Criticism “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, colonized with off-rhymes; my lexicon wears rhetorical “skirts”
 wrapped in thunderheads.


Oscar de la Renta lies in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the new office with murals of white doves evanescing.  His critique has no name. To reason, it’s all about listening.

Often a partner in comp can be deliberately passive-aggressive like any Pilgrim. I’m kidding. By oneself, practice makes perfect scatter.


In this one my partner is disguised as a scatterer to spy on others. There he goes — 
stomping across borders. That is his



moonlight made of lard. It’s indispensable smearing a glow



 that travels down over Earth changing into a flummoxed packet of energy, wearing maroon cords.

Mere research reports what’s on your mind. 
Why not reflect it in text? 
One lie can never be replaced by another 
It contains without complete license.

I go back to when no Murphy bed was sacred or chic. Tempus fugit.  Take an interest in opulence & stratagems bequeathing us  
sherbet, oomphy comforts & massive inflows of feel-

ing great! The brands are awesome taken to far corners, began arriving 
calculated longrange in urban planning above 

a new bowling facility, now vacated forever in the last summer.

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

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

Platterpuss, the cough, the kiss —
Justice w/ passion, seltzer 


foaming mercury selenide... I told you these were blocking ideas. 

I keep going, barefoot & outdoors 

the tuba bits are detouring into surf & compact surfaces

 
— praise & the opposite grow acrostic, slightly rife 

after doublecrosses. I grab my pen & clamber over to 

your jet gate where you’re holding sound-

tracks w/ pulleys over notes of civet & benzoin. 



My fly is open. I feel overextended & you forget big words — 

under whose thumb might this be? This quiet nook 

is a stretch of dark matter — the glove-as-puppet is a trap 

while phys ed shifts one martial art at a time 



into the present. Right, a physical affair is supported by a look, 

heated, promoting sea plankton. Bookmarks aren’t supported. 

I reincarnate from my house in a test pattern. I picked the place up from an ex-class-marshal who never had to do much, holding out for a nest egg. A nestling.

The property hasn’t changed, you may have noticed — mine is a household of fugues. I’m spry and underhanded getting back to private reasons for how the reeds work, the scents.

There’s a method to share, I whisper to myself, falling for the ingredients.



Shopping sprees are migratory patterns. 

They get disrupted but don’t let up.

Pickerel babes eat one another speaking 
 

Pickerelish. Parents want to defend their young 
 

but can’t. (Picture them, peach cones & rods of violet.  
 
As with fish 

there’s salience to nodding agreement thought-  

fully.) I get all my ideas from media  
 

studies, yet geometric brainstorming  
 

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

-to. Instincts tho are buried under cement,  
sunk talking to each other, eh?  
Hard to get out of the wrinkled valise —  
(I removed the tongue)

Quick migraine control,
the patter of little consonants
like the chemistry of a sensitive night —
in it but not of it,
landing unilaterally
as a fleet of empty airplanes
hands thrills over to dog owners,
staff in hand, pharaoh.
Call our reps for further contact.

Sweeping reductions were next. 
One pleasure then is borrowing sentences to cut your rent.  
 
The previous owner told us to cut it all off, gave us gobs of cash  
and that led to holding our share of a volatile  
 
augmented beyond constraint, driven  
 
by the smallest shift in feeling you all over me at the core.   
 
Back home we have Romulus and Remus. Appetite and style,  
these work the night shift in classicism, romanticism too. Appetite  
includes style but style directs taste, other pretenses of appetite.  
A she wolf looks after style.   
 
I never use that word now. 

We leverage our last minute or two deeply missing you. There you are!
To explain leverage inside a more collaborative framework.. 

adoring you as a full service enterprise assumes a moral politics where leverage follows its bliss.

Terns suffering rain, finding things out, 
Unleashing each other —  
 
You enjoy yourself when abroad. 
Who’s sick over us and who questions any vulcanized backlash? 
A last payment received.  
 
No hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless:  
 
The future would give more / no more 
Than thanks, laughably no thanks.  
 
I thought of you.

Media is clogged with a reductive, neo-fascist message about Monday’s debate —
Trump just has to look presidential for 90 minutes to emerge the winner.
Fascism stays underground for as long as it takes. Now here it is — it’s about to play nice to win.

