Since when is / are government
cliffside?

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

but staying in the picture. Voice changes and all.
I’m happiest when stairwells mesh to go nowhere, our bodies gesturing, with diagrams.

We’re going to finish them. Fixed formulae v. new options. Turn here.

Today I threw together one or two queries about genome erudition and fate. 
 
The pilots that disappear on our radar had kind eyeholes,  
a measure of gamblers’ vision, along w/ curly eyebrows  
of course, promoters of the foreground paradox of bad reasoning. Raw  
 
proxies — responding to scale
 
in the background — sweeten arbitration (explanatory data).  
Genomes step up even before birth and keep booking fights (proxies responding to scale) on what’s inheritable, determined.

High time to define sex come of age, pleasure long- 
stood. Helium released. Populations drenched.  
A circus repatriated.

Copenhagen interpretation:
Our active models are you & a perfect sweep I can live by w/out being 
sequestered or bitterly charged for my own shortcomings 
distended in harmony around some parts of sky 

I understand as profuse clouds. Understand like take in. 
Huh? Is it fire? Up in sparks’ glow 

the moon made indispensable for smearing its light 
that travels down in a tiered border-like scrawl?

If the president is a hoax, how about your boyfriend?

Missing an idea of particularity, there’s an unbuttoned, squeegeeing pain to wrest
Your hermaphroditic itches gerrymandered in ambiguity.

Contentment rates are raised where
They go away,
released at last as what-about-isms and impartial dyscalculia —

The tide appears to notarize all of this — That and best,
we have come to our senses putting up fresher signs of interminable equivocation.

Apology to your mate.

There are subtitles — I’m glad I’m jealous! — various languages. You dream
while staying awake and translate the exposed back of someone else dreaming.

Someone else’s father lying about his living.
Nothing accrues but a lifetime of waking lies. A whole life.
Sleep has some arbitrary direction over it.

Woe is paralytic. I also detect a drop mention of broad-mindedness toward arched dynamics or versions of it, even when love centers on the numbed one with a body of rare happiness like popsicle rose gold in outer space — 

all of this implicit in the simplest rejoinder to the proudest to be stupid Dionysian. 

Dionysian = garish brocade with puffy energy, cute, can’t think straight. 
Space in theory.

Today I threw together one or two objections about genome selection and freedom. 
 
The pilots that disappear on our radar had kind eyeholes,  
a measure of their gamblers’ vision, along w/ curly eyebrows  
of course, promoters of the foreground paradox of bad reasoning, raw  
 
proxies responding to scale
 
in the background — and to sweeten arbitration (less explanatory data) —  
young bodies keep booking fights (proxies responding to scale) on what’s inheritable, determined.

To a lark,
Like torsion in third-level calc,
your obliqueness shows up around access
to authority. It’s far off if you can’t say why.

Your prefixed, scavenged opacity
fills with sangfroid riches of dark matter,
cloaking them with lark pedigrees.

It was incredibly compressed but defining.
Ideas of involuntary thin dots and stripes, that’s a guess.
For Christ’s sake I saw you in documentaries.
I saw your name written on walls —

Errors are no disgrace (tho at play), foam under rush-formatted steam
disappearing like figure / ground battalions,
your pretexts (w/out sound) — more
appreciable fear traveling light —

There’s product on the loose
faintly reeling into moaning
nonentities..

Solitary headline :
Fruitful, aggressive figures commend Christ’s name on submissive grounds.

It’s hopeless, my life like my sweating over you, nondestructive, unextreme. I crack up when someone mentions reincarnation, but next time you’ll pick a family from a line of tenured scientists in the non-snickering future. We on the left are depressed because ours is a classless de-corporated shtetl — no need for socialists? time will tell. Tho, maybe there’s no option? 

You’d still love political verse, but with reservations because of the dirt, all the skid marks and resonance of decay, “refined by distance.” I made sure you could tell.

As Isaac passes from consciousness in physics to desolated marsh,
walk along with me. / Where to?

To the battlefront. Nightly measurement skyrockets (blasé for improvising
at first, then it coils & feels there are authentic possibilities) ..

I admire your parents (ghost punks), friends, enemies’ enemies, strangers, also ..

Charitable informatics is garbled when this derivative. Avoid rejecting
criticism, keep your smart object-waves under wraps ..

(I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in,
forward, back passing thru the 1st position
of the sprout.)
It’s written (odd, eh?) that was enough. O May!

I do my best and worst work north of you but best or worst does not exist if unobserved.
And I still get picked on — now in a major way.
Yet business proceeds — I stick in a little yoga. Then I run after you
thinking what a complete idiot. I am. My hair’s havoc, I’ll have restructured abs.

The contextual self, yourself, is fascinating, perhaps to squelch a tautology of pleasure smelling of abs.

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.

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

There are three pleasure substitutes. 
The frayed honeymoon is first and, second, the writ against love is normative, blushing with its little chant of guts and neurons dying in a fascinating replica of functional equivalence.  
 
After a honeymoon deflections accrue. Third, there are mathematical laws that restore bits of you on all the planets..

Nice, brushed off the immense highway.
A moth / its one rule for flight is mostly uniform.

That is mostly a bolt out of cloth.
Never defined by dressage (quantum mechanics).

Wind angles down, shaken nice.
It was nice
That changed a lot.

The questions are mostly the same,
Em, I’ve misplaced em.

There aren’t that many 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. 

Terry Eagleton’s formulations re text and production can be less daunting when edited to their central premises. 1) Production is the key. 2) Text is a production of ideology. 3) Text and performance are “analogous to the relation between grammar and speech” – a production of a production (such as a theatrical performance of a text, his example, or critical interpretation of a text, my example).

Speech is a product, not a reproduction, of grammar; grammar is the determining structure of discourse, but the character of discourse cannot be mechanically derived from it... In studying relations between text and performance, then, we study modes of determination which are precise and rigorous, not accounted for in terms of ‘reflection’ or ‘reproduction’. We are examining, in short, the conditions of production.


 
An empirical analyst accounts for the double performance of her enterprise.

Attraction ignites thru deep compatibility,
a nonaristocratic game played for low stakes.

I’m not a prose-poet, this is reportage
and what I think I believe. A good guess is one hypothesis.

