104: You’re being fair doing this, my friend. Etc.
I saw both of us stop the actual dial hands, reset the pace. Still, 
As such you and I may be deceived, turning to seasonal 
Purebreds for fresh figures, new times and hot pricing, unless  

Turning green to yellow with fear is perceived better.
Burn for me, friend. Hues balanced in your green motions 

Since.. I have seen shaken vector  
Utilities (direct flares) express beauty in your eyes. 
Before you were born to me 

Perfumes of April stand as axioms in June — still cold pride 
You’ve processed.. already stolen. Since and with such pride 
You turn summer into spring’s fresh age, 
Such a future can never grow old.

Nothing is such in all cases. The secret of this brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good grooming drives you all over. Recent example, no longer victims,  you and I grabbed the moment, left and right, as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse — a moment to stare out the window, a lamp over our shoulders to herald the swindle in wind farming.

Denis, once the Menace, grew a pair this summer. I now have a boyfriend. Yearning for corruption, we’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having no chapter delineations, just coffee breaks.

Massachusetts, one of the 13! Now tv. 
I love needing what television does, colonizing until the wheels fall off.  Skinny ‘eventude’ brings on video waves of fluttering, populist rage, dishonest dogs. (Tv dogs trained to sit, fetch, force it down.) All in favor held under pressure.  
 
Channel surfing here in the cranberry state I see immigrants mix well w/ bohos, capitalist people, service people, subjectivity w/ certain rights for a life entrenched behind exigency — exigency feels very large here. We’re all over tv. Just noticed.

Too excellent but passing concern: 
IF we have an idea to process a text or artifact, subject to analysis, THEN how does the text or artifact change ways of analyzing processes? Does the result generate or blur inquiry into both (a) who, how, when, why subjects of analysis pertain and (b) further synthesis like rhetorical and curricular adaptations Greeks and Romans model?

The sky is air, a hue of golf balls.  
That color was discontinued, for historical justice.   
Days are broken into seasons and dark shores separated by regions.  
Our supply chain deals fatalism as an element of allegory   
shaping and twisting valleys of all desire, except no ready   
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us these watersheds and waterfalls.

A mind is a beautiful tool of late capitalism (an unwitting effect and cause). 



Capitalism stands erect at America’s curbside, a whiff of more aroma  waiting, eyes unblinking. 

(Or one could seek documentation, semblance, something Swiss... 

From now on the mind is (its own) Switzerland, ok? Two eyes 
belong everywhere, you’re breathing into everywhere.) 

Capitalism thus gets to open up its dude ranches akin to rustic factories, the gig economy spreads further west to prey on the drunk and disorderly. This is the highway the slug runs out on, leaving us a little dizzy. You’re the 60th slug / dude / muse.. 

I was wondering wha ... 

The mind sits there. It wants to be best 
friends. It’s saved us burgers.

Its own.

Song for arrested insects living well: In the beginning stages
Blushing with breaking news 
One time I was inconsonant. Or.. otherwise

I was found holding a lodge of doing-splits glossary 
Over extreme wakefulness — why 

Does a face arrest? 
You had on your fabulous eyeliner from a while ago. Cunning 
Everybody had it goes without saying a probability before 
Good news of patria

And all of us now are blown up by 
Getting wind of Ghislanzoni.

Been holding our tongues for the future. That’s how it works.  
 
Non-interference is in charge, under which an authentic kindergarten language, genetic dance and bourgeois charades get raised and quest is forcibly asserted. Working against deadline shaped the last phase of withdrawal from our deadlock with impending attributes.  
Oedipus meantime, our founder, targeted a fan like me because of ageless obligations to familial platitude, his camouflage in plain view, the better part of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground.

There is no name then it’s absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?   
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s own “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is without forests or it’s forests with no memory, mostly vice versa.

Oh My God, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.  Task me, praise me about something else that’s forced..

Ode to love:

I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness. You there? 
All financial doubts are overcome.
Even so, if you could eat only one food for life, what sad unrest would you take up? “Take notes,” you recalled. You were holding back first throbs as we forced extra fonts from your abdomen. Then our fears increased. Mist in pockets.   

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

  Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. The place is improper.
We’ll take the stairs; the elevators refuse to go with asterisks in them, friends of friends.  

(Ok, you there? Bye.)