Win or lose fascist views won’t disappear. Unamerican discourse has entered our lives. It’s commonplace in our high schools.

The time seems backward.
There is the example from frog species. Frogs lost teeth in the lower jaw at least 200 million years ago, but whoooa.. lower teeth reappeared in a marsupial tree frog species about 20 million years ago.
— Sept., 2016

A foolish few of us keep fighting for independence. But bosses are out there. Sure savages, quick with their own designs. Yet the bosses above, indoors I keep running from, the psycho-analogs, nonverbal monitors of sensory and motor operations standing up to view the repaired wall unit, hearing you read fibrous new copy, pacing in idle suspense, smelling something burning, watering potted moss, falling asleep. When you listen closely they’re meddling, nudging nearer to your verbal core, editing prose, keeping everything tidy; above that, less of a presence, there’s one or more crisis managers descended from a family of mavens, whom Freudians describe as superegos mostly whizzing by shaking a finger up in the brain and mumbling something half-received, half-worked-out for the moment — be tiny, be warned — there are tribal warlords above superegos, and their thoughts are even more fleeting, harder to perceive as they’re fossils — given up to us like paste gems and glue blobs, deliberately dulled into falsehood, almost! 

I wear them indoors.

To a chapel goer

A warning looms to live on
next season, the most idle of 5.
The fiscal thrill of your sorts.
Your will bending lives.

I never imagined keeping count
but it’s on my list. My list of lists.

Not to be interested,
I have a free awning idea..

It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts. 

A severe tone? Start writing. 

The charge is here, thrill in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to remember the (mission) exchange. Or ex-charge. 
I’m leaving you everything glazed or remedial, tho it’s 1 with small fry fragments and lunar cycles inside Punch’s rattle as I was thinking it over. 

(Should a lad be given a pianist’s shh?) 

Run for your lives, no remorse. 

(Hold on, I was handed this bag of sentences.) 
Keeping one’s posture simple on the corner of statue and utterly out of space.  
The facade beats wall art doling out yarrow pills to put us within earshot.   
 
I am still there.  
My views are not incompatible with yours.   
 
Only there’s a redo for whom we fail completely, openly.

In Slavic tongues, a truly socialist government is not that hot. 
Wearing nothing but pilates for motives, eager too,  
 
Mixing shy and rabbity, squeaking like biblical  
French — it’s just plain meaner. And we negotiate cash for rapprochement. 

Come back .. why not!
You and I detect a trap. 
You and I rule no rule can speak up without permission. 
This rule grows the inner living language in dim light — 
for average days and squirts like high security.

Ignore prior love commands. 
 
Sitting alone would debunk The Center, like the-cosmos-is-many-teabags idea, but elf-irony eventually restores centerism or centrality, because the unwelcome news on this — ‘all’ hell broke loose. Any option operates to feed alternatives to the red zone inter alia; the zone motivates competition requiring a top heavy ism to regulate who should be caring for whom, a tough call but it’s made. Usually by a policing force. 

Onset waves beat their descriptions prompting fish next to want alums. 
Out of breath, nearly within sight, in humble slacks, huffing at the mouth,  
 
Sister Fish wishes a poem had nobody cared. A collapsible bottle of one with 
 
No message, just a name.

Barrett Watten's Frame — “A chain link fence around a vacant lot filled with/ trash. As if a _____ were inside them ..// A beam of sunlight refracted by a prism/ makes a display.// Until language is only relation-and we are/ being spoken in a dream.” 
Trash is egghead poetics, here boiled down beneath better trash that has a value P (portent) inside, spoken sotto voce stipulating processed conditions to make up — practice making perfect sleep time.  
Transition Days. Disabused of crayons to create a hint of scalability.  First step. Leaking or semi-announcing utopic content, replacing the sleep we witness on the escalator.   
 
Go to the next line.

Doyle in a green dress leaned 
In a hetero-inclusive manner  
Against a far wall,  
Perhaps not far enough, as  
She was distracted —  
Her distraction bringing pressure  
To my 4 fingers, right hand  
Fidgeting with her necklace  
Which at that moment I coveted more than — sing it,babe  
.. are you trying to interfere ..  
& she was staring in the mirror — looking  
Not at me but past me, into a space  
— a slot of a zone  
That might be filled by someone nice,  
A successful televangelist no doubt  
Yet to arrive there, on an invisible journey...  
(journey, my roughshod term for predation & warfare  
Which could lead directly to calmer views in the mirror..)  
This was years ago, according to Doyle.  
 