A good education leads to the Grand Hotel
above the empty lot cleared by Balthus.

Just call before you go.

de Staël turmoil, a title for the ‘rhetorical’ surface.
Text sections like presorted omissions.
In one page we’ll set up a non-profit addendum,
the equivalent of an education cafeteria menu.

Unknown to you, I’ll be chancellor of the text and the swelling enterprise
dividing my feelings like vendettas.

ii.
We can remember when wisdom lay on the ‘rhetorical’ surface where middlemen / women are loathed today. Owning our own words makes everything phenomenally on our own.

(Our addendum is in the mouth.)

The French Suites in the mean get lighter, immune to desire & intimacy in the grips of mistaken identity. I’ll lead you to the border. Just call before you go.

Follow instructions.

We got in surrendering our fingerprints

humming to each making a windfall. We

toast anyone else entering first grade


w/in one’s center, letting months and years slide.

We meet in this version north of the town offices


shaking tidal vapor thru no wait, no


fewer than ten seconds off the slopes



meaning above the steps coincided with the light



clipped to the powder base patching this thaw



— spirals discharged, wind heats the ground and trees open.

In a mean perspective personal history reaches for
the moon. How is that helpful?
With your one constant, you cut the rest off,

That brought down the red curtain, with a curtain rod staff.



Having it, you hobble


Away like a name dropper.

Emotions were they don’t belong.
Blues by Corelli.

Follow instructions — slippers, noodles, make us warm
As rouged physics majors of what’s next to us repair to an adjoining construct.

What makes chosen words dressed in black?
Adopting the air of mock superiority or even on-point (albeit fleeting) superiority.
Most rainbows taste like batshit, but we keep looking.

Dear foundationalist,

You’re expelled for a month, next week.. experimenting with yourself..
leaving a sneezing grid with non-rectangular doors opening to violent sprinkles & irresolution...

In passing, I would like to see or set up dozens of availabilities to pick up the dissolved thread to ‘our systems metaphysics’ and to pick up that needle of yours & your as it were point.

From here, we drive thru parched hills of desert flowers seen in films.

Another hay fever phase of experiment.

Hate altered.

So shall we live.

True physicality dwells in our thoughts even as
Ghosts roam with panicked ants on the ground. Consciously mixed media. You can’t throw ghosts out. It helps there’s a mating dance to appreciate what they are doing — we’re working on it.

There’s body hustle, along with rips in the cargo of space~time where our uppermost thoughts burgeon in ennobling, blobby warmth from a sweetheart, accompanied by addiction to risk.

Come here often?

Parallels to our own variables show us the assassin self is uninvolved on every emotional level — even on the one one holds to show and act with serving others, the one bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.

As ‘you learn to draw, remind yourself...’ the brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting esthetic, Nordic but not fatal — Chuck or a funny bone will go for the reckless. Really his movies remind me of marigold & allegiance to the ice ants swarming the ozone so I look away — The earth is not the hearthrob earth, but it has strength and balance and Duma unanimity. Each winter corrupts the exterior.... poplars attaining their ultra field and stream, doing a job shunned by most, showered with tips.

This would be my most empirical debacle in the abstract to date — a bumblebee
clocked into life by itself, on its own, having its own quarrel in
-side.
I’m certain its lack of manners or historicity
is a flaw like vetiver too broadly smeared over its mad body.

Not mad but apeshit, the bee shoots for an exit to the coast
hitting the surface in lithe shorthand coupled with fast
puffiness and a black-to-yellow color of sane amalgamation.

— the world becoming flat and falling across 



The telling 


(instances of) 


Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic 


Streaks and — weird! — high wails of titanic fog, sifting down from 


Rain ceilings (of) 


The snow. The snowing. The across (falling),

It is (falling) across

 Morton Feldman.

Because I’m a particle animal I can do it all day. 
Rank fidelity, a gazing furl trying to gnarl  
A sparkle to figure life altogether, no vision...  
There is tho nothing like no despair.

47: Good turns, one after another, I turn to your looks I file between heart and bitch comedy. 
Either way you could have reset the remote — 
So let’s share it. Our videos I saved and my worship of you have almost expired.. except your looks drive me nuts.. I’m still in love.. famished at the banquet of love (where we sleep). 

Awake, we can’t move further than our thoughts in pictures and visuals.. playing with reset buttons.. and I still have my sight set on you. Damn this remote, I can’t change myself, my eyes are awake, my heart’s .. 

Here, you take it.

Talk to me,
they said.

Avoiding refined flux appears noncontroversial.
At sundown my history is fundamentally confined to a change agency:
“If you’re anamorphic, the flux (within measure) too often adopts overheated lingo or low-to-overheated if you like.”

The remaining agents shrugged to themselves in the embers; not really, they said.

We come to the marketplace in ease, partial self enhancement.
When we wake up I’ve moved to your city. Dah!
I owe you so far for not murdering me O hand,

I’ll calm down, we’re almost rich and supposed to destroy ideas ..
I will have to underestimate furthering research,
Solving the perfection problem, but not remorse.

Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary.
In a way our two universes just feel like games..
2 side by side arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions)
a few hours forward.

Our universal inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer toward approximal rhetoric —

Can waving time like a moony branch
supersede nature,

a piece of research asks. Why open
(structures are arranged by) atoms (holding on thru chemistry)
under quivers at the edge to sleep?

We got a grip on. 
Times are an outrage. Good times, bad, treason’s treason.  
We’re tracking themes thru anxiety —  
for prejudice damn well plays w/ a formalist bias,  
a tradition of selfishness I’m loosely not interested in.   
 
Tax breaks for the wealthiest keep it humming.  
Due process is to look, also   
 
(we note now at the end to factual conservation)  
to be seen.

We’re in business —
go online.
(Leave us alone.)

Pierre Bourdieu threw a projectile that applies today while top donor ‘families’ are in control — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of capital distribution are streamlines like assembled heterodoxology vis à vis subdominant esthetic fields ballooning, caught up in baggier ideas.” 
Speaking of higher consciousness, Bourdieu came home to his Cajun kitchen then added, “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings as insights.” 

The shortcoming between having things to say about ‘tastes’ back then, only a few years like hours ago — and now — Republicans circling the wagons while checks and balances are nasally inspissated through fear.

