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 bark, bar repartee.)

The proscenium brightens. Overflow slender. 
Is it inhibiting our endowment?   
 
Knowing the ropes now, even knowing your sub-luminous substance,  
I’m clearing my life of thin comforts,   
 
stern food pecked over 
downstage left.
‘In a way’, you said, ‘nothing saved me
until we ran the gauntlet —’

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 their 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.

Solitary dark 
when air pushes                       ..aside   
 
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
 
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  
When struck a lightning rod emits ballets of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes into itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.

[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 fully believe quite a theory, we never say it’s only conjecture.  
To translate costs a constellation or a bundle of heart, faint of. 

A trivalent bond forms at birth that delays each death.

There are two ambient music cartels as well — both striking poses with all their rap-operatic powers. De rigueur for now is writing over known injury to outrank others in the trivalence of thieves. I won’t do your religion, good day.

Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods dedicated to each of four graves.

I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness.  
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you called out. You were holding back first throbs as you forced his from the inside.     

I miss the walled city where an operator like him looks up when you arrive at this loud next step . .   

Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. 

We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with operators in them. (Ok, you there? Hi.) 

Conditions look gray — wanting you (I do), profane,
not out of calculation — how far & vast connivance
liberates us to oppose purring put aside.

In a fair coin flip, you
and I are leisure-loving. Nature’s doing.
It’s that easy
and so great I’m leaving you
my saddle in your extrication from hallucinatory delirium ..

Tho you’re still standing up front, in legacy jeans, what nature calls
trafficking with fog at my bequest lilac-dark in the air
along with offshore atmospheres yesterday and the day before.

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

This is in response to the commerce-vector coursing through pop concepts, bringing 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 are keepers of decades at night.

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

Tonal jumps signify charity in a spatial
float off...

repurposing one’s alter ego, raising stakes
according to odds makers for daring.

Don’t show us
your simple skill. Make it work.

This is becoming god’s country.
A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall

And me, my feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases...

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.

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

You don’t understand until I do.
The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
A saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

-Coming, coming clean is another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[old paranoia]

It’s open mind month. Didn’t I show you? 
Squatting in nourishing overview, there’s one-off color equation 
of a deceptive simplicity 
in love, duplicity.  
Creationism = one boyfriend better than others, believing none.   
 
Separated from a source of meditation, let’s call it, you’d be sad too.  
The source is not sad. One separated from the source is.   
 
Or of course it’s obvious.  
Sadness is beside itself.

Pickerel babes greet one another in fluent

Pickerelish. Parents want to lose their young

but can’t, stuck in schools, diagonal peach cones & rods of violet.

(As with most fish

there’s salience to nodding agreement thought-

fully.) I get all my ideas from media

studies, yet inorganic brainstorming

like this is easier-to-sleep-w/-&-pulsate

-to.

My counselor affidavit registers deficiency in discovery and revolving pretexts. All the same, hunches count. (We’ve always been competing with our selves.) 
 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters once chose Trump. Yet this is the latest case.  Everything I note here is integrated. Remember those days? Remember those databases centered on surplus insertions while Kennedy, sober on the ground, kept looking up... (Reminds me when democratic ideals could get by on appearances.)

30: Losses restored?
Often there’s near loss of a precious friend — I think of you — words we had or not — all our words forewent consequences. Our moaning sessions went bad like grief, since we know sweet woe summons up dim remembrance of the past — wastes of time.

Yet I take liberties wailing... I have a dream of fairer housing: Free-range light and dark in the clerestory to our lair... where sorrow ends. Some of us are headed there. My treat. Would you like to come?

“Stages of violence yearn for their whereabouts.
The sneakiest conditions disperse — thinking of you (had I?)
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate us to oppose lesser facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.
Without speech, intimacy is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
in addition, not a word on process.

15: It’s a day of insight, full of youthful trust, a nimbus-wet pulse — tho I’ll never feel your perfect arms around me again. Never feel the air and my skin, or wake up in your sap.. your secret warm bed, I’m done, I don’t get a chance to look at you, comment, or try again for anything, not even for something I’m not. I can’t do any better than what I’ve done for love of you.