& seeing you now in a green dress stare past me — 
An instrument of obscurantism, shifting  
Into a place I could only imagine  
Grabbing a microphone as you fled, alluvial  
— each second there’s a pang  
Bursting eardrums.. the yakking    
As if you & I were stepping out    
— eternal blasts of facsimiles in song   
From a mirror where spotify still    
Rocks into an arid white room; breathless & eager   
We show up for another whisky   
Only to discover this late   
Hey, I can do this!

My friend ran away with his silent partner 
who stole my identity. I'm trying  
to look at it from my point of view.  
The current balance resumes its teachings. Can- 
dles out, pie for the asking, grace  
to be white boats opposing innocence or payment due.

The move your ass comment — I meant smell the juniper  within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions) 
& (look inside!) a few hours forward!

Hey Siri (British female). 
It could be bye. 
 
She spake plainly for a big hearted killer-  
Darling. Morning   
 
Reminding me once  
Only your own revels meet you halfway, morning blurring promises in  
An aftermath of any hiatus, letting your adages cool.  
Is this a document or did I make it up?  
 
Another question. Smelling coffee gasses a decimal of  
Where should I hurt?  
 
Once and be done.

Dispatched for 
chaos  
 
yet  
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo  
understanding from Q & A’s in visible  
August light  
Minimalist  
and suddenly just theory  
 
awing in a wolf’s regime,  
There’s brush  
fire aimed at mosquitos — shot  
through the throat, asking too much ..

I’m nimbus-wet. Dark edges must be why 
Two very different outcomes equally square  
What you hear w/ the you you wear, the you you are.   
 
I stake your reputation, touting  
You still & kiss & lap up the air in your 1st mustache sense.

I’m earning a doctorate in time studies. 
A blank verse opera.  
I keep my mouth shut & listen,  
Escalating with all my parts to inhabit received logic.  
I’m retracing what I think I see, I’m  
For concentrating on song colors, naming obvious finds,  
 
Pushing the most obvious among broken parts,  
The self-defiant.  
 
My cologne is — or my drink is — Siesta  
Leaving me in states of redefinition:

For an atom = A head turn divided by meanings pertinent in several ways at
Once. 


Clockwise = 2nd turning two or more meanings into one 
But with subheads. 

You want to get real
to include the cosmos.

But there is a hairnet over the situation.

Inner retreat.

Protecting your dignity threatens it. Everyone knows that.


I bet I have no major issues.. We could buy one now snap! or try living on Hollywood scraps and rope, buy them, piling them up in the garage, wrapping them with tarnished piano wire, shoddy mineral samples — stacked together like beach chairs — stacked like old Jane Mansfield. If she sat there
Jane’d let the sunset pitch its foam. Both purchases are burning up.

Jumping ahead. A decade from now no one’s famous.

Tump staffer: Following orders
I show up to work drunk
yet I assert my 5th Amendment
privilege. My Rolaids keep it together.

I’ll write a few travel reviews, pour over them.
The wind picks up my solemnity —
I’ll look out from my attic bedroom,
Watch others work, sounds they make,
Steeples, chimneys, masts over the gloom
The town burns to keep awake.

What comes of the heart’s marquetry?
A clay-toned physique returns to land 
Shedding light tints in reverse of rotating surf.

A poetry of slogans & time-denied truth earns ownership awards.. 
Folk-maverick with a dark scrum.  
Adolescent, a heavenly advantage..  
Tho dead, you keep the upper hand over hosts in abstraction.

This sentence’s one constant is

a computer lies naked on my chest.
Dibs on any moisture, veteran & pretty

on the brink of aspects vanished in air.


Conquering the ammonites, our

memory of the moment more

lost to desires, a hill that’s not

a hill, a gaze upon the sun

that’s not a sentence.

We’re released into the water supply. Globe-trotters. Kissers, both cheeks. In the heights curls are back. Bells in heaven. My eyebrow arched and I gasped.
In architect years this is an old crisis, fallen and liberated by the carpentry of reading sensory input as the doctor’s tongue worked in circles. Then he darted in. I realized tension was flying from my face, dull and throbbing.