We have 9 pm poems and 4 am. Noticed?
I’m keeping with it like a Javanese statistician.
When information is relevant to collegial policy, communication goes private, decisions could be galvanized within a single metaphor for hot caffeine.

We want to remarry in quick fire in a church in white. Or did I?
Marriage makes me horror-struck either way —
Aghast in wake of our previous melancholy.

Poetry is like poetry. For
Clinging to one tradition, poetry is like nothing
Else in entertainment; it reveres collectivity,
Tiered access & flavors of spontaneity.

I’m thinking of a most awkward color.
The musk ballroom looks
Tiled back & forth mistily
Across immense miasma. It seems useful.

“Do we get party hats,” asked one rich in the tradition.
In another direction an ex-party manager
Advised a close reading of The American Heritage Dictionary.
The poetry label can be a headscarf, more than obvious:
Wild-eyed, on the curt side, one makes a preparation response
Framed like all the others’.

The once liberal invention of worship is over.
A wall thus of calm is put up.
Love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing adult ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering consensus and political distance. We’re redistributionists, youth symbolically living to do it over but scale it different. Everyday politics practiced by young and old in anger, useless bruising rhetoric, forcibly asserted.

Cultural obligations shape who youth are, you know, a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance with our future attributes.

The president and his wife are a couple while we’re cruising at altitudes of theorem.

Quack probabilities dim until you restructure our credit history, nail it in clear plastic. Where does the political economy have us bury it? His and her turf — also yours and mine, since we’re all for one as subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy..
Let her go, let him do want he was elected to do..

But not tonight...

Right away we’re nimbus-wet. Dark edges must be why
Two very different outcomes equally square
What you hear w/ the you you wear & what you are.

I stake your reputation, touting
you & kiss & lap up the air in your 1st mustache sense.

When one came in I shied away from giving out the room temperature. What the median said, I pledged you abstracts in a hidden idiom of stagings and renderings, creamy highlighting of passages and lucid systems out-of-focus, a lovely coffee table-sized read.

Any cracks should be bridged with living fiber.

“Absolutely,” Continuity Design Adjunct (one) repeated.

It’s pie for you now 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 slew of lucky design ideas orphaned to an alien ethnicity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age. 

(Welcome home.)

I prefer a clean hotel.
I’m calling time-out, a makeshift break, dull,
outside boundaries of regular hours.
Looking around we need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss to grow
Up, shiny, imperfect, never held in place.
I see your nose looks finished beneath the stopper.

Breakfast at Starbucks and we’re off wandering
headed for B terminal,
a legacy installation in profane solace.

Rationed compliments ensue secretly,
Honest accounting disappears into functions of context (text frame procedures) —
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes

— Travel well.

Make falling apart counterfactual. 
Make my mind avoid bohemia.  
Recover the masterpiece.  
Destroy and smooth feeling worse.  
Imitate killing seeing  
the system.

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.
A politic paranoia recommended for staying cool and stable in an
emotional tri-level.

Beto O’Rourke, claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop the bleeding,
is not much of a sentence, lacking meaning, more useful settling in mere syntax
as warm-to-medium as a visual partnership queued up imitating /
replicating Dionysius for the evening drive, before severing the vines.

Next, different morning odors, coffee, other pots, taste sets, sweet to complex, some devolving into a brawling incidents.. ..can’t make it out, call it leftovers, a Caramel Apple Ranch Cobbler fabricked in aromas of surfboard varieties .. ..

A problem with language is..
Does it matter a few minutes ago I learnt to write, if not well —
To tap on the keys and wander out above my welcome in a retrospective..

Again there’s no title because nowhere
Are my thoughts so hidden in use. Like a voltmeter

It’s a contraption raised to problem. But that’s good.

Prayer: All nature repairs to a cryonics lab that’s been reopened. Just for a second.

I reconnect to highlights and the mimicking hidden force of gravity. You guys go ahead.
I’m going to roll on, Volvo-like, like Gilbert; that’s the best stunt.
Gilbert Ryle asks, “might not every action or reaction be a piece of shamming?”

To a nudist,
It’s contradictory to insist on any spoils from letting ourselves go ... over that money issue. I had a piece in there as well. My prose seems resonant with your “rainwear fetish,” which I almost forgot I shared. (But not with you.)

It’s come to our attention a proposition digs into science or it does not.
It was amazing to meet you and your idea. Anyway


it was amazing to meet your funky penumbra, to be influenced by street life needlepoint 
and other class resentments.


I was astonished to communicate with inky musculature evoking nighttime.

Oceans then deserts.


‘Quoting’ here. I can’t stop. It’s my job.

That’s what it seemed.

Down: side streets drop into hourly weather; the power grid 
razed; rain’s over, its light flow slick on oil.   
 
Spills thru night rain and rain’s surrogacy the more serious and newer down.   
 
More angst driving over to a panel on reasoning and not writing anything first, a paunch turning experience   
 
in its emptied refraction on a taillight for syntactical beings (in a sentence) on a muddy drive.

Fungibly discerning not wishing to die holds a semantic randomness, otherwise empty space.

There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in real physics... I wonder if that’s true — Our thoughts knitted together like mica piling up, shouts ricocheting through voice tracks from the underbrush holding our breath, bounced, kicked and gloved by catalysts.

The School of Nobody takes 8 lives. 
Nobody wins in a debate over no- and not- distinctions: 
for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting  
& moving to work for meaning in two instances  
of no stages. 

We message from the ones column deploying 
Pigeons to pattern heaven where detachment is cut off.   
 
Our recipients remind us of a few contingencies we picked up off trays,  
Bright boomerangs that tantalize in what’s feasible, wanting nothing and showing  
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.  
 
And some of these babes are both dead and alive. Chew on that, Hobbes.

Things started to leak last week.
I can’t disagree.
Call it one ocean if you want.

Rant:
If we hand Athens back — it’s about letting you go bold,
taking cannibalism out of context,
giving you your Sprite.

Let’s drink to downsized colors,
off atmospheres of active enlightenment
then falling over, breathing while your
rescuers get authenticated.
“Great I’ll hold...”
2 out of 2 observers were cut off, casually substituted.

Forbidden now for hipsters to talk. This could be another’s
call, since you in the sciences never act against self interest.