Ovid called youth a positive influence. 
Reading and living  
Ontologically under-simulated his senses —  
He should be doing flips,  
Be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes.. get  
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips  
Under the prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,  
 
“A voice and nothing more.”

We just saw (a few minutes from now, however) 
your address changed.  
 
We could have done it differently before you discovered uses of when all is said (the parent corp was yours before) you took over.  
 
You’re not going to be delirious, are you? 
Just for a stretch of language... good for you long ago 
taking me from sleep hectic and hurting, 
where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...  
 
Good for you!

MrPeanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. On the other hand, what choice did he have?

I’m down on both knees .. 
I’m going back down to bring back a 2nd cousin — I spell him M A N ..I’m down on both knees .. 

Sonnet 3: Now is the time. 
Fond image & posterity aren’t everything. Same for dying. Stop Pisces & piscean disdain. Face to face 
Mark self-love as no fond option. Unearned.
Yet thru new windows seeming nearly your 
Own age April will call back another golden time re-forms 
Single light flows, even now 
Fair, prime, all beguiling, living for you, 
Your face, ear, all forms of yours remembered.

A guru gets life.

Heart asleep, little love, I remember looking up at you, at — 
ahem — feeling an urgency in ideas taking heat. Women, men:  
Legions warmed living in a debt growing city state. Maximum restraint  
= get it done and don’t talk to any of me.  
 
This pumped with mandatory inflows of feel-  
oops, they’re metering to block counterfeiters’  
hen of steam: From which — from art of algorithms — all  
personnel will  
have to be shifted or fired,  
coming to work anyway, achieving a remedy, a seemly  
bliss of the non-willed state. Enlightened but as it is,  
lacking the middle way or new age.

154: I’m sick from love, disarming my love god once asleep; I’m diseased, too hot a votary for you. 

I’m sick to vow a life of heart-inflaming desire never touching you..
Trompe l’oeil conditions I now know approximate maiden
hand abstractions.. (tripping by.. 
each note taken up hot as a brand) ..and so well inflaming we grow 

mind and body worship by your side, truth un-quenched, a general idea to warm us, bathing you in a healthful belief system. Or do  

we prove a chaste remedy never cools, but heats hearts for perpetual cure?

In not struggling with comparative vulnerability to vie for solitude,  
I pursued insight by your ‘grant’; for how do I hold you? That’s one for liberal arts.  
Secure oases cannot be considered in terms other than liberal; 
with great laughter impelling knowing, not knowing, comfortable  
indeterminacy.   
 
A given. Someday.

We were wondering about invention of the planets, empathizing 
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative passage to sing.  
Not a foe, no spite  
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment got cut! Getting  
To there uproots the light series, exalted then stiffened into parody..  
 
Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray  
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing;  
This was not true showing you touched, you took me. 
What go around and come around left to their own desires and systems.

By the way, every right wing worm thinks every owner of a worm is subject to restitution  
even as most tax experts evoke cuddly breeder values in brute ecrus.. 
I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.   
 
I live in a container house near a few others   
 
and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, abrigado. 
I work on text.. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track, 

nah.

Deep in the dream shines.
This is not a test. It’s the blues. But who can tell if it goes well. 
We’ll leave it at that, happy, hatless. 
The place was beautifully democratized with process. 

Yet our processes blow decorum of moving info... 
Also, it’s easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes from now, to have less to tell
to soften your last interruption I ignored.
Elsewhere alien drag parallels scenery we communalists push our way thru,
looking fine.

To chide your beauty, sculpturally, has to be done but it’s one-sided.   
It seems artificially important    
The screech was spherical, chiseled in  
a seagull.    
No one’s there now but you.      
I missed it.

Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 

Didn’t they tell you 
thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof  
— our brains are being stolen. After  
 

we wander off the promontory back home muttering “TV,  
TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia   
 

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  
Hazards all sides. 
Talk? You hoped we might &?

In descending order of indefensibility...  
 

(a) Poetics is democracy.  
Evasion in poetics, as in prose, foregrounds style, motive — subjects for close attention. (They tied me to a tree.) 


(b) Friendship is a job (like writing) and, more elevated, craft (signing). To illustrate, job is to craft as field praxis to theory kicking a signing agency when the signer is down. Don’t get me wrong I think free speech is nominal. I’m for it and against impingement unless it hurts a friend (that’s down). What’s it? There’s no workaround to the observer influencing the observed except later, so much later. (Hilarious light.)

