Social progress is in a pickle.
It went cheap in another direction. Al
-most curtains for the prom fitting, a horrible mess.
The shortest path there ignited by havoc, honest
and exhausted tailors.
The dancers are perpetual winners I guess.
I wager
we win the half-eaten take-out on the table. Slashed 40%!

I have heard talent & beauty come by their own right, by your testing them they took ‘full
So this is an edit. That’s as close as I have to lush, less certain, almost-ennobling a pulse.”

We did one thing in complete common. Everyone bristled.

Other times coming to tatters oneself on the outside crawls with futures that are gimme-erotic, circumspect. (I’m just beginning to explore them.) Their symbolism weighs in as a shortcut, “I need me.” It’s a lovely tirade. (Jack Spicer)
That was times x I’m pretending to be theirs at one’s asinine behest, pet swapped, intimidating a party in conflict.

As a consequence doors open. & I’m auto-electrocuted.

The inscription read you’re my business. This means the writing is clean, architecturally intact, mirrored in meantimes.

But calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground with top notes we won’t erase, some jittery appliance in the occipital lobe, active against the ‘human grain’ when touch management is unleashed.

I’m just commenting.

The inscription read you’re my business.

Onset reminds me, great sex is immediate, overwhelming, terse & of a Castilian order. A hundred decors in one & Dame MacFarlane at the piano.
The endive bloats.
George Balanchine.

Circumvented dance:

Gestalt-like comfort in disruption is one point of a number in our seminar on Six. Together, we define affability arcs of ironic self-ridicule in a series of no-fault disputes, Six-w-x.

Any abstract attitudes get buried below our strip down to stem cells — relatively unspeaking as tho we are done with Six.
Body-snatching, the second point is you & I must rejoin the Six.

I watched U & me dreaming in economics
affecting a radius of 2 coasts.

What happened out there?
I started Latin 2 years late 2 become a classicist.

The survey said I made it 2 the 2nd challenge,
a winning session in crude instrumentation.

Looking into the camera makes this a document.
Which U are U?

There aren’t any warnings. Tensions were apparent.

Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to the co-op, wrapped in steam.

That said, the minute we get off the phone, the fog-enclosure switches back. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. Never happened.
I can’t tell you I don’t care, on the inside.

Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague change, like our plebiscite, better to pump out to voices’ grasp. A life with submerged artifacts accrues and feels like a party. I’m going to lose you if it kills me.

Metaphor and life changing commerce, cities unknown arriving soon.

Sugar Dust (you in a Bernini head transplant) brings on the knowledge effect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching the seasons float in willpower. I never understood insinuation. I never misunderstood it, either, a pulverizing divide teasing my attitude into admonitory tableaux sponged with your eyes. .

Johnson’s Pledge —
1. To be objective and lack will 
is an ambition..
detailing method as a catamaran of process.

2. Let’s feed an appetite that picks up from nature “to express things ... as they are when one sees them without remembering having looked at them.” Then we can chew scenery, committed to formal blocking in stagecraft, maintaining our indomitable temperaments.

It’s a find and a coincidence. I was a golf academic.
That time was the end of the beginning. Drop your weapon.

Since when is / are government
The cliffside?

[The first Keesha, a 13-yr-old, accidentally applied an enema containing lye. But she also had Donald Trump’s bio on her. Does or did he mention lutefisk — fish jellied in lye? Not sure.]

We like newness in a way when both leave things as they were. Like

how I graduated from this shame of ours, this pride

in the battle between the sexes? Thereto the rich won.

Can you place our names? I have a full canoe of alter-egos, asides and decorative indeterminacy. With hat, I got to anticipating mind control as disingenuous.

Misdoers — let’s say — with a kill-agenda are tickled into corruption.
Here is the place you and I may detect the language driver, untidy and young, loath
despite the foundational rule of no rule

And speaking up without permission.

You get somewhere then stop.

They grow inner living language in dim light over —

Galvanized pastels.
Spinoza acts against his own young interests.
Adoration has a poetic scent.

Reputations precede character, an act of apprehension remains
deferentially. Who will advocate toward peace, the tranquil
to empower The School of Nobody?

Our position is to find breathing room, enough so we can start over.
Whom will we discover?

I’m in no hurry. A life is charged.
Ten hut. What service were you in?
(Have to go.) My head is cleared.

Show me a locket grant once.
Once & be done. A few more should
Do the climate fast with no shining

A whole new inside to nuts & bolts, narrow & hollow in the center, along with holding on 100%
— inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, quiet in the nick of it.

Inside it’s gray.

Divided & confused, data signed
up. Data’s acoustics are ornamenting impurities of state.
There’s a container for every dataset turned on loud
so the ambient workspace hears it,
feels it in stages growing taller, striking 12 overnight.

Data feel like a great building.
Data can’t live without taking charge a few hours from now.

Act gathered.
There’s personal glamor that can only end in a draw sustained by two
getting up, stretching for an hour.

After glamor there’s power. The virus is already inside us.

What does there’s still a move to go do?
It’s just a feeling, the only unmoving part.

A sunny, boyish grin.
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.

“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things.”
Back I said, a piece of advice. Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains
deferentially. Creature masks are a condition in reprieve.

I remember when common peril was taking a supersonic flight. Wisdom lay in de Staël turmoil, a title from the ‘political’ surface as if discourse action is exercised to preserve future salient differences that belong to the core.

The again so-called establishment are working on a peril upgrade. For anything more cautionary or wishfully uncool we’ll have to shop out of the left wing. Each of us now rendered a monad and pre-mogul again — our search worked up into retrievable data of an auteur dealership; we’ll get back to you —

No contrivance or Schubertian opposition feels like glistening bouclé heating under pressure if it has a chance; our roles are to fill this in, lengthening Schubert’s insipid menace while coddling the wetlands. I call this a sex drive / minus attrition.

The wetlands work it through. Words we had and didn’t have consequences. Learned good is bad is good. It appears invisibly and as unspeakably as libido constitutes a knowledge module, aimlessly blowing in news of perpetual unitary joy...

Question.
We chose photographs along a shuttered residence, had
an interest in opulence & stratagems bequeathing our
ing great! Those brands are awesome announcing oops, they’re
digging in bins?

This is looking more prima facie axiomatic. 
The text is self-conscious in post-premodern times, centuries better to stay in charge. A common outcome, doubtless — a text’s consequences can be foregrounded in a poet’s identity and her intents, conflated with audience, exploited media, reputation, so forth. It’s all to the good, superficially, temporally — a certain category of problem when one’s success precedes the poem. 



So a critical first question for the poem is, can we start over.

*

Abandon hope, erratic celebrated fuck bunny. You are no one.

Sundial-changing sex contests a thousand bees stinging our feet
— after we polished the text and handed it in.

A headboard with no utility other than hooks.

Can we cut to the Rene part?
And the chorus is plural en scene where our fiction holds. We have no perverse incentive acting mindless taking chances, since we have already gone over it in hammock talk, too often raising a toast to the madness of it’s desperately over between straight men (and how angry they get) and how it makes us screwball over the late poetry of Rene Ricard.

Teen to older person,
cornered (not to say conned).

Hold to your decoder status that’s forever sparkled quo vadis,
meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —

Either way is a fractional
infinite in the context / e.r.

OK I see I mean
I’m done.

Guards stood tall. United in part over parcels. Now they tell you take off your belt.
The impression received is every motion serves a purpose. A higher purpose according to those hoisted in pectoral breeze. Purpose in a word is metonymic for revolting devastation, collapsing under our own glare into supernumerary states of moves, most like minor readjustments in politik on an intentional scale opposite the line-up of our voice forms. Every dancer stops mid-enchufla for a mote of a moment, and I feel better.

Then ballet natives yield to a rush of idols and new people center stage... all about the loot.

The theory,

pleasure is to ethics as Spode is to gastronomy

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

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

This is a model venture.

Months and years.. Whatever futures
The dominant guy has amnesia. Hellfire, excrement, for 200 pages..
Fire away when I say
get it done / don’t talk to me.