Classicists do tho, placing wagers on the original and copies,
claymation v. intent.

Hooray.. There’s a hint of falsetto. Shields up. Here’s the last place you look. Stay with me.
This is the islet I was going to take you to; cool reason lifts, lukewarm, tender. Splash, preaching to the tenor choir, I love what we do together.

My winning lottery prelims.

The carbon steel of all day dimmed
Second after blasted second.
If you don’t look directly my way, into my face —
I can’t give it over to you

Dissonance born of necessity, one dialog reflects gritty, blind optimism and violence. 
 
Are you healthy enough for this perfection?   
 

A little off, ok — speaking the usual way subverts expectations.  
Stencils of our doctrine line up behind others 
As good critique pays homage to paying homage, finding its subject.

Making love is war. It’s not just money: 
I’m afraid it’s a Little  
Dipper: Emma, You’re handsome!  
Hold on?  
..membranes are functional! It’s an open   
 
Darwinian algorithm to bring back more  
nano-proposals, say, walking in, “hey..” 
 
No excuses, now 
make this a rite and glistening of the wild...

Really..

A berserk outline that humbles us
edging our blond manes that distract scoutmasters.

Future discoveries will have to wait awhile, boo,
you’re impersonating a folk guitarist I outgrew.

So now you want to spend what you know while you can,
floating to eke out an ornate living
in a snow-globe, thankful for one small chest-hair.
And there I’ll leave it on top of your scout manual..

I’m too ugly to be molested. It’s true. 
But I like meeting new people and having life changing sex.  
That would be the interior window to no progress. And 
No UFOs.

59: Sonnets are ok, nothing new here — it’s a revolution just the same —

whether better or worse, I’ll do
labor for nothing but invention.

I invent looking backwards — admiring antique books and records that show images of men with your frame.

I’m freaked by their beguiling brainwork, better words, I could say —
But I am sure we praise the old world most
seeing you first in the character and wit of former days.

Over the course 500 years, surely no one as beguiling as you.
As for me, there’ll be no wonder but you.

Doomsday Door A or B? Let’s start with an idea that makes us think differently about its components. If you or I have an idea to produce a text or, broader, any artifact of value — a central concern, subject to critical and meta analysis is, how does the product influence ways of thinking about the invention or the writing? In other words, does the artifact generate inquiry into both (a) the who, how, when, why it came about and (b) the utility of its replication or adaptation into the final year(s)?

The local is inside you, Pete Seeger and Bob Creeley sang.
First heard this when I tossed my head and rode
two feet, pawing the ground before a gallop.
As for my consultant that day, he shook
the bed, broke his baby toe,
So much as ‘the way things were’ stay the same that one day.

Erasing the new narrative,
Baseline coherence had been a standard, believably denying

Abstraction through sleights of cohesion. Then that,

Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up gut reaction
Standing far off across
Yours, just considering you

In our epoch of fakery..
That’s what I would be attempting — if I were to talk to you
Even for a second so that sleep goes away

To keep from you forever
Nothing, not a thing.

A masked man is glowing 
& filing back & forth mistily 
Across immense miasma 
Adorned along varietal circumstance. 
One once kissed a cat. Once
One made an inappropriate shoe choice. 

Identity theft occurred when the sky was an idea 
Of seeming permanent as a child 
Utterly absorbed by stars.

We met at a fashion tea, Homeric possibilities to extremes.
A couple of days reveling in delirium, haunting grimness. Breaking the ice. Then it dawned on me.

That driveway could be a prime beachhead steaming for a pair, along with amalgamated events that are summarized best, perhaps, in this question, what do we mean, constantly infinite?

What is known is types of metonymy. 
Outside branches of instrumental research,   
 
poetry, a subset of epistemology, entails voicing new speech from old — 

Knowitall.  
Even blindfolded, we see paradox smirching curvatures in space, observed in continuous motion: Air puffs dart away, streamlined and compressed, aiming fast — but never landing — 
 
I’m scared. Good night to catch up on a poem or two that don’t matter, unfinished odes to Zeno as we circumvent Euclidian voice commands, remaking spatial morality into chance agency, no vision, no dash, only having to know.

There’s nothing linear going on. Everyone infers that.
Unless you want to.

Been reading about accelerating destruction in the Amazon. A chunk the size of Rhode Island burnt down each year. This buckaroo practice unearths rich soil for farming that’s productive for about four or five years. After that, the soil turns into sand and sand dust.
Carports for the farmers, then, are an interim step. Dust when it rains converts to haze and the stain of moist bubble-like illusions.

Can we straddle the divide between convention & sorting through unattenuated sense-making?
Every Harvey Keitel film substantiates you may have a gun, you could be reaching to get a gun, or you could just be, in essence, fronting.

My boss sucks.
That’s because she has to. Some job titles are, as the expression goes, anathemas. Disquiet raising the roof. Boss, leader, principal, chair, honcho, prexy, director, officer in charge, master chef, head of the shift, muse. What does it take to earn and maintain a caption like these? Ideology.

Casting spells. Constantly interviewing everyone, including me as I do with every other co-worker, employee, affiliate, colleague, member, collaborator, associate sans souci. Muse first!

64: The soul is a belief system, which I have seen defaced, 
increasing its store through loss in time, grief and tv language. 
I hope you can let this go.. 

Time will come to take our love away leaving me breathing with no form;
no fear but structurally I’m consumed by so lofty a hypothetical force — 
I can’t go on without an interchange — an episode within your telegenics: 
When we walk together, it makes no language difference what we believe,
what the soul is. 

I’m just commenting having you, having no fear losing you. 
The soul’s inscription reads you’re my business.

To wield a conceptual brush is to terrorize, even if your motivating injunctions steer clear of violence or unregulated emotion. Terror here is poetry’s swift, certain, nontrivial insertion through a crucial hole and/or through self-negation versus certitude and flatulent controversy, such as with Basho’s proving human sound able to transform animal to mineral, or with Duchamp’s counter-ploy to the rule, toilets are never foreground.



Controversy, like injunction, comes to us commonly or frequently as back-formation, a provisional ethos after the conceptual stroke. We were constrained by the profound assumption, for example, that a play requires a tone and the stage set in more than five words. We were tacitly sure of this, marginalized more from other minimalist affects until we read Beckett’s new direction: A country road. A tree.