I’m a little I guess confused 

I thought you might understand I mean   
I’m surprised, do you know   

what I’m saying? I guess so   
not exactly. 

I was going to say metabolically we’re all for one in suspension 
of disbelief, a flipping out scene like in martial arts, barnstorming pen- 


umbrae, a pro ring planning to vanish on top 
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes, 
un-danceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.

Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. It isn’t safe yet. I won’t forget.  And that does it for this rehearsal. Observe proud exclamations to postpone further videotaping, advancing a counternarrative with guilt beyond marchers stepping slowly waving gold torches in flame, pressing the crowd joined into feeling nervous in observed time, expanding behind the capitol. Many observers, shadowed.. 

What do we mean ‘quest’?

Each year corrupts the ultra-field, infatuated mostly with itself. The elders have rules. Stay funny and comfortable is one. 
Another is also fancy, more or less fun. Insert handkerchief. Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy to see you slung in the eyes of other men?

What can we do without sleeping around in our active subculture? Serve meaning with ommission thru science and art for all.

Last, best, fair in gay love. Then I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure and cold feet. That’s dashing on to allegory, the one they call Stepping Up, Acquisitive Quest Giving Ourselves, Keeping Ourselves.

You & I wonder about one summer’s eternal 
possessions, oblivious buds, shade & a day  
staying chaste .. it’s on the house.  
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold.  
 
In those same terms there’s too hot  
a reliance on making out   
Optimizing the center where death dies.  
Vice or virtue will take more than a single changing course  
to snatch life from time, breathing freely if we could see. 

Free translation. 

Beside the observation tower, here from which one can see in good weather far over the Baltic to Danemark, by the Forest House Hessen Stone lies. Previous foresters got their insensible blush withal from its sailors — sad I see — lords of life. From that foresters with salts on Hessen Stone glowed with barbarian misrule. 

Today one can eat excellently on the spot and jazz friends come also.

Gastronomy is to breaking the ice as ‘fucking / sponginess’ is to bacchanals.

I can’t make enough to make it. I’m staying home. 
They once said goal!  
We can’t always gather this way but we do. 
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age.  
 
The lucky take the pain, live on then perish. More will, fudging abasement in clean restraint serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined).

Whom will we discover? How? 
Do you both laugh? Per rules  
& regs of sounding it out  
it’s overdue.  
You’re back in vertigo yay!   
 
yielding authority with no proxy   
 
Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon  
: any of your remedy gets exaggerated for good :  
                                 What’s this the (x) about?  
Without your knowledge you say yay. (For x!)

RNA itemizes facts. 
Do you like spiral dares?  
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 finding-it-out tools.   
 
Distribution adjustment has those to spare..  
tasked down from behaviorist beliefs.   
 
Flashbacks pertain.  
Large reflecting pools in the future, it’s just a thought.  
If I introduce vagueness as a more devout 
machine therapist, we can escape  
 
thought-train derailment, bringing on experiments in graphemic parole, 
rescue room from disillusionment. 

Poets fob off any acute particularity. Such with the bright intern on the bicycle in a parking lot nowhere close. Please applaud. Left brow fuzz so sudsy it can be substantiated, born by epochs of parallel scenery — per the annals of physics to poetry.

I am lewd, in a blink in my ‘true mind,’ stinting
claimant of photogenic vitamins to embellish the bleeding
but not completely, lacking historic truth tho settling in —
in a way — in a rain and raincoat of moods.

Warm-bodied, visually queuing up. It’s him or them.

So you get it now, assigning de facto completion thru real, cathartic gunk
is no yes vending graft about dualism —
send in the marines with hand and finger gestures to boot
and never complete, never shaken how they prolong dulling pleasure
but at higher altitudes.

Scion, descendant, love, you’re looking up big-eyed instincts?
                      hard
to get out of the valise. We pirated the code. No chimpanzee.

I can’t say we pushed code out willingly (nurture, nature, frantic relaxation in storm gusts).
The fit has to be good.
I noticed your work away from me making your poise smoke. Undulant brooks
call or click.