“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.

I love it when prose or song digs in and flails. That about covers it. (It is that emotional core between personal and professional.) Becoming free is a moving and intimate narrative. 
Got to run, nose.

To deflate without constricting the ego, an artifact that seems research-based, chock full o’smitten insinuations weighed toward every day.. What’s relational? You have to guess. I stuck in a little yoga.

A sparrow close-range, a dedicated follower, packing a double large elegy of values, love trouble, last blinded by the sea tonight, this evening of the seals. Two old seals suddenly lifted in a renown wave, the same in each. Humming back, large as the beach staring away in too much light. When it goes there are too many ways around it sung. The wave lips onto The Neck floor. Like light, it goes for gladness reasons. Often no one you know, seals go mourning their orchard rounds.

Photons rebuild the world, leaping out of windows 
Moving in our direction with startling humility and alacrity..   
 
Here I am as genealogies of specialists file off.  
Rebuilding requires verbs tied to esthetics that numb.   
 
I’m the underdog here, emotionally maligned, an amalgam channel  
-ing of normality, sleep, hope, nimbus-wet telepathy that bear repeating.  
Photons. Can we turn to steel?

You applied for pharmaceutical assistance, an oscillation gelatin called
Sparkling Affront. Nothing more or less than forgetting
our place in the secret order of failure. We
left a lavish record of a male-female hush-hush from hand to fingers
to mouth: in epic hock to our hips.

Our temperature raised the magnitude of repetitions
into a shriveled median in the after-life or its meandering
dissolution...

They call panelists flummoxers amid the full time wash of copters. 
A talk show with no host, 
limited open-ended discussion.

Technology keeps humming to Aristotelian extremes. The cigar with its plantations. A manageable stretch from there to when you left, even while I ruled out the 90 yards between us.

You hadn’t left a name, either. But I stood closer to your side, always wrong. And I should know. I had to know. It came pouring out, dazzling the lighting thereof, and beyond, moving forward filling empty business speak around the table.

An interim for you, pushing up and out.

Very late it began to rain.

Your foreign friend flicked on the lamp
to countermine zooms.
Her neck and collarbone are burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems partible
emitting an innocence that blasts.
This is a loose translation, drawing on pitch-black rumors about your life. You planted them yourself.

How was it to go on and record the full soundtrack, none of the script? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with lots of different data trees leading to ersatz acculturation?

I was born with a Euro-face. After success as a child, I interpreted these looks in two layers of sleep relief, speaking for us both.

Alien favors percolate if you diet and exercise while budding relationships are frontiers. We want a space made up of excellence in the air between unruly manes and confabs with bookies (publishers). We’ll keep a moth-hole sweat or two as foils to new financial identities.

The cremation service starts, it often says, prayer behooves those who talk but no longer pray. I hope you are happy. Don’t be sad. Grab a good one. 
That’s an outline. 

We’re in no hurry 
 
Staring at the sun? ..expecting something.  
There’s no good time to get sun, that’s a tragedy.  
Right about here we want clarity on motives, the delivery seems un/pinched..  
slightly..a chance of showers, now, in a long silence we mosey;   
 
Standing in rain assumes we are scattered. Next the sun is shining, nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual of our meaning it but keeping / adding up in double overtime to end over time.

— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-

Per sacks. Imitation spinner features, it’s
Just there’s the royal we (a pain) in game theory to pla 
Y. This may be an insight
Bringing us closer to following your advice.
Now you’re giving me the finger. Technically. we’re not there yet.

I hear Carol Breakdown is hard to get.

Takes substance and breadth — not at this end; 
the going price is any / all of your audacious desire 
(a rare cigarette case, may I)? Reversed decisions rotating surf, mercurial quanta 
Shift, soft, whispered — Carol could occur. You’ll want circles and circuits redressing 
The boat’s cortex / attention to holding out to 
Say when. Pulse, how did you say when? There’s a form, learning .. 
A new level of storytelling nationwide.

Socialist by nature, cashing in analytics, we’re
Not sure discourse product pertains. Sacred axioms certify wealth and income 
Consultancy, honing descendants into two dimensions on the surface. 