Foolproof intensity is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there we can move forward and back to detect duller undertones that encompass our naïve expertise.

Yours and mine.
Dull, but there are no nasty values in the executive nest. There’s a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and edacity. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up one’s visual cortex — pasting-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — tooth and nail radiance.

Falsehood is an actuarial stat, a subjective state and quality of the frieze in progress, not an elevation or height. 
 
This is a true/false dance question. Fibber Perseus v ‘radium’ Danae (his mom). Which are ya?  
For one draft you as Perseus can place big futures and puts as taller mouthpieces enter the salon rolled ‘into’ B flat major, ‘into’ spools of more of her opposites — Danae’s tendencious pedestrians, 1st- or 2nd-years, sweating lead colors.   
 
Danae can’t help smothering her loved ones. In her wake birds assume instantaneous velocity.

Wearing new ear buds, I’m unnerved by this chamber piece somberly flashing in forwardness, now audible jokes of mute resignation, of intention preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed authority. Not hearing more fosters coercion of what evolutionary legs-up were before running through all options.  Unless there is nowhere else.

Silence is oversexed-and-enormous but I give into it.
I’m sick of guy’s things.
I’m a dental monitor, not a dentist.

Half of the known universes have astrophysicists.
Our prospect ices. Breaking appointments,

Time lapses are at acute angles each winter, no lie.
One improbable is the climate’s finite performance before it veers away.
Switching phones, I look up to the crazy dental intern waiting to take me out.

You can exit the room at any point, burning, or add features to nodes, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.

92: To my love in constant revolt, stealing away...

Once again my life may come to an end. Next, let’s be happy love never stays; love is vexing weather depending on manual forecasts. And inside scars. A heightened blush. But no longer — it’s so like American Gothic under manageable stress, learning to fear the worst I’m happy to have had your love — I don’t know, what’s a fair question — is there one last best state to restage or not to live? For it depends on you, not false humor, and it’s wrong I belong in this humorless state. I find my love for you is self-assured and formally difficult and — dash — For now let others be happy to die — In the end they appear on fire.

Happy to die! — do we take their place?

A new problem set: 
Work through naïve discourse —  
 
Keep methods observable as mayhem —  
Call this ‘transactional’ waking action  
Unlocking — on sight of you — my feeling from the start, the only unmoving part.

The mind just calculates sitting there. It wants to be best friends. It’s saved us a burger. An idea of glimmers, of aroma: The apparatus out back, grills in place, waiting —

Noh way. That’s us w/ big hanging wolf eyes. We’re a match in perseverance, trying to breathe when we meet, somersaulting in / 
 
What goes around then comes gasping; the more irregular verbs  
 
induct us to your other habits ..  
Gleaming steam drags down sculptures of felled helium..  
A little like nerves done over by spinning in warm breath.  
 
Noh stuff.

Beaten hulks pour vodka that swirls in an action film clip with multiple data fields and a crew of deft extras in malaise. Their theorems about pain are supported by one or another grabbing a rope, showing pain.

I’m told you’d prefer not to watch. It’s better using your own voice to ask a friend or two to make you hurt, pretending they are you, falling mute.

You can tell it's not prose when you fiddle with it for more than 10 days, fiddle with it all the way down.

We need a clearer message. There is nothing swift
in discretion. Neap tides in grasses previously made us sick.

Their flowers’ name is hooded.

I’m sorry about blunt, contradictory line breaks —
more confusion for ad finitum, signing in ...

but we trust you with these melodious issues.
Yes. It’s speaking animals that need you, remember, and

Timespace, s’up?

It could be that lunatic yarn to move your higher thought around  
modulating what the self comprises, one’s prime membership,  
renewable only once according to replicas. While ..  
I’m neutral re: riding recklessly, driven in short sequences w/out words —  
push material for daring and highway defensiveness w/ outreach.  
 
They say grad school if you ever go is mostly played out.  
That means you partake in indecision (ever cool).  
 
And there were digital fees while traveling that way, breaking bread in wooden enclosures —
teaching, playing hard on the computers, keeping at it —

Remember to slam the parentheses behind you 
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang 
(to be on the safe side).   
 
— James Schuyler

Donor class curricular adjustments. We apologize for the inconvenience. 
A ton of special forces in silhouette .. er ..  
Near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, the managerial sweepers,  
Theorists of a visual world culture wholly populated by good posture.

117: What’s virtue? J’accuse thus: We have to repay all bonds for punishment on platform hoists.
I recommend frequent time with ex-writers, video vignette makers, tinkerers and others unknown, indistinguishable from applied scientists.

For now, after work we non-haters should accumulate human illuminated octane and wear Ray Bans and short sleeves.

Whereto (given time) ‘should’ = ‘want to’ — our gusto waking proof, scant without you, dragged, transported in ropes far from your august level.

All bonds tie me day by day to your dearest love:

Solitude, confidences accumulate as we’ll give in to willfulness then errors, the plays and the desert constants farthest from your sight.

The happiness of one red lounge, a banquette with table in one corner washes up on islands serving as hideouts. We’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop. I’ll invade your space then just leave.

I believe in fact. 
There’re ways we recover from riches and most happiness: as litigants in the field henceforth —  
With context as the right field once  
 
We stay on board out in left ..  
 
It’s about letting go and taking you out of context — 
(Below context, a free agnosticism. Easy sway. You’ll be taken up on your offers.)

Dedicated robots embrace the free market, she announced in a penetrating tone of Aleut, 
 
a blanched mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, free of anguish for an all nighter:  
She picked that up early, from them..  
..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..

I had this idea out of nowhere of no ethnicity. 
Not like gogo boots or a crucifix ...  
no longer eyelashes to bring your pupils out.   
 
We might have a cigarette for the beach.  
What do you think of smoking?   
 
No, I don’t think I’ve done anything this way before.  
That’s why I slept so poorly last night.   
 
For if I tell you, you’ll say  
I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Right,  
 
you know I’m two-faced. What? Nothing. All right...   
 
We can make the poem mute. If it doesn’t  
speak, we don’t have to pay it as much.   
 
A wordless deaf-mute. What could  
be more what you are?