Freakonomics in a Trump-era world, driving toward departure from what is present in the original meaning to experience.

Classics are for romantics like the Raveonettes.
I digress: y+z (1-x) is a blind patch of petit point. Kissing is sick. It’s bad for you but wasn’t as destructive as the filching of imitation.
Anyway, kissing where you are is so blatantly filled with what it spreads everywhere completely negating its purpose.

So why does it get processed in your eyes through history?
Maybe I’m a critic who’s decided to blab about all the wealth we have coming.

The period for totalizing modern poetry doubts softness but addresses this is where we are with this.
Like you, I grew up in a Maserati.
Students, open your books

— a wilderness created deep inside the seminar, which is an organized fraud, so I’ve got your backs — they all look deep and shallow, pleasant. I lost myself.

So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,

Intemperance, the flu.
Coming clean is part
Entering & staying w/ a value

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

So if darkness “must take a wider horizon of use,” why not just be kind to actors?
En route to password assistance, astronomical and infinitesimal amounts are unsolved problems and compelling work that front-load knowledge construction to explain and reform problem sets about quite a number of spaces in and times off.

Never dine — a term of
solitude.
I stress
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho

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

You don’t even have to be interesting.
That doesn’t sound right.
Always repeat what appeals to you.

I’m captioning this Token Austerity, sleep-laden.

Copy-fitting is more profitable than deep discounts.
We need to see everything before it’s retouched out.

This is a new policy to block deletions that go missing.

It would be a challenge [a koan under
shpeless circumstances] to simplify winning a car or suffering injury
starving how?

The future would give more. No more
than no thanks.
I thought of you.

Adaptability in circumstances
is hardly effortless:
I add, Ellipses.

The will to quiet is the flip side of getting any ch-
amber piece to burble, to cry inaudible
tears for renewed power, whence
(following power) it winds up if you must know,
tranquil beneath the surface, no surplus
message. So there’s nothing to represent.

By caution as usual one could also mean caution around the Kochs.
Hence the political surface is blood sport and games, what some call discourse and action. Caution is exercised to preserve the constructs protecting access to the oligarchic core. The equation reduces to politicians = mascots.

DNA follows commands. It’s a collective.

I know this thru 3rd parties.

Sunrise. U mostly remember the oblong homonyms,

Playing back ahhh scales to pop singers —

Strains of forgetting

What they’re rocking on about.

After lovemaking, performance: the words and rhyming systems for married or unmarried.
Once you think about it, think it over in any narrative, to execute thought is itself recursive — beside the thought.

Meanwhile.
Operetta’s focus keeps an eye out, part of the knowledge industry that can consider anonymous approximations in crazy-fancy contexts plunked out on a keyboard.

Moving forward I have all of an hour to believe in sweetness made for infamous exposure (in costume).

There will always be a poem

I will climb on top of it and come

In and out of time,

Cocking my head to the side slightly,

As I finish shaking, melting then

Into its body...



— Jim Carroll

Skepticism is blacklisted by sharpened anomalies.
There is nothing left of an emergent zone to secure a prosthetic like lack of despair.

We left our module to look over the curricula.

Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..

Filming or taping = painting / reporting: imparting numeric dicta slathered across middle ground, a themeless vehicle (where we sleep).
Keep it together. Own your swarm and their jackets.
Up in smoke flames, ideal sparks glow,

A red moon indispensable for smearing the made light

More relaxing.

We got back into the van.

Park air hands out fillers in conversations you can pile on like tendrils and use on future blind dates ..

There’s no contest as every unit of life expresses the park telling jokes.

The Civilian Conservation Corps was well before our time but we see their handiwork in large cities. Parkways, gardens, even esplanades.

Public works. I’m rather excited. We’ll leave it at that.
The place was beautifully democratized.
Justice, liberty, rule of shadowy lures...
Also, it’s easier for, suddenly, you have more gardens to quell interruptions, using soft consonants down in your throat.. you’re holding firm. How many epochs of parallel scenery can vowels take?

I’m worshiping
a whole number while the full loom of higher gasses
blows town along with swervy seed pods since 100%
are regular programming that could potentially be used
again until they’re replaced.

How I think of you.

[Pause.]

During the break we reached an agreement.
The sun feels being here is enough, organizing
the community, the buildings love it over their walls,
windows and the square vines thickening into tree limbs..
Little sentences with twists look out for new ideas as well as sentences
since a common urgency repairs how we think about the sun at night. Where are we

while little sentences crop up?
How can harness rope go on climbing
vines’ drear canopy? A climb spending dawn
often against any order you keep in your head?

The sun shines larger. We rely,
really like your ideas. / O
great.

Neural bible studies are mental design.

We’ve now passed the second-cousin stage of wretchedness. You’re good to take it up with family authorities before severing the vines
tho atheism, once-removed, would be one extra reason for doubling research
on advancing shadows from fleets of buoyant stars.

Just lie.
Fast. Done.

Gimme a tummy poke, Satan.

More than one. On the third one you really have us, all over us.

You didn’t have to what the hell? We told you we agreed a little, not a lot. (I forget now what you sound like.) It’s unlikely there’s more real estate in the future and of course less. And some things you need to repeat there. In hell.
Or is it a geyser in a box? our infant sleep inside the womb / is prelude / a nano habitat exploding with party frogs! One question, what do we do with the property? If the milieu is attractive while our parents are on fire, do we take their place?

I’m imprisoned to reach market
(more below...).
Otherwise, normal project staff on the roof, smug in outfits and at the top of their game, which seems synchronized, perforated by breaking news.

Bail is personal.

Owning up I make up breaking stories.
I’m at a fake graduation.

And here’s an apple
for the teacher’s rudeness. (He caught my addiction.)
It was a straightforward proposal covered by emotional reform.

Manners of ambiguity?
To buy her lipstick.

I’ve moved off the mainland.
No unknown futures present newer phenomena.
We have no perverse incentive to take more chances as we talk thru replacement woods
geschmackvoll postdisruptive.

A journal travels, calibrated by a ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale dialectic — As it were.

(They’re both good.)

It’s shameful though to work for the state or its allies. How did Paulo Freire for one stand, pause and keep going and give up little or no compromise?

Monkeys are ironic. They can’t help it.
1/2 the crumpet
charges the total. No I’m kidding.

The install you’re acquiring fakes you out of the big game —
large stairwells mesh yet go nowhere —
for comedians

There’s efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, knitting your brow now
— one enzyme waking up isolated, it seems
slinky. I watched it and it spayed me.

Blatantly careless, docile or not, seems the new daring..
I have no idea it was handed to me
The deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning —
We should see an immaculate, engaged shake of the hand
To thank the audience, the body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.

There were missing utterances filling balloons
with the enormity of what got hooded — a dirge-y lexicon now
that cannot be considered tenurable
given cost averages —
and since your intellect seeks damages now
even while in concert, active but still missing.

Voice operated judgments — Two different outcomes equally square —

Before I could think about a white fragrance, so to speak watching my breath. Let’s try again without commas between the whereness of the tongue receding on the palate.
One, two. Together, inside voices take a few gulps then punch it out waving fingers and hands perfunctorily, no toe moves, no steps at all — freaky in bed we’re testifying for tangled waves from standard-bearers.

I’ll do what I can in cavalier terms, slim voids. Almost the same as great! yet stiff front jokes
turn over in sleep, dreams that forgive me for almost everything but paranoia’s belated audition, ‘different strokes’

trapping you if you let go while yielding authority.
Any emphasis prepares the manifold; earlier accounting systems join the 1st probability of having you to touch & subsequently empower mergers ’n exchange. That’s only half the cost of what has not been said.

Then a high school kid said I

Hey the marsh
was
god’s idea placed in a mini series.

The play was mostly about ticket holders with initiative winning the status quo from the beginning..

After the show folded we were never serious. Toys are another good idea until they cross us. We weren’t the first to do what we like & hold on, so it would take the future to adjust how how began.
That’s a rough outline.

Preaching to tenors is an art
practiced by Art Farmer.

Or you can stand by and have what you are looking for reappear
as an entire practice.