Uma Thurman’s son.. me.. 
. 
Let’s file it down.  
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.  
Taken to your path. Utopia arrives to enrich. Walking in sheer  
All the time, staggering!

After Side A there’s the animal that gutted you, Side B.  
 
I’m expecting something.  Explaining 
 
I’m the Aldo you never loved.  
No, you are.

There was a boom in robots once. 
It all came about in 1st or 2nd grade.  
And if you invest now, daylight garners you  
several that breathe, toting examples of unique gestur  
-ing ontologies, alleged. Memory has it we  
don’t have their  brains to enumerate space  
to read open peace in all those faces
next to a few sleeping people staring through ice.    
  
Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason   
as if fully conscious.

Lighting a cigarette, I’m down on both knees .. 
I’m going back down to bring back a 2nd cousin — I spell him M A N ..

Our crash test is named Defens(c)e of Double Identity (a shady character).  
  
Of course. You.. your desire and I are habits of empire living off the clock, off proceeds, motion futures from one of each you and each of you.       

Earth’s world-without-end buzz comes to those who knew slavery or rue physical property.   
It’s feasible if you keep watching the bubble rise in early manhood, clock on board.

What’s semiology? unless we’re going to find felicity to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present newer phenomena — what older worlds once could say, new and interesting, difficult.  

I have a tiny soft view of holding to their difficult path, a core harmony of former days, purring yet put aside. (One shared flame after another.)

Physicalism (neural brand continuity) adapts to schemes (thought control). Government, absent your liberty, is not that impregnable. As background, your charter is one colorful PROCESS shot. A lethal-to-pallid vassal group locksteps to your scent, you yourself clothed less formally, tame, save motives for eagerness. Prologue shadows.

And this is what I did not want to say. 
There is product on the loose.

Since prison you don’t talk.
I want to but don’t have to.

Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth- 
Stratagems. Siphon starters. Add the rank  
 
I confer on the next available beauty, living and perhaps dying with one  
Until he goes broke — summarily I’m screwed of what beauty was.  
I center then on perception (for another purpose), sustaining losses out of irony.

We reach back to no self and no others.

Farewell, a king wanting sleep. A foot of sleet, mush, your estimate 
From the royal window, eyebrow roughened.  
 
My views are compatible with yours, that’s the idea, only  
I’m leaving us in sleet all over  
Outdoors for your extrication from delirium.  
Tho like other inheritors you’re still a pebble mahogany,  
Vulnerable in all good faith,  
& all the bobwhites in Appalachia hush...

I liked him and he liked me. It’s an eye popper, a new 
Use for fumy italics — fumy on the outside,  
Different inside, just on my nerve, just to the time  
Like him I leave for no one, for nothing.  
Here take a wildflower. This is my house. 
*  
 
A young monk will then say,   
 

Tell us about your recent postal experience.   
 
I was going to mail him  
Though he died before I reached the office.  

Don’t care, don’t moan, lie only about what’s really colossal — masking your vanity becomes the tortured challenge clinging to verse.

The gist in a slurry, plump, downy evanescing in an elevator. Up the slurry rises above affixes and notation. Helium released — pushed in reverse come fall — trees light up then darken amid writhing worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the spontaneous summer of man. With his gift of sullen madness signing everything in burlap, compounded and upcoming in percussive isolation. An upshot. 

You may have noticed I write over your face, in praise,  
fuzzy & lovely fragrance coming in, out  
of many then forwarding myself as a backdrop for another de ar face 
loaded for blizzard.

Treatment.

We reach elements (at full sail) within the (verse) set where touch management is unleashed. But the scenery surges out of diagram while the crew chills.

There’s a dual nature of invertebrate anonymity that makes most of us disappear, a seeming pulling apart at the summitry of escape. 
What’s semiology? My silence unrehearsed unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? 

Our power script then will be about reading, a traveled world, not sick of fear, of exercise, of birthing a slave, volunteering undressed — except for slacks —

It takes a while. Day by day. The way 23 hours ago the multiplicity of writing today took a while. Times itself: A brainset occupied, love to call .. this just in — jokes turn into dreams. It’s dreams that forgive us for everything (except melancholia). That’s because multiplicities, ‘sleeping while awake,’ get downgraded to icy normality, farthest from sight, trapping you and me inside a force field owing to our expertise. 

So there’s no lack of constancy in experimental states of forgery and the mongrel pull.