Just because I feel nothing, Pessoa,

You’re leaking results before ‘thinking it over’;
IF I have no idea that holds you,
THEN how does an idea
Of idea an
-ticpate stipulating proofs for missing the ‘and,’ ‘or’ and ‘not’ of binary practice?
Let’s start then w/ an idea
Of making out
Up a big tree in Zion where detachment is trimmed back —
Just because I still feel nothing doesn’t mean
I can’t or won’t come up w/ representational songs of a strange loop, w/ jaded stretches.. Literally externalize my comfort. Externalize discomfort, too.

You’d lose a lot of the dude and preachy man... yeh.

Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis
according to types of daring.

Don’t smolder, show us.

Microscopic honesty — we used to say — is the sanest practice for complete thumb control and body fitness. 
Let’s go thru it again, generations of ample volunteering and worship set these scruples up. They come back. Soon you relax your balance, honest equipoise for a good writer is common enough, even now. 
We went over our defensive appearances, for instance. Keep to schedule. Key is your keeping a regimen for hours at a time before it can wear off: So never let it. Curvatures in spacetime affix to our high expectations. If they pass muster they’ll slant any promise you have, had or you don’t know in the aftermath of your hiatus (hesitation), revving up.

Good I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of misnomers. Eating and breathing them too. 

Ghosts roam with the panicked. (All of us.) It’s like a last dance in respect to what you guys were doing — working off a 20-year watch list.   
 
There’s hustle to market, along with rips in the divino cargo of space/time whose overnight vessels burgeon on blobby warmth, piped in like Berlioz, accompanied by addictions to ennobling risk. Come here often?

No appointments today. Triumph** is that creepy*. And counter-intuitive.


*Creepy widely construed as deafening tendencies toward plundered contexts for altering the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology.


**Triumph, group or personal, can be unscrewed from abstraction during critical Q & A’s. How does triumph threaten a referent? when going straight to the point of quasi-autonomy. Was ist das? 

I’m asking out loud for one reason only, so the receiver will sound an alarm (an autonomous light).


Merely of course sounded.

A poem fires up photoshop. 

It’s often said a poem is a picture — I read madras pea 
Coats — albino kittens hitting crescendos annoying cringing robots. 
Drown me out, speed bags. 
Drown and kiss the cleft, sanguinary as dissolvents — 
Love makes lock up toxic. 

Photoshop that. 
Not a problem.

I use bigger words than you, 
The spring flowers, the moon in autumn —  
But one word never fits my argument, cosseting
Classified by evolutionary collisions.  
I think we both prefer our trance all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.

Bad news, I was 
struck by the French property owner. You know,  
plagiarism done in loose quotes.  
It’s cold indirection (sangfroid),  
but my metabolism really took off, along  
with emotions from a huge songbook  
I’m freezing,  
 
‘quote’ Watching text spin like sentience  
refined by distance; since  
it’s none of the above ‘end quote.’ This could be for you now.

In my illusion
of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
and got lost and scattered trying not to be distracted.

Production through retrieval and communal ethos are distinctive features of the medieval era. It’s not unironic in the least digital data assembly enables our return to those kinds of production and ethos. Work produced now is parallel along almost incalculable dimensions. And if most of that work is still authored, we can posit the mushrooming of art production (including poetry) over a relative short time will totalize individual product into a kind of arguably 2nd-tier relevance (with a few nonconceptual exceptions, of course).

* Before I turn into another parabola of you, yours, I should take myself out and stay out, crabbed, hesitant to set off emotion that might fail. There’re signs you just want to cry — and it’s not a bad smell, just sad or whiffy in dimness when I wake up. It all goes well. You and I take off, tho. One by one. Reasons are weather related, paleness this morning and a similar wash of fog coming back, a lilac-dark cloud and offshore atmospheres yesterday, the day before. Winds shifted and I barely pertain, and why should I? It would be contradictory and limitlessly impolite to insist we’ve won in a runoff of longing and gratitude. That you and I are taking time to sift through (even the slightest) parts here would be a datum of expository coincidence. I cherish your transitioning into mine, bringing it up to me every day yet I can’t presume what we can’t express, foundering and tongue-tied, handing our fortune over to the 1st letters of the alphabet. Suppose they were the first. A. You B. want C. back in — me too. Where are they?

O Jesus 
A severe honey glow   
 
crowning his shoulders — groomed   
 
disgust in his walk, his mystic theater   
 
perhaps addressing us, the radiant   
 
pull at his mom’s sleeve.   
 
Perpetuity emptied of the given moment.

Trump investments.  Absence of thought rules for higher authority. Top markets fill to their edges with intricate crosshatches over pastel word clumps, busy yet redacted, hacked into coherent thought. The soft vellum pellets change our impression a bit. A busy, contingent thoughtlessness that’s slimed, generally.

Baby Watteau —

The empty sale window is closing and I’m on the move (or we are). Early or late, the sky’s not falling as a point of fact. Watteau flows like a dancer / stripper in spirals. Another point, harder to verify. More blessed, Baby’s greatest came early; Cézanne was late. These data still matter, in a manner of ungainly small talk — I’ve found someone else, deeper in, a thinly veiled version of a fossilized Cézanne.

The flow is hard to describe — an infancy of a higher up, going blind. Perfecting for a fall. (My baby traps me.)

There was a boom in robots once.
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.
And if you invest now, daylight garners one
several that breathe, toting examples of published cook
-ing ontologies, whatever they got alleged. Memory has it we
don’t have the brains to enumerate an open enough peace
next to sleeping people who were staring earlier through the ice.

Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason
before the ice scissored out the upper grades.

This is my first try in three dimensions.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory norm of curiosity —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, a humanist quiz.

No futures present new phenomena —
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony purring yet put aside.
3-D models are mindless taking chances, everyone we can engage in transparent secrecy, charged by mental concision.

Rationed compliments ensue and float
several kinds of math.
The math is fascinating, I think, to squelch tautologies of wealth and actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power we might have had. Had the self taken itself un-nostalgically?

— an idea to play w/ just one note in the future perfect.. where disrespect feels like eavesdropping.

Early nesting process stuff. Ketchupy. 
The coast is never clear, fat boy...   
 
A whole new side to nuts & lightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center,  
along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper,  
clearly in the nick of it, spoiling for everyone.