There are no stages.

For your next reading...

You sign up with realists. You start right outside, wandering the complex. You’ve been asked to stay inside with folks assembled.
Used as part of the audience is offensive.
You pass over that and ask for a 2nd date with an audience member. Soon after loggerheads are avoided with the grit of understatement.

What do you say? Bon balance, hey my.

You grow accustomed, so to speak, no name gets escalated until the focus is lost.

You have kind eyeholes.

Some had swing,
You saw that? Haphazardly

the scandal passed, hardly worth the coverage,
otherwise excellent.
Newly a couple, we got back into the van.
May we trespass? It seems relevant
if filed under filming a break-in about a file,

say “Ambient text file”;
her jaw trembled.

For all appearances nothing lurid is due at signing
It’s privileged out there..

They were saying endless tunnels, gadgets and impulse — Come,
interconnect here as Jerusalem waits.

My fingers feel an immersive element, some of it running on cleats
in an infinite series as the glow whose breathing is regular.

1800 years ago —
Philostratus was regenerating transmigration, some.

Poison, anecdotes are a way of life. He had meant antidotes, composer in this case, not the narrator. One withdrew. They just seem wound up terribly in the same horology. One in the study, the other in the art.

He has to deposit deleted utterances in surface structure to get back to poison.

Then we can drive.

If you swallow your ego luxury is great. I say no
with my eyes shut.
No meditation spanning the surface of the woods, no
massage. No smell of bullet points, none of wood. So there’s nothing to resent.

How does it resume?

Mind and body worship is vicarious before conforming to system leaks.
I’m too ugly to be molested. It’s true.

I kissed a cat. Once.

Once out of what? out of dying belief
I wrote on otherness when down (“I’ve stopped looking”) otherness came.

A sober-garish run on sentence
Lay before my head cold rumbling..

My body in the language of dunes and trash
— soba colors with melons and blues.

I’m sorry for shoddy reasoning and growth. Sorry as pieces

Of aqua and orange foam and glass.

Even more I like meeting mates’ life-changing kisses —
Kisses like odes on progress.
Hoarse for weeks.

You seem spacey in snow

When you make angels.

Hiding out for two hours snowing


You are really spacey against the snow.

The cosmos is unwilling to go far, this way or that, you said, an incriminating flight in time where a metal gate is induced by nonstop heat.
Let me grab my pen and clamber over here to the iconic ... you’re right.. this isn’t the mammoth for me. Before it closes down we’ll try far right paternalism from all nations and improve our math skills for our partners’ sexual satisfaction.... a pivot from joking to attention-grabbing hysteria!

Reincarnation roughs it, because it’s not safe to lounge at home without saying oh, wait it’s been done ..
I refuse if I don’t want to ...

I might happily have thrived in another game
Painting in oils in neoplatonic darkness. A white zinc
To follow a path out /

A green thumb trying to paint and cover
Dabs of marine titanium that oscillate
Blurring the root truth for up to an hour —

Truth releasing a genocidal collage of screens, like
Thinking in agitated waves, reproached, disappeared
In drumming opinions and worst practices

\ off the board, with no fear of falling.

Chill goes thru the window, surf rotates in
reverses like a mercurial tidal pool
filling sand and earth with water wheels at rest
as lurches of nibbling torque days into weeks..

“Stages of violence yearn for a whereabouts.
Conditions look dispersed — beeping you (did I?),
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate you to oppose other facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.

The quartet’s on a formal mission; higher
up, the mission’s part doodle / part disassociation
as a voiceover to operate microspores humanely,
stacking ideas like alembic tubes that mate
over magnets. Tubes lit with disentanglements.
Prayer in all directions.

Without speech sex is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
So few words on process.

We’re entirely for artifice, stock in trade. When J Schuyler remembers J Brainard and F O’Hara, what’s biographically accurate beyond artifice is the entirety of their kinship, the tubby, transfixing emotional sustenance that comes with love and ebullience among friends. T Towle dreaming of O’Hara seems credible as both artifice and credible proposition on similar if more ‘platonic’ grounds. L Warsh has been long licensed, so to speak, to feel and dream the turning shadows of poets as lovers present but out of practice. R Creeley evoked J Wieners alive and, to more tragic effect, vice versa. Friendship and love are components of the vetting process the onlooker or reader-writer follows to decide for herself whether a writer, beyond artifice, walks among the ardent ghosts of Wieners or young O’Hara.

We never talk about words until it hurts. What a general restatement!

I can’t win, that’s the meaning of your resentment.

More bounce for the retina to unscrew my hysteria pouring up but embarrassing, rocking like a party, losing both death and life, draping your rogue’s whip over my heels.

Sweetest of the geeks take their lessons to heart and join a special breed apart. Hoody, fucked-up demeanor and default dalliance with convention will get us to our destinations faster and more pumped. Something about / the “human couplet” / keeps me over and under. It’s a military formula, zennish almost, common enough to striving rock as well as poetry composition.

Caspar continued,

I’d rather not trouble you with my impressions of resource hoarding, so dependent on flow of daytime into dark. Shades at midnight can ‘almost’ whisper faintly but I botch capturing even a fraction of their message. My willingness to keep watch through the night keeps up only to find you granting me permission to maintain my distance. I’ll let you go then. I knew you would understand.

The skinny from last night avoids defining any parts obscure or complex.

Yet I like a text assemblage of contradictions.
Neanderthals constructed poems in two rings of deliberately broken stalagmites, 400 per ring.  

First to impress their Swedish hosts by workshopping them into volunteer flotation gear.

You can light a fire, real or not, and combatants (joined complexities) suck up to the surface for a face off.
She looked right at me.
Ask me something about something forced.

Steaming write-up, To a spiritual father in the future,

If you’d gone ahead, it may have laid a basis for discussing becoming more difficult.

New contract. Deep linkage. Bigger venues. No stress. Percentages stay constant.
Here we are — stuck in two dimensions
out of four! eating sweat! Two washes.

We went over this. We saw five drafts. The 20-60 split seems generous given evils of the present. Funny, I may call you from your mobile device or redeem coupons of yours I crunched into origami. The music and I dream with you is another 20.

No to Bat Masterson & Hamlet,
Gothic non being, lonely contexts & Goethe’s juvenilia.
No good instincts, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds
or flexible spite.

I’m not sure it’s inclusive or scrambled enough if we differentiate among them,
& besides, why be preoccupied with peculiarities?

Nobody has to talk to me. I see what no means.

Poll these opinions. No contest.

A tormented lab mix of appliance, poetics and beast, user-taxed slabs wrapped up for you and me to tear open, putting me in mind of a future photo realism, a live feed from the text base. Yes. It’s tricky coming up with good examples of authored, like-I-said, conceptual poetics.

Broken, giddy up, dead.
Today I face thunder. How to pay homage...
Bouncy. Bouncy.
My instinct when asked is to inch back
To the moody raw nation where these talks and e-mails
Jettison their own use. No half-soothing word
On top various uninvented heights,
No heights outward
Of looking into what we broke —

It’s too late to beg. Invitation only.
Toward the end of adjacent intrepidness,

You see how backward it’s got.
I suspect budgets were cut because I cannot be concerned.

The terms are, go settle down through the evening and finish your agenda
At gunpoint. Please, even heartthrobs will be covered by shrouds that fray
And unspool to tease advantage out of the plan. Imprisoning refinement.

I am of two minds husbanded into a common marriage.

I hate being made fun of.
In the interim I’ve written jokes,
All natural as clouds part — over 1000 —
The aerodrome softly moans .. it could be roars of laughter in introspection

slotted for long silent scream divisions
— raising our heads front and center.
And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a date.

How can I neck you into warming
up tomtom heartbeats, migrating
to youthful boundaries by hand
to hand in a laughing matter?

Trick question.
That’s how comedy for squares works. If it’s a question today,
Tomorrow, what’s the transition?

Reciprocating.

I felt your voice,
heard your drift —

One touch,
one orated note.

Sleep has more ideas for here and now
where everything is a right answer;
we made contact then for a time
inspired by my taking your sleep course.