We’re for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.  (Humanist discourse is indirect.) 
I’m also out on the bluejeans end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like the flu. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like a red mountain avalanche of progressive tools and bots that fuck over the machine age. 

Semantics in space. 

The Stanford-Benet mentions a handbook (or its conception) for encapsulating syntax to denote space-time, uniting archetypes found in even more complex disproportions that achieve higher cognitive value than meaning itself.   What have they done? 

In my illusion of minimalism, hammering steel, 
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of time. The frayed entity, o  
no, I should say the accretion settled down, humble salve  
soon spread over us both, lost, scattered trying to remember and   
 
Simply put, to understand now where early wounds from speech are  
pronounced, which sort hits or fits, kind friend .... mimesis within nature,  
uppermost.  
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?

Politics & dignity of appearances don’t mix. The financial & party pacs are just kidding. Nothing personal. Trump is the sustained concussion version of civic charity thru chaos as vacuum... I also give a lily for what’s not available, a cabin in the launch for recondite sentiments, whinnying for pleasure. Or I cry when it ebbs. 

Government is the emblem of the economy of duress.. South Palm Beach.. I credit everything from the engine without a message..

I’m late for my gown fitting, my bra weeping on the inside. Outside, I’m late, 

Impetuous, from costive stock, unflappably happy, brusque.  


I floated here while my toys were asleep. I voted for change.  

Injecting their blood was just crazy but I won’t go off schedule.  
 


Time now to stir toy fluids with a respondent gavel. Then back to the bench.  
Judgment is a big puzzlement for suspects of natural selection.
Only the jury rises.

Where’s the doctorate for making up yarns to drive your lunatic ideas around
modulating what the self comprises .. a prime membership in tin futures,
membership often renewable according to recent replicas. While ..
I’m neutral re: driving recklessly, in a sequences w/out words —
both types of daring and highway reconstruction for the semi fortunate.

They say med school if you ever go is mostly laid out. It’s smart.
That means you partake in indecision just part way (cool, yet cruel).

153: & so. I guess I’m ready, off 

that ground by which I prove 

1. Love my god heart inflaming new fire. Let’s call this unconnected yet wise   whilst cool — well... a coincidence I went to golf school.  
2. New fire this time, your eyes — no cure, it’s the beginning for men if  
love is kindling in seething, lively heat. 

3. My guard is up for a trial bath in your eyes. 

You, your love heats steam inside each word I borrow or find brand new, withal. All syllables steeping as in a ‘Cupid’ fountain of desire, inflaming you & me & others by our side also training in golf. 

It’s here. East Cambridge. The helium released, the admonitory tableau sponged in saliva — ecosystems thrown in reverse with hotshots on cymbals and triangles, hybrid collisions playing junk ballads within a migratory pattern. The justified, 24/7 joker is emotionally unwound, one point... 

brain-body fiber pierced, two... sherbet dolloped. I’ll be right down.

My area is interpretive search. 

It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote.  
I’ll assume you suspect the people’s elbow knows. It’s in the forearm of interpreting literature.  

Written or not, nothing is forgotten.

C.V.: In three parts. I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns in fair use, and there’s the age old hand hath put link to a disgrace we dreamed up or could dream up, borrowing a face beauty slandered.

#2 Once inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying, nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think:

So #3 many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after we couldn’t wait. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their others halfway, borrowing a face, again and again slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had after a few hours, letting it die down.

I’ve been on a nihilism binge; this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a structuralist’s degree. 
I won’t cry when it becomes everything without a message.  
I’ll trade you all the noise in my hands, still shaking — scared of leaving you among the spoils..   
 
There’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din hostility shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. It’s a good thing for stopping messengers’ tears as the door from nihilism leads to the rescue of children and all it contains, all I could have told you.

Through atomic microscopes
it’s August but it is dark and may snow.

This century’s waste already stands tall, but this A.M. sun rays came like snow unsnapping white clasps to white headbands. 

White on white. 
In bridal light one sees seraphic whites. 
A small number appear...   
 
Their sloganeering is back.. Join today.   
 
The music says rot, handcuffing only a few.

2 quests.. Just who are we to say we should attend to what I am doing? It’s love like ours that pitches English to prioritized claims. Are you sitting in the sentence while listening there? wearing nothing but a motive, eager to do what we were afraid to be?