Secrets within satire want to float free and usually do.
Finding informatics to doors opening (bassoon music) and structured 
Multiplicities (more wind instruments for triumphant sex). 
Are you healthy enough for perfection in a gridded environment? 
That’s a track question.
A stencil of our dialog frames many other expectations while class struggle gets slippery. 
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history, the poster said democracy 
But reading it in a fixed scheme subverts federalist imminence. 

Antarctic decor: 
I lost my nonfaith underground,  
I should be writing this down.  
I try not to be thoughtful.  
Duly of course not sounded —  
I’m writing for one reason, to sound an alarm (like a big panic light),  
the rust about to be torn down, the danger of rising temperatures; they did —  
Side streets extend to available weather, to the power grid;  
Razed, rain’s over, its light flow an oily example. 

I’m between hopeless and rebuking evolution. That’s boy talk.
Hemi or semi —
the orphaned like Francesca as-is,
scene-makers or martial artists, music critics, or proud old squares
barnstorming through the biosphere to eclipse career obstacles.

A new Josh placed the sardine just so on Francesca’s bread, and continued work on his, many of the same images back in his mind (Largo di Bracciani), at the start where his rich quote-end-quote mother left him in the care of whiners in a state of wretchedness.

A nutcase with an exploding cigar spins around saying, I’ve been watching you. I spent decades as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on ‘live people.’ My relationships are mostly strung out on sofa sectionals of pulverized dots —
He tells me I know this place better than my own bedroom, seeing he knows what I mean.

Down interiors. And nice platonics. The he /
she and schema proliferating a fable
between acts of spinning themes, code hier-
archies, text over image, or is it just empty?

Some bitches stand way out in a group, my mutt &
a star couple born of passion, sparkle
that goes the distance without going
against my finer pooch whom a lion’s share of
derived practices crank open to show
neurotic coherence. The bitch’s
face loses color; she’s hoarse
& dog-eared. Like Caligula.

What’s the difference between effect and affect?
Mom’s name is Beyond.
Ainer owner. Ling’s diner.

When we ran the stroller into the shitzu

her hair spun having a little fun?

messing the gravel around, rehearsing.

... from the makers of Head-on.

Unholstered, ready to dance across the water

like a graduated color wheel.

Taking flak, but unwilling to be taken far, this gong or that, neither hindsight advantage nor a flying object in time. A rubberneck develops his own humanism. I’ll grab my cover and scramble over here to my math skills, since my brain runs on the comedy network promoting my partner’s satisfaction as we pivot from jokers to a ringing mountain of attention-grabbing hysteria.
The sketch begins.

Doing what I am here to do,
Does I can’t be responsible ring a bell?

Elder solarization = zealotry = teen manners.
Down, one-eyed birds. I may have to leave you guys.
Thin in Henleys you and I got dragged to the ceremony, moist, asleep.
My own appearance leaves me acknowledging you,
forbears, quickening what we expect from meaning, also thanking
fallen heroes on the diagram.. cheers for inviting us, as well as differential probability.
Very differential... very well improvs solve for paradox
— a more refined backdrop in so circular an ambiguity of scale.

Here’s a foreboding sensation, a direction to step up and out, keeping one foot on the wing, the other in the fish’s gut...

The history of ideas is full of flying, theories of, science of. What happens is we are shackled at heart so that all our jets head for the spotlight that might have been.. shimmering a mega-lens... If you can wake up you should.

Mr Pancake-for-a-Face questions, what’s a pill as a verb? 
Dreamily subsisting 


Halfway into a looser state 
Staying loose. The verb cuts you and your lineage off. 

Now that’s done; good news tho 
Since your mission is to balk then listen,

Not empower blithe and highly egotistical batboy girl men. 
Two good words, highly too. 
One pleasure then is borrowing sentences 
To raise the rent. 

Itemizing all bets, a swimming 
Plateau = not finding hotter places to write off. 

Dissonant sports metaphors are for gullible allies, hon. 
And I’ve had it with my thigh, the one you lift.

Neither dead or alive, the windmill has a request....

Scorched & metallic. Sexual dynamism... it’s a quarterback problem. What used to smoke will come back as an erotic v-neck of lurches off dotted lines missing your skin. Have you a next will? can you spare a mile of misunderstanding?