No plan, we thought about speaking,
better than sleeping —

Watching you spin like sentience
“refined by distance” since that was the last of

casual contact \ spectacle,
putting my life together but keeping your drift ..

‘Even in summer, a poet works in a freezing suite of rooms, far more than a place
for thoughts to gather,’ according to whom? ‘She struggles in cold rooms for little
compensation beyond ample joy subverting arbiters of butterflies’ as in

Your new book gives me the butterflies.

I forget what really and concretely mean to nature.
My post values are so skewed I forget William Blake.
I forget historicism.
I forget the Kennedys and the Dead Kennedys.
It’s the same when I’m wearing fangs.

. . . doing the math, picking up lives within the data, picking and doing function similarly —
Similar to grand theft thru sight, thru hearing and composing from that, the vigil and force
applying an outline of youth

to your pieces, since it does not come in by itself, regardless of age —
More like river banks covered by usual, urgent

metaphors and substitutions of the time — and more salient,
you’re taking dictation, put into thinking after the math.

There’s no poetry just as there’s no estate jewelry now. It’s access prose,
no freesia, every detail historically correct — a model
for salad. When does it get tossed?

Language misprison = a high level position that’s been vacated, exposing hills
of robust greens, wholesome gains thanks to crews from IT.

Did that ever develop?
Tonal jumps signify charity in a literary
sense or none at all as unequal equations float off.. .

Modulating the self raises stakes
according to odds makers for daring.

Don’t smolder, show us
your simple skill.

This is god’s country.
I don’t know why it’s not winning.

One thinks one loves you all-purpose, all calm, never resolved,
Because you’re only one sailor, one swab

In a climate of drumming opinions and best practices —
Then there were the later figures in transit across Democracy in Action,

A refreshing reminder
For the clique-minded.

Hate loss by design. Classification = evolutionary collisions =
One’s work multiplied by adapted preferences, opposite Proustian project boards.

For a recap, 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.

The balance recharged.

We’re moving backward. We’ve been sensing this for cars are boxy or more rounded then pointed again. As participants in consumer culture, we can grab any phone if offered, but what is this cheesy line of Republicans — the misery of recidivism with un-earnest twists, economic, stylistic, preternaturally unegalitarian, disaffects our days.

One models language as living matter re-involving impulsive energy that courses through particles of appropriated intellect, especially given appearances and given language itself. I might call this artificial transmutation of intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t folk history of subjugate procedure.

Open the mic. Didn’t I tell you?
Squatting in overview, there’s

A boyfriend has no social meaning to
come on in English. Backstage he becomes

beholden within a panorama
and sweeping mountainous apex, below

Where ranges of behavior are larger
than any disbelief.

He keeps faith at the lap pool
better than others, believing neither.

One’s partner
is a doomed villain — twenty times one’s own weight.
On a second take people are defined for their video sense
by god, by sex appeal. Thank god that intimidates.

Not scat, I learned handily,
Apollonian on a fad diet, I get the feeling
god has gone one’s way.

It sucks less.
(Reflected aphids
gathering on a wall, also unanswerably,
in the hand. Whose hand? Those were
my sentiments. The last ones.
I’m pretty sure.
If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)

The glass rolling reinforces some outer carbon as I walked alone and reflected on the tons todo waiting at the office.
You shout thru the wall instead of marrying, I asked —
The tube leasing company has to be paid off.

What about parking tickets and property tax?

But that’ll be the sky over
the wall instead of marrying —

Mountains stew out the back under the sun in blistering speed.
Front and back: Ants climb blades of grass, over and over, seemingly without purpose.
Hollywood has always been a wide-open town that swallows its own athletes.

Generation service portion.
p 00, bad line breaks, no indents; p 00 bad spacing for stanzas. NOTE: when a poem goes to 2nd page, the 1st line begins at the point where text begins after the title — that is, 2nd page text is formatted as tho there were an invisible title above it..

another bad orphan

Let's now prescribe an observance of justice
for each game, all obvious bravery.

Let’s is an imperative like make a muscle referring to me.
A source of bravado is not sad. Separation from the source is.

A magnificent evening is given to no thought.
This or any separation we call the blues, shyness,
meaning frame and ligaments hold feeling, no source.
Feeling is not sad. One votes sadly.

Sermon on a Twinkie:

Tranquility of the presence
symbolizes conquest that feels great.

Presence in its wake gathered late,
“knocking down” stultifying dead flame.

Victims cohere intermittently
as victims
Of deceptive simplicity
within love’s presence as well as pride, deceit.

Playing with tonalities, how funny you are..
There are chords he kept inside.
Between description, silence, a periphery.

There’s no description I can give,

No way to rhyme hiding on the loose.

Chords take on the air wondering how high an apartment we can get.

Keep to an order, to begin —
Is it the broad-armed approach you took

Erasing most of marketing, most

Specificity that seemed normal. That



Wok breakfast chef, man

Standing off across

Your altering my whole outlook!
Compression is particulate and coarse-grained. But —
It remains
Both our voices have to grow

Until I know you from a prior life or loss.

Loss of pain penetrating like moral gelatin
That pressures, crushes ourselves

Whole.

A poem fires up photoshop.

A poem is a picture — I read madras glow
Coats — albino kittens hitting crescendos annoying cringing robots.
Drown me out, speed bags. Drown and kiss the cleft, sanguinary as dissolvents —
Making lock up toxic.

What a night! No problem
I slurp eating what’s reflected in your mind.    

Milk white saucers containing light — ergo
The dreamboat approach never grows stale.
You just don’t patent it.

Paradoxical tissue is still not perfect, living unlocked, but scrunched for breakfast,
it dawns on me I am covered with bacon reform. That’s why I went for consensus over these flamenco-glued-to-cable partitions!
They’re in place as a lorem ipsum dolor sit
taken of the whole sector before repro-ed onward

offhand.. rather like a jigsaw
that gets unsolved.

Something as broad as symphonic latitude will be hand lettered; this is guaranteed
so time is disguised as an inner harbor to cut the glare from
coastal space.

Space doesn’t know we’re looking...

She’s slowed us down a rose to furnace the pace

for full positions in another trace or matter.

The mailbox happens. A man’s voice, game, calm, also nervous. Protecting a sleep-laden vessel of dreams threatens it. Everyone knows we are never better aligned at night.
Scraps and parts of rope out of here..

Nesting austerity is neatly poetic, dignity eating.

I bet in the future we have no mail from here
and now. We’ll be on site.

Far out encore: One presumes the elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained will to dominate the unknown, much as technology funds science.

The technology of capital. How did Auden begin? Green song of ourselves...

From Iraq, Africa, Brazil to Hiroshima, Syria, graphic measures of tragi-comedic obliteration.

All this time Buddha and Buddhists are different things.

Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter — an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.

They’ll have us over when life and death crack some heads of automation...

Hi cute girl in black hat that works here.

Videos melding media. / These early ones are w/out turning
words.
Un-wending, emmmmm. ..

What blows you more away than a curl of grass to assess the new spring?
returning then to a friendly caveat for the melder,

Pal,
Your ‘work-arounds’ dumbfound sarcasm w/ common sense and vernacular variables.
That’s everything, a verb, noun phrase, enclosed ..
The prose poem has changed due to English.

Whew! chewing to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties, dentists

Hanging out in unusual white corridors

Suggesting you’re still trembling, owing to


The chew off, just a short chopper ride

From the bank and trade. All vegan, the chew..

Time for a rabbit out of this or that —
                                           *
                                  Urban attitudes from that
                                                                                           La-Z-Boy.
*
A life is charged by the tasting menu.

Once you sleep, you take up the ‘thereabouts’ pattern: still, it’s not overrated, I whisper to you, falling myself for reincarnation roughing it ..oh, wait we did this already..

There is the shameful rhyming of Sue with the next end word, Reno, ripped from the lucky pick songbook as is most every line there or here; well then, PS, there’s a masterfully silly Stanza 2.. spins the entire ‘enlightening’ arc on its heels, forcing speculation — unstable PS — that’s you — is not only cooling off but looking into and out of the eerie, pathetic cartesian axis of ..