Give up leverage in a more collaborative framework. 
Sure, I’ll leverage our last minute or two, let’s say I’m deeply missing you.  
There you go! but how long have we been planting post mortems without precursors, without conventional frames for gender balance? without knowhow not to reterminate? 
 
Maybe it’s a mistake, collaborating on curious travel so close to the fault line... I grant you that; 


Like all of the above and people going in and out of Odd Fellows buildings, navigating stairs, you’re one hundred percent normal running up debt to keep devotees heartbroken.  
 
Adoring you is my fault! and my moral politics! any leverage follows orders.

Conditions look rigged, shut down — like wanting you (I do) —

For pickerel eggs eat each other


Not out of calculation, it began with barcode

Moms defending their young


While floating on new dimensional bedding


 But can’t sleep. (Picture peach cones & rods of violet.)

Sliders remain, still the eggs’ plans change. Like taking some time off
Flying the squarest airlines.

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.
Hushed buzzwords in the newsletter bring up null tinctures from rain or sunshine sprints, much as a will to influence is the answer sheet for getting fleeced. Not hearing from you (lost your doggerel...) fosters coercion of what evolutionary good was before it ran thru some expulsive options. 

Your nest or mine?

9: No form of you 
Feels anything but unused, average, a spent, destructive sort of guilt, blandness also a problem.   
 
Your world consumed by issueless fears in political experience / current status / win-loss =   
 
Here I am! Staying single, we may change our minds!  
I almost forgot to. Permission to speak freely, señor?  
Could we? ah! you and I are loved by many. I’ll commit to that as you ...  
Are gracious, watched over and settled into a kindly shifting  
Still, but still enjoying private practice, wailing, banging triangles and drums ...  
Your consuming voice all wet like children’s eyes. Look.   
 
Then I wake [Ah!] — My own voice hoarsens  
A life desire talking with you,  
But no form of you.

The American Songbook has motors for luscious hills, gleaming grains. Apparatchik elders’ fall is a warning, hissable, gone monochrome in uglified loveliness besieged by entertainment.

In evolution we have an i.d. crisis 
when who knows I’m doing this   
 
for our agenda? How near the teary top we crate  
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drained of weight?   
 
I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.  
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.  
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness’ for hours.

We all have our own crowds because I relish lyricism mounting a central stairway. Sour notes suggest quick detours. A couple of hours pass. There’s been vintage aversion within the railcar, around a corner sirens lift off the earth. Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face.
Milling around is jammed.

Past is no guarantee of future promise.
Anywhere farther — it’s too verbal a compromise. But you and I know more, we’re up next, forging no more colors, so I’m flapping my arms in front of me, carrying a few novel ideas in my veins. 

Maybe I’m afraid of being abducted. A thoroughly unnerving bigger anywhere...

At the very top motion’s in pink, divining our fixed up eyes that get put on the map, hey, whoa, how awful, how much closer to the maker... So be ready.

Keep secrets of brackets to float free. 
Free momentarily. Here [or t]here — volatility models! according to script, vocalism in a sense. We’re beaming them and their feelings up with unknown and hidden risks — a fat surly chance shifting their weight brings in slimmer odds.   
 
All or nothing, win to lose on cue.

A fellow on horseback. What a night. No problem 
Expunging a storied narrative 
That was normal, believable 
Then 
Waking up, sticky, stuffed-up nonphysical shrugs 
Not far off, across your invitation to meet, cough.. 
Not even having hay fever as a backdrop —
Hedged enough, nothing 
Hidden, nothing, 
No chance forever.

Stop waving that grape juice ... 
That was a partition ago, ever since  
The atmosphere upsurged when language is retired. His eyes & yours fill with manpower.  
Your hair’s on the brink. So is his.
 
A friend led you to him..  
He smiles with no doubts about your bluffing kowtow & innocence  
 
— nothing to discredit &  
...no hell to pay!

I flash to a new place. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by an against type chamber piece somberly floating in fun here and there, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power. Unless there is nowhere else.

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply. 
Our lot’s in a hurry.   
 
No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there is no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and vital amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant, nearly, or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness, optics unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.

The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
a saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

coming then coming clean another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[talk of paranoia...]

