I hear your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion.
When it gets dark it sounds fast.

We wanted to go to
This point in reality investment, stabilizing our new office — over the ocean
w/out ‘swelter- or personal-contact.’

Should we take 
a message?  
We’re talking to what must 
be figurative breakpoints with fate and fate’s consignments. 4 walls are examples.  
 
Empty messages recall nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
  We’ll erase their message. Also 
Politic display of paranoia recommended for staying stable in an emotional tri-level.

22: Inside you

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

...praise & the opposite grow acrostic, seemingly rife, stirred by your love
for days. I tender my pen to write down what you bear in your true heart
(washes of shadows, unrehearsed, bent to your will)
— how can I be dated, the elder of us two — your breast comes alive in mine and mine in yours,
fixed in air, we stay in love, nursing love. Expiators.

Sooner or later Chickee got uncomfortable knowing the gender question has a peculiar tripwire: in one tumble of salt waves a queasiness signs on as gender is the one variable taste no one ignores, also a quest ill-equipped to be entirely fulfilled. 
Thus, Chickee is my guy.

— Let’s be fair, I’m not sure the partnership was an accident, joining boosters of equity.
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discursive fruit until only style prevails.

(Yay..)

151: Our berserk contacts squeeze topical structure into gentle shadows that are too numb to know what consciousness is.

We learnt lightly, love is too young. Yet triumph in love is slathered over all of us, even the poor, soon excluded. Axioms and other memes are what we are deft w/. So the poor-excluded type doesn’t count? I can’t tell, I wouldn’t know. Who does?
When social scientists and the proud struck their alliance, we thought this is a gross 2nd prize although ultimatums were rephrased and moral aspirations became more footloose and empirically incontestable as Seven Bagatelles.

For a recap, artificial Intelligence continues to take up ‘busy work’ leaving humans to dreams.

I color within lines. Drink? I take my latte to bed
And set it on the stand, tagged and released.
You wailed it, Yosemite. Morose I am.. and optimistic.

Our national leaders and their propagandists know very well liberal capitalism is an inegalitarian regime, unjust, and unsuitable for the vast majority of humanity.

Grandeur is a deluxe quest and metaphysical evil.

I’m not a model, I just look like one. (Helen of Troy)

We’re the only nation that flies into hurricanes. (D.A. Levy)

122: The longer I live it’s right in front of me, above all, beyond all, your gift within my brain.

There’s a glow in seconds before razed oblivion, fun .. and explosive. Wow.

Or much like staying in the now, yielding thru nature to receive you more, more of you.

An idle life abandoned. I’m forgetting about it. How?
You and I remain beyond date and time in my heart and brain. I won’t be funny or make a stab, score or tally... Every day I’ll subsist to import your love into me .. Again.

Sunshine feels like a slap in the face. 
Milling around it
was jammed.  
Thought managed to hover. Pie charts and monthly market data were no guarantee of future thrum and rumble, hey and whoa — how awful, how much are we exercising to circumvent compulsory salutes and arm flapping? I thought.

122: The longer I live it’s right in front of me, above all, beyond all, your gift within my brain.

There’s a glow in seconds before razed oblivion, fun .. and explosive. Wow.

Or much like staying in the now, yielding thru nature to receive you more, more of you.

An idle life abandoned. I’m forgetting about it. How?
You and I remain beyond date and time in my heart and brain. I won’t be funny or make a stab, score or tally... Every day I’ll subsist to import your love into me .. Again.

127: C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating ravenous yawns in fair use, and there’s some age old false connection to an eyesore we dreamed up or might dream up, borrowing a face beauty slanders. There, inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, counting inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: So many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs they flare up into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after a late lunch. 
Hitherto hawkeye ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their lucky doubles halfway, borrowing a face here, slanting a blurred promise we had there or we don’t know we had, in shame letting it almost die down. 

We’re a special team. We’re circumspect.
Our sharing mechanism (once a pretext) gives no voice
to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence
we back off from. Nightly


we face thickets of whirled & southerly winds
taking it to other investors who might stay offended,


the next step in the training.

Onto what?

139: A poem fires up photoshop. Excuse ..um..

A poem is a picture as love well knows.

That your cunning lays upon my heart...

That drowns me out, my kitten, dear heart, but don’t wound me, not

now, and never call me back to justify anything wrong.
Your good looks attract my enemies — It’s your eyes
yet glances aside — with your unkind tongue you overpower me,

kill me outright, never through anything in art. So I’m defenseless.

Also I’ve saved all your robocalls to prove it.

I’m not kidding. No more calls, no pictures, so please.

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

I’m never sure. I’m still a novice,
numb to knowing what conscience is.

Pleasure is to ethics as unknowing is to epistemology —

43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Like on 1st base at 1st touch.
Urgent, dizzy, all agreements come down to time on earth in earthy dreams, darkly bright, best seen darkly directed.

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

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

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

(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
  
That’s like the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate full clemency.   
  
What kind of government overthrow takes bicameral 
maneuvers more lightly?