Stanza:

To recover what takes over mid-grin:
“You saved my life. I’ll spare yours, for
Now.” (He’s trained in her language.)
“Are you sure you’re a supreme being?”
You and I detect a trap.

She’s shooting a catastrophe getaway
Capturing sea externals, filming in ways
She’s creator, director, an eco-critic and it’s hard to manage
Her staying alive placating death spirals to disengage —
“Don’t shoot much more, that’s the plan!” she said, and “we’d
Feel mortified, overexposed we’d feign ignorance,” aiming for
Parody, other moments to hang back from rampage.

To teach a lesson sinking into inaudibility
“a poem with fewer pictures looks better.”
You may have expected more

yet every phrase from the past is touched by your future.

This is tomorrow before the cart.
The vapor’s portrait all for it, both arms..
You’re welcome, Mr Speaker.
You and I constitute the unmarried Non-Group playing along, a wild shot
in a ritual to outlast how nice that would be.

First block, Comm Ave & if you go, dress down — anything aggressive looks terrible.
Capacious anxiety, yup, again —
Hold to your decoder status
When done run off with your belongings —

Back to the South Shore.
The journey feels made up so all of us can live by ourselves without being alone.

RM Rilke talked to whom?
I rank his output very high, 10.
Off the scale, 10 or more to exaggerate
(if I could, hmm).

Duino. No lacunae needed, Rilke’s asyntacity sets an extreme standard atop its
chaffron and crinet, maximally tall, looking down over his sprawling,
immersive, dark and smoky project-for-good, 10.

My wish is you succumb to mezzo logic

even if your other car is a broom.

That’s top of the mind. Morning has two or more parts. Pieces whose lengths alternate between eight lines, here,
snaking around ‘our entire cultural orientation is on its heels.’

Morning darkness can be brokered like any morbid trend you can see thru :

An alto saxophone, no berry sorbet and you may figure prominently.

To cheat the fates “should be” marries your projectile. Welcome back.

Aw, come on, try an exercise in subject-mood agreement.

Then Alexander went blabbing to his dark lady, oh, I’ll steal what thou bequest because we can substitute here and there. We’ll call it modern English.

And not being Alexander I can’t add much. The ache of summer is palpable, and night is falling as snorts of derision dampen my naïve representation of democracy.

Squandering the opportunity —
I didn’t have to what the hell?
Living requires
alternative means for the puzzled trot,
the smell of being in a raw shot from every progressive angle.

I'm winding into a reliance on hardworking pleasures, broccoli, incense
and rumbles, open plans, open lots,
and this most generalized, I guess,
burning, turning up.

Everyone needs a secret life.
I got the idea from going to church
And not believing this.

Methods for substitution include straightforward word shifts within text that is otherwise not disruptive — intra-textual cuts and pastes, say — as well as extra-textual processing of found passages, more often now digital copy and hybrid processing from search algorithms, remixed with other types of found or authored material.

To employ terms like ‘authored’ or ‘intra-textual’ is to risk not paying enough attention to the bigger point that cut-and-paste pastiche has evolved into a vernacular strategy for disruption, including wrenching formal droplets from their generic management.
Poetics of the last decade or so continues to foul up methods and standards. A direction that looks facile and promising is genre-swapping, appropriating and incorporating whole chunks of alternative discourse within plain speech, (rescanning other people’s suffering, one readymade example).

Surprised, we stood and talked for while until, with Giuliani-ish aplomb, his stand-in lifted the tarp and showed it to us.

A bog of cloudburst capsizes, disabused of clouds, 
blending in, no longer exterior to land 
untrusted and tenured, a heavy rain 
snapping into randomness.

Rough framework: A giddy notation to a story.

Visual like abstract blurs formally at odds,
Split seconds in a bigger act with no data.

*

Speaking of the cultural moment, the contest before poetry groups (there are no schools today) is both to amplify their message and mute opposition. The muting part is by far the easier task, and it is what prevents them from becoming 'schools.' For as the term implies, a school maintains a social-intellectual posture that not merely speaks but amplifies the moment. Contest is a rough framework (see below), around which we can begin to pick in's and out's, flawed as in narrowed, slighted, restricted on either side.

2018: We chose theoretic photomurals for the candidate’s political subject matter —
Not his chin, but a jaw that extends fuzzyas a lantern ..

Pull over, this is serious.
Quiet desperation, the flip side of formalism ...

Oh domestic servant, poet, heck, oh chanteuse
I’m your doorsill to walk on and lick in anguish..

Text disorder can acknowledge and arbitrate some of our convictions.
The crisis is now. Form is not an object but activity, an explosion,
channeling a non-hegemonic pulsing in each glance — a name burned..
to a crisp. Smile. Shall we?

(The lord’s will tilting my ribs reflected aphids
gathering on a wall, also unanswerably,
in the hand. Whose hand? Those were
my sentiments. The last ones.
I’m pretty sure.
If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)

I don’t know that much about you, but you remind me of someone
who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling fear.
Half a day goes by and still you resurface.
You are unattainable.
You are hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

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

On a second take kinfolk are defined for their good sense
by god, by sex. Thank god that intimidates.

Never scat, I learned squat, handily
Apollonian on a fad diet...I get the feeling
one’s god has gone one’s way.

Yes or no to tokens, symbols and their prototypes. Yes or no signs. Yes or no to feuds, grim ball-bearings. Forget but never forget protestant vulnerability. And yes or no rodent names, tufted scopes. No yet also yes to poems living a life as a masterpiece, addressing a doormat standing an inch off the casing, a fourth-up past the itch out of everywhere but nowhere, nothing or all. Yes or no tempo of glyphic turmoil grounded into dotage and torpid incision in not one vowel or all of them — yes or no prophase for pensive description. No to yes there’s insatiable shine.

Death by
a) mixed nuts
b) occasional manifesto
c) serial paeans

Unapplied sketch.

Home base, hierarchal Finland: say it’s working through the population.
We’re the entire crew. The socialist’s way.
Two smoky dogs tracking our boots in drizzle, shining from sight, playing by stacks of storm windows in restless composure translators can’t reach.

Last or llth hour w you:

If you
weigh nothing
and get no credit, no
spectral, tiny swaggering to cash in
yah there’s a substitution agreement containing you
and me in force, pulled on from inside.

— If dear, and oh yah asleep / awake again, more than once w/ a face of a poet. Or a filled out line. Or lines. Smiling lessons.

Parable’s silver brown hair is replacing blond streaks, according to a flier.
I picked up in the same place my soul is a hypothesis. A blowfish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy her wiggly self. Since we live in new enterprises and ecologies, we begged her to learn to swim further and stick with a nearly sublime topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding Beethoven in C flat helpless.

Can we construct the weather to circle bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?
Yes, I think we can. Those seven now under the weather quiver to sleep, resembling one another trembling.

Pine assembled.

Work desk:

A magic marker for hill figures / naked waiters like ours
— can’t forget most of the staged livestock
winning best of beasts off the street.

Also a hoodie surrounding irrational vacuums in conversation

running out of — you can guess.

As ‘you make a profit, remind yourself...’
the president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting
esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a punning bone, also merciless. Really
his movies remind me of tin futures & allegiance to the ice
ants swarming as mind controllers sidle away —
The earth is not the earth but has strength and balance and Duma
unanimity. Each winter corrupts the exterior.... hackers like poplars attaining their
ultra field and stream, doing a job shunned by most, showered with tips.

Just saying
Spontaneity backs up position vectors.

Woe is paralytic.

I can’t postpone it.
A tongue in his ear driving noise into a lost history of pioneers and ’kissin’ cousins in lines of duty. It’s quantified; what does that mean?

The two-man cabin five flights down.

Sleeping with you, I’m blackmailed looking for a mnemonic to store in a palindrome.

In order to pass thru there’ll be at least a few minutes of interesting, then more of inter-interesting.

The oasis filled w/ triangles, throats & you Poe!
volatility weighed, vibrato banshee-d.