How the cosmos is unexplained, one and two. First, taxonomies are set in weathered deco, dimly lit by the affiliated overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university on tiptoes. 

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound diversions to gain advantage for incriminating tonal ideals. They march with different cause-ists and solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, humanists, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority and they take the bullets; why? 

As you had to know, I drive a Steinbeck but dream in a Camus. 
I heard my cat meow ten times and then more, ‘license and registration ..’ 

Simple enough picking up a pen, camera, both  
. . . land and lives on it have prefiguring functions, similarly   
 
synthetic appropriation by composition, a vigil  
and force applied putting stitches of an animal   
 
in the playground, since landhold, landscape do not become only
themselves, regardless of beauty — the river bank played by  
 
metaphors and drilled substitutions of the time — more informal, 
taking everything down as dictation, substituting accidents after the math.

There are subtitles, various languages. You dream staying awake and translate what’s exposed, the back of another dreaming. 
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.  
(Sleeping has nothing to do with nothing.)  
You can exit the profession at any point, burning inside; you also can add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.

Song: It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer of grabbing knives and spoons v. the naive intuition that expresses it.

 
Missing you doesn’t change anything. I want you to be happy but on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds if you want that look like versions of wicked cunning and mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle — Throaty, we thought we thought we were entangled set against puzzle fetishes and hiked vibes. It also helps to turn on the bed side to side. Conceive a break-in.

We unholster & dance across the room / a lumberjack in me & you. A cobra balance.
The color wheel is graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley 
faces. We speak in our mother tongue of fine ethos and interiors, to no product hewn.

I see your inside voice, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark it happens fast.  
 
We wanted to go to  
This point, stabilizing the office — over the ocean  
W/out water — ‘or personal contact.’

A warm light is produced by heated argument. 
Heat the cosmos can hear. The blazing trajectory halts in downtown or Washington on-to-nowhere, a very mean arc to bridge, all right — erratically stencilled with tweezers-length trapezoids at its austere outer rings.  
 
Taxonomy, to get back to the cosmos, stands tiptoe atop shoulders of ascending ideas, forgetting the battered raw laborers below lined up on broken mosaics, necks pounding from overtime  
 
like ex-royals.

Are you sitting in the sentence listening ? wearing nothing but eagerness for a motive to  hear what we were afraid to be?

Sway your head. That means dance. 
 
Don’t hold it in. Talk to your doctor.   
 
Try something cartoonish. I’m whirling around, pens and markers in hand in roughly 4 minute stints. Learning something about what I mean, high jinks soar belying despair over entropy, a quiet smoke, losing gravity! 
Read this. (I did.)  It’s half in libretto.

One presumes elements are strung together out of desperation and a deeply ingrained exposition to demark the unknown, much as technology funds science.

Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our agenda. Leaving office has a double meaning to off-center the filing (and filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept in the appendix for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, burningly turning back to watch the wax dim.

We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to the ideal civil democratic union with permissions built on headwinds — dormant crescendos 
 
with as it were or without lyric attitude. Good manners can scar others, you see, they also let us peons act like participants in marking time as tho subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy. 
Either way, I know so little about the state and the state knows much less — you see nothing but these blank holes are slaughtered by blankety remote.

Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Pet rooms to talk about never hesitate beating then shooting the innocent into a space fracas but our last victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee — 

Neither dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary bracing for normal until climax, numbed in shade.

A Deux Magots adaptation: 
Robots embrace the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone,   
 

a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for a moment. Free of a tendency section.  
 
An old master picked that up from them.. ..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..

We’d like to shoot back to the beginning and thank Sinatra! 
 
IT warned us of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. We’re not religious. Not by a long shot, snow in September? We took note of what you prize from the beginning and chose the pope. He is your pope. We had a few ideas in mind. We took off our pants and left for grown air, higher up.  
 
Oh, tech services... tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams —  
 
How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime the inference undercutting American literacy?  
 
Signed, the Academy 

Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll .. imagine histrionic trails.

We’ll correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventually 

Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by posturing. After dark trials.

We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed medium .. no shit.

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, a rotary force like moral freedom will drill 5 feet down underground, a strafed, ethical spectacle falling into proverbial and natural coherence, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.