My blood is in the work, how we make love. That’s why  
I’m close to invisible as a jet companion, not of this sexual province.   
 

One by one. Everyone else was smiling the other way. A sober intro...   
 
They’re having a fit of motions gone thru. Everyone a worker-sleeper.  
Then I remember there’s exigency in good fortune.  
 
With the right knowhow  
& not feeling mortal, all to the good...   
  
engaged about engaging — what a work week!

The gestalt is to look and act urbanely offhand, sound normal, asymmetrically curt. 

In the change-up scenario everything is repurposed for conceptual deflation.  
Psychotropic bios in a pair are commonly diagnosed as parallel discourse stratagems.  
 
One concentrates on the next available genes that spread widely, 
Until one goes broke; summarily I am screwed. Weren’t 
I to center on perception (whether beauty or wit), I’ll sustain losses only out of
irony.

95: There’s a hidden pretext for every vice, every sport or budding passion. Also the story of dispraise. 
We leverage, if we really want to, commenting further w/out you. But there you are! my heart. 

How long does my tongue go on telling your story — how great, how sweet it was / adoring your beauty 

.. still .. Here I am! Lascivious conditions today. Only naming a name, your name; 

No hope now it’s you. Bliss bundles this large privilege, including my un-storied shame all eyes can see — in heedful dispraise of our sins, my heart.

What’s missing is, why is there feeling?  
It’s a state of mind according to Hoyle doo wop;  
Global warming jazzes a decimal of our pablum.  
Where should I hurt?  
Once or more. A few more.  
There’s no projected torture unless it causes organ failure.  
 

Baby steps fix the climate really fast indoors.  
 
For we feel tall  
and inflatable as we cascade into a blank, mechanistic corp.

Anchored in the bay I need to remind myself 
Larry Kearney rhymed all with skull, internally. P Inman’s  
Echelon hairnet shifted putty, thumb-nailed into  
An agreement to let us in. Skull with putty.  
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth.  
 
The more you put your fingers in it, on it, on earth, you know retouches, colorations return as audible signs of evidence-based rivalries to make fitter (more adhesive) decisions for correct behavior.

High cognition animating your new bankcard 
Observing very little ethical cohesion. For oomph  
The gloves come off ..   
 
Modifiers in chips note each commitment of yours on a riddle gauge, new units mutate oozing w/ data until you stop.  
 

Finish a stretch and the state gets confused.   
 
Citing a theory of state w/ universal grammar,  
Your card de-activated.

Nolo contendere, so it must be spring, just one daffodil stands, 
Gothically lonely contexts & forsythia’s juvenilia, pancake brown.   
 
No acid red, no sulfuric brown, no browns in hidden rounds  
or soft stems.   
 
I’m not sure it’s inclusive or scrambled enough if we differentiate among drams  
 
& besides, why be preoccupied with elastic peculiarities?   
 
Nobody has to talk to me about me.
I see what no means. This island, 
the water rosy cast.   
 
Poll these opinions. No contest.

Creature masks are prerequisites, in reprieve at the School of Nobody ; 
Teaching can’t be taught. You live within infeasible practice  
To engage another’s psyche  
—

Without counsel, full consent is a slog mating a slow burn. 
You trust yourself by age 600, satisfied  
Euclidean space holds the blueprints to make your home slog efficient.   
 
That was before you were reborn or uninvented.  
Recursions set in. You had no modesty issues.  
You have none now, none detected  
and fewer and fewer policy goals (unlike chemistry in its infancy).   
 
You changed your shirt, put your weight over and into a sketch (a study)  of one on one in galvanized torture that escalates, utter   
 
formalities documented in our eyes, so fine counter-stretched, kept on balance / in suspense —

Stick with it + have what you own set conditions for growth 
as an entire practice. Possess habits that can be flattened   
into proscriptions + boost distinctions  
over words bringing up the actual goods ..   
 
Conditioning’s a transmutation question .. you can say  
there are no stages.

Any hesitance is wind related warmth riding in and a similar sauna of fog, darkness offshore the day before. 
The atmosphere squeaks common sense. We can’t feel it though its paces embolden dreams. 

What hinges out? 
Hop on, I’m a musician.

It’s a real privilege to be singled out 
..once there was a C-class..  
 
We stay onboard  
 
Suffering, complaining, two out of 3 observers got off, depleting the shipment. Surnames are ..oh forget it, huh? They’re randomly conjoined.

舞踏. 
As in Where the 舞踏 were you?

Land use. That’s what the new world is about. Are we breeding steer or picking pansies? 
Just two modalities. Sorry, I have no other apolitical associations I can share. I ran through a dude ranch then with the help of computers random acts of raw energy.

Don’t know why the ranch is still there in a summation after the transaction but before I turn up all hat, no cattle.

Notes on Expressionism: 
 
Ridiculed by sycophants & inferiors, RM Rilke talked to whom? 
I rank his output high.  
Off the scale, 9 plus or more to exaggerate  
(if I could, hmm)..   
 
Duino. No lacunae needed, Rilke’s asyntacity sets an extreme standard atop  a maximally tall order, looking down over his sprawling, immersive, dark & smoky project-for-good, 10 or higher.   
 
— Empress Eugenie

No escape no fooling. 
Snow is a collective that takes singular form.  
Replacement snow falls on snow, terms of art.   
 
The pace is noncommittal; a global officialdom germinates apart.  
Snow! I feel sick yelling my frequent amens.  
I do my best and worst in the future and still get snowed on  
when I start to step away from them.

Affluent girls and boys, effeminate — it’s a sane part of rage — people get to a point where they think they’re not deep enough: “I only want to lie flat on my back and read a book. (I can’t grapple with what else I’m thinking..)” That’s where poets step in. Poets get people to want to read and write.

It’s hopeless, my life like my sweating over you, nondestructive, unextreme. I crack up when someone mentions reincarnation, but next time you’ll pick a family from a line of tenured scientists in the non-snickering future. We on the left are depressed because ours is a classless de-corporated shtetl — no need for socialists? time will tell. Tho, maybe there’s no option? 

You’d still love political verse, but with reservations because of the dirt, all the skid marks and resonance of decay, “refined by distance.” I made sure you could tell.