Mellow landscape:

On earth bodies of work change motives for raisinets 



to stay fresh, even when a tectonic plate jumps up like under
Slaver mandolin spades.
I can see it happening, a con on the brain
where data get processed in fewer and fewer dots,

clinging to like objects, bourbon and mints.

And down in fog shoes... here’s where I lost them. (Ever 



-yone does.) Not just me. Clouded yellows ennoble the sky taking over



a closed gas station hungry for similar events.

“I don’t like it, and I’m sorry I ever had anything to do with it.”
*
I tend to have to agree with you.

Step Five (ok, I hardly get to do this one): I start nodding off admiring invisible gamma material at some teeny level of existence. I can imagine a spontaneous disintegration of same until I find myself in a place like here, only a ‘half-life’ where speech is still material.

I like what you’ve done.
I shouldn’t have taken the rooms unmoored. I’m watched over waiting as tho an eternity in silence that bore rainy days, crawling ceilings, flying. Shhh, children bow.

Data: 7 lines.
It’s very un-Chinese.

New York New York! Spock,
stream of consciousness from an enemy of
I owe you an apology. That’s what I’ve been giving you. Bed -ridden after I screwed you and joined society. I rose to the top. I am so ashamed
I think missing possesses proof.

You want an open divorce.

I am thrown into an absolute — take a wild guess. Moolah, piles of it stuffed in holes carved out of planet Earth, stacking up with such speed it reflects us as we advance toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about.
Honest accounting disappears like functions of context (divorce procedures) —
as though all is well with our stats, as though we never knew the cosmos on a first-person basis or forgot the name of the enslaved for vampiring the engines.

Meaning I am ready.

I’m going to take my inside voice ... over
...over here I have hidden leftovers to
twist in hot leafy acreage. Degree mill acreage.
‘Come here, get out of here..
I’m out of here..’ other seminal poll data...

Excepting beauty’s habitual use that forces a runoff, I’ll be moving out soon. Moving to a wilderness gathering far from the seminar, which is an organized fraud, I say.

I’ve got your back, doctor, familiarly strange and pleasant. I’ve lost myself. Thanks.

We were dangerous, once. The voice is transparent, too middle aged to make it sparse. Even restraint is wishy-washy. A lake in your basement doubling, you’re too aquarist and prodigal to feel anything. It’s a place angelfish enjoy their revisionist’s view, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.

Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises.
Never enough rest or work-out. Propose the synonym.

Longhand example:

Anguish over a panel about reasoning and not writing anything down, angst in its emptied refraction dancing on a taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence) on a muddy sidewalk.
So that’s one.

To be on all sides of a single man

Side streets lead to hourly weather, to the power grid

the rust fabric of walls about to be torn down, the danger of falling temperatures; they did.


I’m writing for one reason alone, to sound an alarm (a big hot light).



Duly of course not sounded.

I try not to be serious.

The mailbox happens. A man’s voice, game, calm, also nervous. Protecting a sleep-laden vessel of dreams threatens it. Everyone knows that as we have never been better aligned at night.
Scraps and parts of rope out of here.

Nesting austerity is neatly poetic, consuming dignity.

I bet in the future we have no mail from the here
and now. We’ll be on site.

We came from coming back
running on a cult classic with breathy folk components,
listening and showing we both are here, one part

synergetic Weltliteratur giving less weight to fantasy —

another I guess is where we part ways.

*

You then I change very slowly with a shower curtain,

on televised football. Management didn’t yell

raising your pulse rate. Or is it just to remind you?

Tattoos first, second, his hair.

The plot leaves the door to irresolution ajar —

Guess what, the grabber is un-bolted down in sections like a rattle
spinning to take effect. It adds an all night ring to it, id est,
to our narrative, the needle breathing hard, leaving the hole
open to irresolution,
to set up availabilities for picking up the dissolved thread.

Coat of arms:
There’s something to mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating / replicating Dionysius for the evening drive.

We’ve now passed the second-cousin stage of wretchedness. You’re good
to take it up with the authorities before severing the vines.

On second thought, call me Frackin’ or Stinky. I shook you open and I obey.
The herd rushed to the rescue (there’s a deadline), a tumble of inventions, an ambush
— a weakening of the night today — one body in the night — one enzyme waking up isolated, seeming overnight..

A kimono has been entered, explaining sex without thinking, and with. It explains our slender objectives wearing each other’s fragrance, weakening the night body.

To Caspar,

Ghost buds in the twenty-first century are glazed in sentiment.

So you get it now, assigning you to our planet to feel cathartic
is dimensionally impossible. You’re dull. Rather uneducated.
Shine and velocity for all us living!
Sap is flowing top speed.

How do parallels threaten a referent on an unknown page? Or which breed is best?
The front gate won’t front coming into its weather future..
Mr Fox Now.. or his surrogate intruding a week later, his emptied refraction applied
to my taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence).

Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.

Have a Bud.
I treat our sect thermos as a norm to trade
finding order in play divisions and muscle octads
glinting with swapping.

The ideal Cupid fell out of place in a man’s body


but staying in the picture. Voice changes and all.

A script doctor from Flintstones drew the curtains to reveal Mad
Ave where people pass by, walk-on roles in her dead end window.

Cheerleaders knock themselves out, tied together in women’s swimwear.
Odd, one has not learnt it’s scripted.



The street, a cul de sac, casts shadows
over ATM maps bringing more into the live swelter.

Two Spanish-speaking women try new salads.
The contours.

Light exchanged positions. A party to you.
It felt good how it broke down the room.
We say party is one axis of favoring and feeling more
but less than seppuku —

(Party is just one axis.)

1 enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...
breezeways to enter then exit self sponsorships
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —

Skilled decor, de-simplified or notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies without precedent —
a corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax.

Nice beachfront but there are fewer
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! — metaphysical.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.

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

When both go there are too many ways around it sung.
The wave gave lip on
The Neck floor. It goes for gladness reasons. No
one you know, seals go too, mourning the orchard rounds.

Simon itemizes facts.
Do you like spiral staircases?
Or to be bubble-footed in dark briefs!
None of the above!

Fat, never satisfied,
we come from creatures far back, slowly calmed
by fear we were of a kind they were to others, lacking
redoubled patrimony and sounding-it-out tools.

Distribution adjustment has those to spare..
Adjustment previews and rehashes tasks with new ones coming in,
who are layered —

(If you or Simon puts off how ambivalent distribution is

we’ll have to give points for stupid generalizations —
you and I don’t know how to task down on behaviorist beliefs.)

I’ll do what I can. It wears on me.

Here’s my side, since you never asked.
The moon at this phase could be the clearest abstract debacle to date −
anagram of appraisals coalescing, a typecast

notarized in the spry travelogue almost ten years ago. You wrote
the subject headers. And the soundtrack wasn’t ugly

yet not to everyone’s taste.
As a guest or host I admit

“France is imaginary if...” Those very words saved me or words like them as many times as topics, not qualities, opposing denial of healthcare, unless there’s no risk, and again, I’m full of appropriated superstitions and everything. Everything if.

Smothered abstractions. Another day, slim odds. Almost the same as hopeless, yet different jokes turn over in sleep, dreams that forgive me almost holding the moment but for paranoia’s belated audition trapping you if we let go while yielding authority.

Received pronunciation foregrounds style but
How can a vampiric selfie be less sadistic than ad copy from Dyson?

We’re both bat shit over historical fantasy. Well, I enjoyed it.
Bowie’s on Netflix. What does he look like now? It’s ok to impart?

I admire his pronounced snaps of skepticism, obsequious, sharpened anomalies.

An etude like celebrity.

Trading down, can you place our names? You miss the point.
I have a decorative indeterminacy wearing a terminal degree, while I got to anticipating how ambivalent I am about Suffolk.

Unlike the head in a head, third-rate supreme courts are traded from the top; time to find fortune underground, in roundish coiffures north of town. As noted last century, there’s the rustic perp for a painter style and muddled cool.

“Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”

Destroy and smooth nothing.
Imitate killing seeing
the system.

Mind control is a full canoe of alter-egos, disingenuous.