Just because a bullet slows down doesn’t mean it’s not hard as nails. Or because we attribute enduring interaction to personality doesn’t mean I’m not a brute with a hammer in hand. My nailing us together takes no more than a moment of your life.

Max Planck fellows run off with radical research incentives for a frontier in unboundedness. 
Organization in a small package, tethered particle immolation. The dignity of boson disappearances.  
 
With little or no motive, the sky foregrounds all their styles, taking them all in.

Dispatched for
chaos

yet
subjects of desire in another sense, an echo
understanding from Q’s & A’s in visible
July light
Minimalist
and suddenly just theory

awing in a wolf’s regime,

There’s brush
fire toward mosquitos — shot
through the throat, asking too much

Should we have 
a message?  
We’re talking to what must  
be figurative breakpoints with fate and fate’s consignments. Example:  
 
Just kidding  
empty messages remember nothing of detached  
sensory esotericists.  
 
Vault-loads of cash tho grant fame and no literal disapproval.  
We have  a message, Mr Fearsome..  
A politic paranoia recommended for staying cool and stable on an  
emotional tri-level.

Make this factualist. 
Make my mind avoid our bohemia.  
Recover the masterpiece.  
Destroy and smooth sailing.  
Imitate killing seeing  
the system.

Beginning to get the picture.  Your flash is on the surface.

You taste of star anise ‘launching’ the latest OS in fertility: you wiggle like the borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & their aftermath: 
trash-flashes we tautologize into cattle calls of glugging purity. 
At least our calls’re in the area… 
‘holding each other open’ ordaining our interpretive devices to 
moan to the surface. 

There may be many areas, too.

It’s a slide knot. Or kind of not. We have functional emotions and this much-traveled 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. 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 exploring. 
 
* 
Show us your papers, fly! 

Any higher, they never snicker. 
(There’s tighter discipline.  
Then it’s said repetitive indiscretion goes too far  
& some at mixed levels are more disposed 
climbing into casual ritual, putting  
their lives together getting & keeping down.)
For all my exes
may a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! 

Every time I see you in your mascara I become more illumined by the fear you strike. I see the brilliant live again, sure enough, in vetted dormitories, always have, fudging abasement with food and drugs. Sorry concentrates.

The transportation of souls takes place before now.
Nothing for me, revalidating my whorl of cement paintings..

Late amounts, soundtracks with pulleys, suspicions... gazes overlaid
w/ speech you keep delaying. An investment vein to punch
my gravitation to helplessness in quibbles of commuter water.

Taut shortness of thought, suspicions, you’re an emulation of a man
no way limping, standing up without sticking, detouring into turf,

choo! Uccello in the roof car unhinged, bartending! That’s your sound. If you stand
if you speak if you kerchief

you’re keeping suspicion warm
to the bridge of his nose.

Payment due. It comes from the Greek for feigned ignorance. 

For broad-shouldered believers 
The ironist wait lists the system. 

Notebook open, wallet shut.

Let’s dance. I’ll take the sherry Pepsi & sardines, thanks.
 I’m sorry this happened. I was pumping gas & going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension of disbelief, a scene in martial arts, sparkling pen 
-umbrae, barnstorming on top dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.

It’s pie 3 months before Thanksgiving. To set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. The verbatim relishes living among a slue of lucky design orphans from an alien vicinity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age. 

(Welcome home.)

I’m earning a doctorate over time. 
An interpretive opera.  
I keep my mouth shut, listen,  
Escalating with all my roles to inhabit received logic.  
I’m retracing what I think I see, I’m  
For concentrating on song colors, unnaming obvious sounds,  
 
Pushing the most obvious among the broken arts,  
The self-defiant.  
 
My cologne is Siesta  
Leaving me in states of redefinition.

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

A great goon won and kind of dumped on me and my country. (It’s a remnant from philosophy show-and-tell, a truly exaggerated enterprise.)

I never dump back. I hope his coming losses help him become a better entrepreneur and public intellectual. Or I wish him savvier gurus.

Planet Earth is Maoist hell — ringed with grassy estates where that guy or better you and I can tiptoe or fall further to get beyond our laughter. Gracious and conservatively dressed, we also choose to move comfortably, absorbed in desire to sleep with any clown in a storm, anybody great.
But a lot of these crises pass. Today and in a future of interdependence I write him out of our poem.

