the afternoon.

If you ingest grief, parody is aqua foam and orange foam and broken glass. Now I’ve said everything I know about the nostalgia evoked by kissing your hand. 
No meditation spanning surfaces of the woods, no 
massage. No flavor of bullet points and none of cedar or balsa. So
there’s nothing to bifurcate to render your stinking utter degeneracy. 

May you come down with writer’s block in your rotten messianic parole.

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?

I came for the invoices.

Ever notice? No one lives in that town.

Half-vegetarian, self-colliding fog drinks only from its disconnected, treasured demographic squandering energy.
We cannot mean erasure, remember.
Our nerve infused by regulatory propriety until we get up to dance founding paradox.

Name a landscape and give birth, rename it and you bestow an ecology of resonance and history.

We’ve heard enough.

This is strictly the governor’s business.

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 cognitive machine age. 

An awful virus. Just an excuse.
Rhetoric as privilege dies. 
Came from outer space; was well radicalized before it got here. 

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

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

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

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.

Un-sober gestures, precise. Bright eyes, sparkling motions. You and I should get a huge kiss. 
 
But it’s hard to hatch (let alone pilot) a plan out of leftist smoke. Mm-hmm. Green new rhetoric toward a political realignment is hemi-obvious now, at this hour of the fireball pyramid scheme — v — those who vote to approve public squalor juxtapose obscene capitalist private milieux? 
 
— v — 
 
Start from the midsection, track your rectangular coordinates, understand pleasures of the neck, chest and eyes.    
 
Before thrills, yoga is fantastic. I’m 12 years old for now.

Did you catch the interim report?   
 
Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of capitalist brokering that considers prototype approximates plunks on a keyboard in crazy-fancy contexts. At first.     
 
Moving forward we have all of an hour to take in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume) indoors then out.   
Lights up — we take ourselves down a stretch through the libretto where we reserve dissonance. You deserve it.   
 
Sweetness is vacillating as usual after hours on clear nights. Robbers, cops 
Though fragrant, turn opaque    
 
And poof — still fragrant..   
..new rain.

A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall
And me, I’m feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases..

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

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

We won’t listen to the hideous silvered clock — telling in its barren prime..
Yes, we’ll stay 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 you more, as if we can never waste time through summer,
your beauty growing so well into the future..

It began as parallel ideas.
You were saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series
As a glow that’s cool, regular. Decoys,

Japanese cranes  

(Living somewhat left of Unitarian)..   

.. Impossible to separate churning out understatements from his performance — both amaze. Good pitch. So that’s how Partch and the landscape felt. Next, full fashion treasure advanced by a minimalist method, burning out your swing
Meeting half-pain in no way hapless, sensing no value contingent; partly insight, partly joy. 

It was a logical start. I know that. Taking chances put us in a lissome interpretive state (lissome as a turbine giving birth). Function varies widely. Scent of lilac is the geyser of all the rest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.

Sonnet 131: Meeting slander again: 
A delivery system processes our facial prowess —  they have many words for yours — doting, precious

But it’s our doing, tossing cash in for pizza ..

It’s a balsa wood decade, valuing hoax, coming too near tyranny
for falsehood never ends, I swear. 

Although I swear to myself alone, my heart,
our love constitutes a long shot
within a thousand groans to outlast madness
and slander. And in good faith — how fair and fairer that could be. 

Levitation in words has to be modulated. (They wanted this.) Modulated is like coming out to play, sampling the masked hostility and indecisiveness of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact beats and multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold.
Then we go off a notch keeping our eyes shut.
I miss you doesn’t change anything. I want you happy but be on time for signing our release pledge.

Switching phones, I look up at the crazy dental intern waiting to take me out. 
Silence is oversexed-enormous but I practice it.  
 
I’m sick of guy’s things.  
 
Not running, walking rapidly, I cross the hall, the long one with mental achievements ....  
 
... come out the complex, take the duck walk ....  
...go through a dedicated lot ....  
... and into Q7 in one STEADICAM SHOT. 
*  
Back then I was a dental monitor, not a dentist

Beyond us, them, 4% atoms, tiny
wriggling strings; hidden, 22% of the tug —

dark and unknown predicates
fixated on procedure, a luscious, noiseless bond.

We can call it that
adding up the lead time, eyes

open, moving, waiting, meaning
it but hardly tempted to.

A rational effect? You and I can’t attempt it,
touching on our dual roles as we reradiate consensus.

As a persnickety moral sort. Are you thinking of me? 
 
I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, a win-loss for comic, breezy wind instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a sporty edge. 
Mortality can’t be beat.  
No amnesty? A ship is on the way   
 
from mare nostrum  
or like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness for now.   
 