G forces gathering momentum in shade —
Midnight dining, rambling
later like deer in bed, shiny
in smoke.

Seagulls catch sparks and birches tear
thru passive groans uttered to affirm fajita
in snatches, opera and shush...

The coding is simple, your Fearsome.
Your voice is full of loot, “walking Genet
on a diamond leash.”

All this time Buddha and Buddhists are different things.
Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter — an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.

They’ll have us over when life and death crack some heads of automation...

Sex has nothing to do with sex.
It’s a joy problem, love let go on a technicality,
The dichotomy produces a smooch-punch

Per bantam partisans in calculated terror
Toweling off ready for the next bracket.
Boxing’s hospitable. We’re not that stupid.

Don’t throw the right brain out with the

a) baby
b) broth
c) plywood boards

When I hear topical shifts forward hidden risks it’s iterative, baroque in other words
oh yah pulled awake again.

Baroque style is the 1st to get a grip and hold.
Mr Peanut twisted again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. On the other hand, what choice did he have?

Considering the birdlike monoplane gliding away like ten fingers, I’m off-on visualizing critique
as poetics done by hand. A thought cartoon I initiate:. The off-on hand switch serves as a drawbridge to ethnography. When the bridge is open, Waiter,

there’s a figment in my soup. The quartet’s on a mission; higher up, wait staff’s part doodle /

part association we can void

as we have a hoist to operate disentanglements by hand.

Sobriety, not mine, makes the case for / against boredom in composition, that is, in the poem-making venture. Boredom? Blame it on relatives, the empire-prone who ride escalators up and down the Radisson nearest you.

Down here a comb is passed to a baldie
To the sounds of mountains and friends.
Sociologists are stepping up and nodding off
Under the influence of futon cramps and similar cars
Full of pouti debs and elephant men,
Dostoevsky wrote.

I got a grip on the heebee-jeebees.
Times are an outrage. Good times, lean, treason’s treason.

We’re tracking theme thru anxiety —
for prejudice damn well plays a formalist bias,
a tradition of selfishness I’m loosely not interested in.

Tax breaks for the wealthiest keep it humming.

To look is also —

we note now at the end to physics-oblivion
— to be seen.

Thru drizzle stepping over water, balloons floating
In a once swimming pool.. spurts of views down
Hallways of stairs set apart and fronted
With music waking in dimming brightness
Without memory of how you got there, you.

The one state is jaw dropping. Suddenly government turns away from independent public scrutiny.
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy.
Today’s game harnesses breathless slurs to insert alterations within argument’s force and structure, redoubling in silence.

Argument is a figure of speech, already shrunk to pellets of distraction against heavier armor just before the death of death.

Father’s Day for the dead? hold on
I’ll put you
on greenish “pallor enhancer.”

Granddads breathing around us, sweating under a river of supportive skin
that flows on,
wakes up for compliments ..
What’s your problem?

I’m too ugly it’s true..

No counterarguments.

(When I can’t

sleep I can’t

dream.)

I’ll try self erasure or received piety, different things to flesh out, text.

What is first cause?
Your very breath, very now too close to you, on you
finding my direction as I thought of you —
so it never happened.

Does it pencil out?
Sharp point. I may have torn up the text again (though torn from my mind — you still gloat and fool around in my semen.)

Allowing no pleasure from coercion, crossing heights

The show was called; I’m sorry the rain spat.

(I’m sorry it was really hard for you back then.)
Yes. And your voice tends toward stridency.

Good point, syntactically empty. I’m sorry thru the text.

Cloistered, possessive habits flatten into praxis
— tho it’s instinctive to watch who’s singing
I get no points jumping in or off.


It’s just synecdoche leaving not sharing to chance.

Take a wild guess —

It’s a classic knife-in-the-back suicide..
for a good time undressing gravity gets to be a habit but police are still baffled.
There’s efficacy speaking clearly, gesturing, knitting a brow,
just commenting for now.

Everything belongs... related thru stress.

Non-linear process (formerly progress, one kind), implicit co-branding of public domain utterance, hysterical strings (upon strings) of surprise, skilled narrative downgraded to parish bulletins, text-snatching and re-assembly lead on. In “Was That a Real Poem or Did You Just Make It Up Yourself?” Robert Creeley observes, “As a poet, at this moment [1974]...I am angered, contemptuous, impatient, and possibly even cynical concerning the situation of our lives in this ‘national’ place. Language has, publicly, become such an instrument of coercion, persuasion, and deceit.” Sure, though keep in mind that sentiment, along with this very sentence, is a set of ad hoc thematic pointers.

In the process something like an orange cloud enters the locker room of the essay. This is the middle section where Jorge Borges is transported to the essay’s ‘character’ to do the interfacing, theme propositions in your own words. Form as script.

Gustave Flaubert did not have a script, much less digital media, and the word ‘hysteria’ does not occur in the text of Madame Bovary. For his time, how informed he seems in connection with emerging appropriations by psychopathology. It’s an early manifest of a viral cloud in our terms. By now every sentence in MB can be re-assembled into a poem, I think this will be found out.

Stan is the man, a legend;
it’s “OK” Stan explains,
we’re all Buddha’s fault.
He isn’t kidding.

More than a god or a three-in-one, a god’s pup
fills in quantum entities on a not-
fully-occupied terrain, terrain, I repeat, “on
pause.” This is space and time —
Whew — you think of puppy paws
as your head fills up with the stickiest
most adorable pup jpegs filled out
in dissonance for street lights hum

and flicker


and ……


and


emotions
Stan aims to lay claim to and
protect for his own.

Living in an urban sandwich,
tomorrow or the day after takes out what’s here,
it’s in the doing log, down toward the end. Even if you see
spoilage as natural you might sense a hidden hand (vengeance).
Those who argue grow untimely.

2 out of 2 observers were cut off. Innocent men on a wet
Highway, casually substituted.
During the break we reached an agreement.

Autobio: Peace, justice, ecology, all upilifting.
That’s not to say there’ll be no food.


But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently
— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-


Per sacks. Imitation spinner features,
striving for positive letterform

abstractions speed processed
but that alone is wearying.

You cannot do this job alone — an intuition.
Or perspicacity.

Onto what?

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


we face 10-to-life thickets of cloud & southerly winds
taking it to other investors who might stay offended,


the next step in the training.

The sun, authentic each day, is too direct, preferring disorder
beside a confection of labs, East Cambridge..

Obliqueness shows up around access to felt

authority. It’s fair if you can’t say why.
The new job title appears un-urgent & you’re evenhanded getting back here.

This is an essay forgetting that mess nevertheless. I’m searching
new categories to enter in with you uninvolved.

New pressures during a break from bodyguards.
I enjoyed it when the vertex saw you off.
Later we got dressed
for golf and congregated in the face with peers.

Starting at the bottom, the face is inside a very powerful camouflage (instructing us to use it).

Some species are both dead and alive.

Likewise, soiled oceans re-wild deserts.

 And minutes after a comedia collects.

 Yet all our props are value contingent.

“Indebted” you may think sounds offensive and depraved — down where
“forgive me” and “accept me” weave around power lines, owing.

Bed landscape:

Artificial snow more than rewards the spike downward hooping, de-branding in its best cursive; plastic sleet identical, available now, as an all-ski diet.

“A solid base” cited in the last runs as little more than snapping into randomness as TV descends from snow to slight representations foaming in an imagination. I do not have license to bring in blood.

I’ll be there where I leave it —
under a trope for snowed over bonhomie clarity collapses in artful climax, torquing with disaster tv on, volume up, backpacking beautiful goods.

You and I:

I see our satellite tag underway.
I see a foreign road crossing that boasts diode lanterns blinking at dark ends off imagined blades (of ovulation), a dungeon then holding hardened fire unobstructed by a cause other than war; you see. You know who you are.

Dark faces us, doubts, pleasant things.
No tedious film but activation in horror!
We heard from the ‘producer’ under his own rubric
that I guess is also icon to her intensions.

And yet stuck at this end I’d settle for a short story
like a cookbook. Staying within lines.