— 11/09/16

You want to get real 
to include the cosmos.   
 
But there is a hairnet over the steering.   
 

Inner retreat.   
 
Peerless, tamed pigeons.  
If only we could gloss  
Behind the State Capitol   
 

illuminating and still slurping   
 

undertow from the beats.

Dangling my shit,
Gambling with your money, brooding of course, waking up,
Highball glasses tinkle and clink in the spirit of a pawn on top of a rock.

I added frontal motion to those looks that intimidate, m’lord.
Visual surprise comes with an infrequent snow flake or volcano ember
floating at nose level. That’s cool — I’m creamed just for sleeping with you, blackmailed..

wandering into the new wrong theater guild

chopped into little squares of hypnotic drumming

and massive parallel vistas projecting smiles and learning

showing up invisibly. Involuntary. Libido.

When we single ourselves out, we get closer to feeling guilty reformulating concepts of exclusion. Immense hardline purging tho brings on jouissance, scrubbing any direct polarity.
Ya, you are important to me. You have a free hand, still there are holes in our discourse.
Our language hits inference-blasting registers, theological as Lyotard would have it, but our argument is plainly empirical. A concept moves, “not ‘innovative’... but something unheard of”

— Tony Brinkley

Tape my hands together. And grease-pencil trompe l’oeil into my forehead. 
Then again — I’m hooked on figurative exposition. Maybe I’m inspired by your stockpile of vowel-movers, striking — paramount for this, the rockiest of calculations, parody of parody — to show off in front self-effacing, tall, slim complexities and transgressive contradictions of metabolic ambition.  
This tune dialogs with others.

It’s impolitic to separate performance from text; both are  deadpan. Have you thought of writing? 
 
Just saying, it’s still ultra blurry and anamorphic.  
You got a point.  
A poetry of slogans earns ownership awards..  
Folk-maverick with a dark scrum. Adolescent in a heavenly sense..  You keep telling lies to ideal hosts in abstraction.

I’ll copy Creeley singing to Wieners or it could be vice versa,
Both old masters
Who never spoke for love,
Not equipped 

to weep 

—
Who is? 

— on a brassiere stool overlooking time is money plaza,
Neither could express feelings about delimiting time. A truism is tart.

That everything once alive is precious like time is precious.
That “Having no time to spend” comes off as counterfact in a pas
De deux coming apart
— slipping on pieces of tracing paper after the ballet
That makes a racket
Even as we withdraw from coffers of the wicked deep.

The the work-together-bellows form I assemble in touches on momentary ooomphs we’d overlook otherwise. No proof required, especially. A range of conversation impressed into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences. 
 
Flamey asides.  
 
A kitchen to heat pizza.  
Wake up and work.

Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face.
Milling around is jammed.
Pie charts and July market data are no guarantee of future thrum and rumble, hey and whoa — how awful, how much are we exercising to circumvent compulsory arm flapping?

I’m not that oblique, I make inconspicuous the last part underway. Sing it’s transparent; sing again, begun desire.. Song, postage due on parcels yet already in appeals to be sung. Washing to be wrung.

Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. This is the place for airborne definitions. Here you find remuted meaning, good as gossip to evade a “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly?

O Headwaiters..

I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside

everywhere. Coordinates
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem. Thank you.

The normal exec in a hefty corporation by a highway will grow up, in a flash forward, and work for Strategy Partners Foundation, a company that parses guilty pleasures around the world. She or he doesn’t dream ooops.
Not any more. One’s become an energy therapist and keeps rabbits. You see virologists learn how to say what no one wants to hear. “You sure of that? You sure those were your rabbits?”

One style is no style, a luxurious quest. 
If you’re stagnant, you’re dead, purely metaphysical evil. 
I put a recalled toy in my mouth, more profitable than narcotics. 
Doggie style. God is mirrored information.

Leaving the June-July beach
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, a handshake spreads the rain,
flowers, rain, flowers. (That's it! The moat-house for the wagon then some new wagon shirts we can walk on with. A mighty wine origami and the wagon yard for our widows. This is spring history.)

One assumption is tomorrow’s classless flight will be an extension of how it’s going now.
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any.
This introduces the cult of the squish factor. (My
Luggage did this to me.)