The air is sawed off, wishy, doing better. We were dangerous, once. Smooth rhetoric is purely blur. It’s too late to make it sparse. Now we’re appalled. Even our restraint is washy for its own sake.

Can’t say what happened that day (ekphrasis) but I know we slept because there was a pressed mattress to lie on.  The mime sequence where I speak out was overall spoofy. More, there was a modulator from a board of moderation.

Many of what we call instincts interact with musty dynamics eventually. More  
than musty, foul as apres-euphoria.  
A tone-deaf dancing lawman gets more attention now so 

I keep hammering a poem is a cat meow ten times more.

A private-public distinction, extension 8...
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force. 

Besides giving empathy like babble
I write on my agenda, 

A vapidly growing other hand 
once I launch it — 

I got married without knowing the side effects 
— wait, I forgot why I called.

Landscape: Blimey. Over the summer construction advances. 
Uncivil also true, summer advances over the construction.  
Everybody, everything goes!  
... inevitably constructivist and supremacist impulses are joined.

What’s curious style? 
Engineered simplicity holds tho 
Taken whole:  
“Give in, dig it.”  
(There’s a new policy to block deletions.)  
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,  
Taken your lead. Word processing in Palatino sans 
All the time, staggering prose!  
 
Tomorrow I’ll  
Tap out more deletions I forgot to lose —

A disheartening skull pile supposes its completion. Angels speak up, tho, in
dialog enhancer mode. Storage rates go high.
We get to a point where we have to stop adjusting to marsh purviews returned as shrine–y meadow 

as I give up missing your skin.

I’ll tell you what awaits the prosaic in The Bible. Locusts.
Meantime the varsity crew: 

in crew house lighting eyes drift as if 

undressing underwater. I see why snails 

build a house. They stand around and tank, 
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.

57: I watch the clock. Being your slave, what can I do? 
I wasn’t just orphaned, I pursued other interests.  
 
Time’s precious, 
save I feel and still show absence of move ment from the inside,  
absence upon hours — a sour dare to spend ...  
and to question my jealousy — 
So it’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth and service.  
I dare not think of desire diffused at any cost to render your mouth a sobbing world-without-end, a precious mess.  
 
On the outside how happy you are ... are you? Tho this may be amiss I think no ill. Adieu.

Angst roughens up indulgence. 
You knew the side effects —  samples twisting.
We’re 1/2-way  
there. That’s when the aliens evanesce.  
Their loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. piling on debt ..

Until done,
Factor in visual plug-ins for artisanal calisthenics that’s a load from the mirror. 

Corporal resonance turns into a reflection out of which you can finger-point to the horizon,
Magnified and now askew, flaking off. So note what happens. Yeah? A soar sport.

Ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe a grain or 2.. anything grateful.  What are faux resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and a jillion bloodlines.  Um.. there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘orders’ you put in reckless hands —  Don’t forget silent partners ripening the future, sleeping in green, un-despairing — they effect usage summaries...  Brilliant. Breathing. Knew life, we have hundreds .. Look at you.

It’s July, August.. 
And this is what it means to have a muse. Bone blame. 
A poet will work in a freezing apartment that is far more than a place for thoughts to gather thru summer. She struggles in cold rooms for little compensation (available at box) and goes beyond the joy of subverting the arbiters of something. Something something. 
 
Paperwork fastened to repetitive joy, July, August..

Marxist-self irony:  
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective misnomers.  
Eating and breathing them too.

Midnight, one o’clock. Slow as suds. 
 
Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion  
my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.  
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love. 
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless. No matter. 
It feels like impossible.  
 
Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming  
hands that boss, get you done — 
 
parliament  
maneuvers. Explanation intact.

Ode to the dead (maybe not yet). Then dims. 
A beautiful sentence:  
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.  
Food also knows where it belongs. Rapid in general.  
 
The stage brightens. Thinned out. 
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?   
 
Knowing the ropes to scale now, even substance,  
clearing the theatre of lame comforts,   
 
Stern, all the food pecked over, even down  
to our place, last place, last row.

Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage 
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.

Celebrity stalkers. 
 
We invented Hubble.  
What we thought we knew per brassieres 
we enjoyed making dumb-  
great from the top  
terminating in masked handlers. Peers’ backyards  
 
Following orders so we reflect their mistaken identity,  
immune to sudden desire with intimacy.  
What have we got to lose?