Standing — showers and others’ happiness that neutrinos can’t stop scattering. Next the sun we say shines, nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual of our meaning it and not tempted. It’s still my life, we say. Some of you and me was here, retreating to emancipating solitude, keeping / adding up the wait time, sporting by degrees the related changes you see and are.

What’s the worst that can happen? One’s partner — 
is a doomed villain — 20 times one’s own weight.  
On a second take one is defined from video senses  
by god, by sex. Thank god that intimidates.   
 
Not scat, I learned squat, handily  
...I get the feeling  
the one god has gone one’s way.

(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.)

It’s impolitic to separate the performance from stage direction; both are deadpan. Have you thought of writing?

Yes, I’ve recently incorporated; the firm makes me feel yes! you are more melted into tomorrow’s borrowing high, mighty simplicity. Like when a spelling bee hints at a pattern to teach reform, pushing a path open. 
 
Pull it together, a life that’s sustainable you can just make up. (You are under a firm obligation.) This is a real company. We call her Cathy.  
Or this has nothing to do with  
walking away earning a higher degree,  
‘mountains feel empty’ / they’re  
rude — here is where the cards you squirt into help.   
 
And there you go, retreating to that panoptic middle deck where you discover almost the same variations. You’ll have to choose the Non-Group taking part in the landing, staying cool to outlast time. Then this is tomorrow.

A mind occupied, just so. Am I in an experimental state of forgery? No, I live in a red state. Prithee, how do I maintain balance sheets & my resolute informality? It’s one other day of no hope. Yet different, jokes turn into sleep. & dreams forgive paranoia’s belated redemption, trapping me inside ambitions to put out the house fire (in my head) all by myself. New to physics, I talk in a low to medium braggadocio. My grin sports a few layers of sleep relief, aching in baby, calmly accruing intimacy to belie despair over entropy.

The service managers said these are extraordinary times. Exciting now. Where are we un, um.. if that’s everything, we’ll switch to administrative cadence. Our slogan: production charges the new world until only a beat prevails. The right hand shadows what generations of fear rarely mine in heavier hypotheticals; the heroic code on the other hand never misses. 

Minutes after our extra work is filed, dozens below management are called to line up for a free run of the orchard, company-owned. “This is a very nice benefit,” a leisure pursuit like playing shipwrecked, held for ransom. Those were the funniest jokes, too. I don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. Or I can’t recall.

Primemart

— Cheerleaders knock themselves out, tied together in women’s active wear. 
Odd, not a one has learnt it’s scripted. 

The street floor, a cul de sac to a point, casts shadows 
over ATM media maps bringing more purpose to the live swelter. 

I’m bad at knowing when justice along 
with passion is vital, not recreational.  
I’m passive but I don’t believe in spooks. Here’s the outline.  
A few strings were pulled to get me in this factual place I would never have chosen.
Survival here is strung with progress.

I’ve crossed a few lines. 
Relax and beware, that beat. Certain branches of neo-Darwinism aim straight at us. Fuzz, the pronoun, embodies overwrought subject matter while knowledge beforehand turns into new revenue streams, brought up a peg to clear things with the bosses.

Ours was a taxonomic correction for error. 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.

Sonnet 100:

Muse. You.
We have tangibility subtracting song
— work converted to worthless argument
with little or no honor.

But it adds up. The numbers spoil everywhere — everywhere times
we don’t have to see you
to get the job done. We’re faster than time.

We forget that’s why singing actuaries went wrong,
unmoored. Their affection all idly vicarious here.
Vicarious isn’t crooked enough. Fame, skill have long
redeemed our fury over what accounts spent.
The survey speaks of love only in numbers, hymns,
a despised waste of life, if any, as satire.

How the fuck could we let this happen? 

Broken, giddy up, dead. 
Today I face thunder — how to pay homage... 
Bouncy.. apocalypse.. 
My instinct when asked is to inch back 
To the moody raw nation jettisoning any 
Civil use of half-soothing words 
On top various uninvented heights, 
The same heights outward 
Of looking into what we broke.

It’s open mic. Didn’t I tell you? 
Squatting in nourishing overview, there’s one off color  
of a deceptive simplicity  in love as well as pride, duplicity.  
Creationism is, a boyfriend keeps faith  
better than others, believing neither.   
 
Separated from a source of meditation, let’s call it, you’d be sad too.  
The source is not sad. One separated from the source is.   
 
Or it’s obvious.  
Sadness is beside itself.

Playing with tonalities, how funny you are.. 
These are chords you kept inside.  
Between description, silence, a periphery.   
 
Any variation can be thought out and checked by fooling the authorities.
 
There’s no description I can give or want to,   
 
No way to rhyme turning away, hiding on the loose.   
 
Chords have their way in the air wondering how mediocre an apartment we get.

Male muses 
 
— the vulnerable and maligned muses were not held enough as children on a moonscape of beaks. Ever notice? Certainly I wasn't. Now I have to make excuses for my friends buried below their own animation with no heirs on site.  
They’re donning synthetics, and only half familiar, and just too intense, plundering the transport from their ambience.   
 
And I was musing, simple stuff picking up a pen.

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m .. 
thinking of some upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further, some interpretive search worked up into a deep discharge of knowledge and how sparks can be applied  
 
so new tools will get back to us all —

Uber eats poem. 

For immediate release: A tormented lab mix of appliance and beast, user-taxed slabs of pork tortilla, casaba and sausage sorbet on a cherry-esque platter, all wrapped up for you to tear open, putting me in mind of a future photo realism, a live feed from your reading this from the Fed Ex of poetics. Yes. 
Speaking of which.. it’s tricky coming up with fast examples of authored conceptual poetics.

Hands up. 
 
On the corner of statue and the outer cape, there’s  
interdependence beyond just passing a show of hands  
beyond orgasm overdue an hour ago (one mild altercation took it  
into a shade of de-constraining ease).  
 
A heyday of hands.

Here’s a thought. Stiles of cash stuffed inside passions, stacking up with such speed our global historiography reflects the world as it is, advancing toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about. 

Well, most of these “pieces” are literal, based on trying to sit down and sing [starting to sing] “Baby, you’re still wearing your headset.”  
 
An air of inevitability around advanced codes has been shattered. It seems inauthentic in your last mustache sense. I am more than at war. Your holding me, the middle of the throat..   
 
I kiss the air. This.