We’re feeling besieged, a little called out
in the meaning of no revolution now.

There are statements of facts
And those of law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order.

The young gain on the old, those that would,

Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years. (That’s the renaissance.)

Visceral poetics. I’m sure there is such a thing, although my own in-body experiences fall under a broader rubric, somatic poetics. First reading H.D. (in eighth grade) set my fingers tingling. Reading Donne and breaking down how conceits interlocked parts of the argument fired up in my brain-body, but I don’t remember where, precisely. (This was at Latin School.) I delved more deeply into Keats before college, but his ideas were dreamy concretion, to me, and I don’t think I “felt” the verse so much as “saw” it. At this point, embarrassing I admit, I wanted an amalgam of Keats and Donne. (Girl, was I anxious.) I felt poetry under my skin first listening to Kenward Elmslie read in Cambridge. Boom boom up and down the limbic cynosure. I still feel it, reading him, Ceravolo, O’Hara, Li Ho, Sei Shonagen, Stein, Coolidge, others.

You and I detect a trap.
We misdoers with a kill-agenda.
Nevada news reports ancient astronomical devices date back 20 minutes. “They’re much smarter than we.” We’re listening to soft rock going to hell to make a difference, waving a flag for all genders, parody breaking up chaste Peggy Sue.

The disease gathered in the kitchen at the office.
Democracy is a charity case. I have checklists from television.
It’s beginning to come undone, a lesson-fraught age.

Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane senses. (And all we did was tie up our shirts.) This is how contingency shows up in geometry practice.
It’s a well-funded fact eye-contact is defensive but our strategies shoot for contents. Self defense has grown old — that’s the dilemma. Look away, we seem to be intimating..

This is how we appear in college texts, models of therapy that’s para-situational. We can’t go on but it’s our job. Inconceivable it seemed that way.

Trump investments.

Absence of thought rules for a higher authority. Top markets are filled to their edges with intricate crosshatches over pastel word clumps, busy yet retracted, almost ambient absence of coherent thought. The soft vellum pellets change our impression a bit. A busy, contingent thoughtlessness that’s slimed, maybe.

A social democratic government is not that hot.
But we have no regrets the I-origin point is narrowly within earshot.
It’s already installed.

Off to the side, keeping their posture, gymnasts escape!
A redo of what we were afraid to.

When blood types were fresh no one was blamed. Now I am and I would like to see or set up the 1st position, be shown the dissolved needle and my as it were haystack with no frontiers yet under wraps, knocking the moment down with glances, nods, inspiring small talk..

How now, the anapest.

Domestic metaphors: our rooms have nothing to say, they are in Iceland, visceral contexts.

Going out and doing cold things in your face for a while —

it’s a lost art.

I forget remembering more. I render I’m selfmade in spring and cairn-headed, unembowered by overnight counselor affidations.

It’s easier now going out doing things you don’t know.

Diva writes,
My leaving office is double edged as I am prone to off-center my impenitence about ‘the what’ we don’t get, the known limits to affirm any retraction, winding into a reliance on hard work, pleasures, plans, and this most generalized, I guess, one shoulder hitched higher, to name names but allegorizing ‘the what’ — it happens.

It’s nothing personal.

To a liberal democrat,

You need to work on you own party and platform. It’s calmative blending in with nonpoets off and on, video vignette artists, others indistinguishable from scientists.
After work you’re human illuminated octane, in radiant shirt, no sleeves and sweat pants. Or maybe not. Your heart is non-music-industry.
Solitude, confidences, learn times in the day, the plays and valentine paradigms.

Space between each face adds up as you say waiting, keeping eyes glued to the platform.

I go for the moody and unexpected.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and below, unlikely yet

I put my name in. Am I fit for the scenario? Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. I found so much of what you say emancipating, but the data are hardly unadulterated. You’re driving me nuts.

I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.

Maoism.

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

A heyday of hands.

Nobody to be trusted. Modest in that perception, eh?

I keep at it tho moral bases are gnarly, more a helicopter in spin. Any panorama you enjoy leads to ‘representative fantasy’ or a real fake apposite, blocking open view, requiring accommodation to time squeezes that look on purpose, tho cyclical, ‘unlovable’ (according to Wilhelm and Baynes). But conflict is not merely evil if it lends focus to self regard and moving on, moving collegially. This is the potential utility of bachelorhood.

Do you downsize? Can you?
kari edwards: “...mercury poisoning / abandoned
to loading docks door prize / all well meaning
track homes.” P Inman’s Echelon hairnet thumb-nailed
into one agreement beset by red-tide warnings,
hot, dizzy, the environment calms down, thirsting,
incapacitating northeast beach personalities, split,
calibrated mostly by a ruckus-like technology / outreach
where all the jazz wears off.

« tout le jazz se dissipe. »

... the rookie is burning on the outside, his only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy of theology, wealth and actionable conditions, missing
how far you are beaten into their projections.

One’s confusion is a proof we can diffuse.
We’re in a passage leading to blockage.
No one can help an angler that should lend support, failing to.

Some of the passage so collapses, not to declaim but there’s moral drought. A punt. Get used to it or go home to switch tackle.

Lao Tzu (Zi): The follower’s flower name is hooded, part doodle & part I’m not sure there’s no use.
To set up a phrase after the follower is to hit the complement of blunt geometric form. And it’s clear which side is for spectacle.

So I get the timing right away, it’s about a few seconds ago —

If he can or if he wants,
what you said is partner of it.

Learning about how to learn can be neat (also fatuous) even if your power won’t count when we go away.
We have to trust you on these matters. One apiece.
We’ll provide all the paragons on screen. When you come to a 3-syllable you don’t recognize, you can just look down and see its CUNY disentanglement.

As we advance, there are 44 hundred thousand voice-to-gifs along with multiple systems references from within.

These will be memory triggers for plagiarizing a response while materials become more germane, less error prone, building on what’s been said.

1/2 sonnet to the people at Boeing: since the poor make us sick
— stuck, instead, learning plane facts by heart in capsule surveys
: tempo noncommittal (not nothing) if you don’t inhabit what you’re saying,
shhhh ...

Do you own your own names? It seems relevant after all
if filed haphazardly under filming a title about a file,
“Ambient text file,” say;
her jaw trembled —

You’re welcome, April. Plugged, tall, slim,
Aggrieving.

We’re in public space, an elevator or the hallway. We think
Mining data still has a bigger future than trigonometry, many floors
To appropriate then publish recipes we began tinkering on.
Life wheels. We borrow the ephemeral Triumphs as April questions
Conventions, boundaries, and syntax. April exits. Yay.

There are a 100 butterflies out of sorts in what’s wrong watching even one or two spin like mediums,
happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.
The collapse of spinning it better is.. no, the aim changed, functions bounce.

We can build something better.
One can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun,
seething too, proportionate to the open space.
The smoke is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified with ozone.
The whole firebox glow yellow
wallpaper engages on.

What if I am a drifter returning with this season of enthusiasms, could you still ‘like’ me, could you choose ‘I liked it overall except for you?’

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time.
We also = I. This is how a toy psyche writes more conscientiously touching
on a couple of endearing dual roles in an algorithmic yet also-conscious translation;
desultory of us to read and reread brutality extending to our one body under infinite
ceilings, howling for the first time —

Part 2.

You could mourn in / out of this sketch for better seating. J Durante
Workshop. Much essentialism, rage, method, recurrence.
Hanks you’re sure is Stanislavski’s man, a rooster and a
Bastard on the beat. We discovered Amstel on a binge.

Brodey forehead, cheekbones high as Tom Hanks’ in a “Big” scene
Drawing attention to his eyes. I’m in a dairy restaurant
With an acting coach. We’re trying to define qualities of demeanor,
Coming off 2nd or 3rd cousins, sleep-working to background swing.

You’re 2 preppy 2 do anything more remarkable. You can’t take on Schubert who had blond thinning hair and wore rimless glasses. He looked
Siberian, no concupiscence nor comeuppance. Optometrists emanate this consensus,
mistaking eye fluid for calm. Yup, a few drink it up.