Blinds drawn, our preachy, scavenged opacity fills w/ sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking the globe w/ its bible pedigree.   
 
Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing coterie added to sempiternal space, entered into w/ a worldview w/out speaking, achieving access to felt qualities.

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

And. Perpetual?

Still our love is new.
A fact, 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 perpetuity shattered. I held my tongue. Shattered seemed inauthentic in an over-merchandised sense. You are more than a song of sex. You’re holding me, the middle of the throat..

Kiss the air. Me. This.

Our agents are crazy about the bigger paradigm of what’s to come

Leaving you as a health threat... For a reprieve,
Dead celebrities are a cemetery’s anchor tenants.
Thru their ongoing fame they bolster hasty promises of eternal life.

Yes or no, certainly. & all right.
A sunny, boyish grin [here] is remarkably ambitious
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.

“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things.”
Back I said, a piece of undertaking advice.

Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains
Deferentially. Party masks are off the board, a precondition in reprieve.

Mists of time even the score. My blood sugar (mist) is aroused. It was here a minute ago.

I sleep all night, chastened by my agenda in a stoned vein. Like everyone else I’ve got business waiting and new places to run over. Tender sprouts green and with sweat, sill alive, pierced to the root by tamarisk and peyote flowers at table, ample liquor and song. The sweetness outside not wavering in rain to any rational depth, I’ve got bed then enjoining health in my crosshairs.

109: Mind and body worship seem vicarious, false of heart before conforming to a belief system to qualify. As for my soul, I’m with you, rose.
But I like meeting new people as well as having you — that would be progress, the sum of good times — not only when our exchange occurs with the preposterously good but also with frail kinds of blood, and others, the sum of us all, all my life changing loving you. Mostly.

Nice save. There’s a title now for most anything.
The sentence: the Bruins lost squawking about losing
diagrams the opportunity.


Diagram: ‘But should we use quotation marks?’
That’s a whammy..
let me think.

By then our thought freezes

just why we reserve dopey incongruence



nested within notes to adjunct scenery,

the right tonal performance, a normative outcome.

Nice save. One of them.
Ah ‘summary’ jitters keep an eye out, a Bruins fool fence
-sitting to guard tall shapes and volumes of light

stuck on a question muttered to himself, could this really be “quoted.”

What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena — what the old world could say
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days purring yet put aside. (One dissipates the other.)

I sleep all night, chastened by my agenda in a stoned vein. Like everyone else I’ve got business waiting and new places to run over. Tender sprouts green and with sweat, sill alive, pierced to the root by tamarisk and peyote flowers at table, ample liquor and song. The sweetness outside not wavering in rain to any rational depth, I’ve got bed then business in my crosshairs.

49: Let me hold you ... or better not, I’m a defect in future law before and against your time.
If ever that time comes within my own knowledge, know, I’ll know
love is no more, no less the thing it was...
                and no cause alleged.
I raise my hand now, called to, on your part
when you scarcely greet me as we pass.
That’s how with all due respect works in both our times.

Vengeful dioramas later ..
soaking up positron equations that might italicize sex (our hobby and bent!) — annexing us to commune midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes?
Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing blushing shame / anthropological-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.

Beating rhythms in a voice for a glassy town of convoluted propaganda, repro-ed in fingered pigments. 

With handbrush and oils you can throw dirt over the charged ecology — easier to pick up, stop feeding and dis-embrace after the climate hangs up.  

Go on, as a corollary. Tell us about your reading in propositional aesthetics (debunked by snotty affiliates who you think are like you but aren’t in the least). 

Jumping in, our best bout staff, shifted or fired, come to work anyway. 

So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,
Intemperance, the flu.
Coming clean is part
Entering & staying w/in a value

That comes into you, fantastic to watch!
I won’t lie but sleep in it.

154: Once asleep I’m sick of disarming love; I’m diseased, too hot a votary of yours.

I’m sick and I take a vow to living off inflamed desire — never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil I now know approximates healthful maiden hand abstractions.. (like branding
each true heart until warmed — hotter than any other brand) ..and so hot we can take up

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

our hot remedy never cools, but heats us for more and newer cures..

It’s hopeless, my life like my sweating over you, nondestructive, unextreme. I crack up when someone mentions reincarnation, but next time you’ll pick a family from a line of tenured scientists in the non-snickering future. We on the left are depressed because ours is a classless de-corporated shtetl — no need for socialists? time will tell. Tho, maybe there’s another option?
You’d still love political verse, but with reservations because of the dirt, all the skid marks and resonance of decay, “refined by distance.” I made sure you could tell.