Beyond us, them, 4% atoms, tiny 
wriggling strings; hidden, 22% of the tug —  
 
dark and unknown predicates  
fixated on procedure, a luscious, noiseless bond.   
 
Not running, walking rapidly, I cross  
the hall where the heat transfers ....   
 
open, moving, waiting, transferring  
but hardly tempted.   
 
A rational effect? You and I can’t attempt more,  
touching on our dual roles as we reradiate consensus.

We do not impinge on feeling fine / 
 
10 gallons of the Hirsch, please,  
W/ the canonical crescent tartelle, ah..  
A pipeline of debits operates across casual monotones.  
Everyone’s direction shifts as our nervous system distorts  
 
To emphasize changes over time..  
 
‘I never make judgments about people I shoot.’

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 stay happy but be on time for signing the release pledge, availing yourself of lilac patterned backgrounds if you want that look like diversions of wicked cunning and mirrored parsimony canceling out our love triangle —

Throaty, we thought we thought we were entangled set against puzzle fetishes and no honest vibes. It also helps to hike interest rates on the bed side to side. Conceive a buy-in or -out.

I promised you a ham for painting bombast, cremating all melody fonder. 
 

That would be indoors at our new place.  
 
Until then  
I’ll have you over when life and death crack automation...  
 
Waiting for you know who,  
I hope you’re feeling great. I’m not.

English language trends... 
We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time.  
We  
also =  
a glistening database advanced by textuality. The underground =  
stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity.  
ID traces out how to refine / displace any remnant of cultural contempt.  
Classification adjoined by adaptation passed thru descendants.  
This break and entry taking place under balloons holding our beef jerky.

And we’re moving back to shedding our ambiguity, wearing only raiment emotions, complex appetites, passing drinks around —

That’s not just a cherished, blame-the-victimy idea pushed into text to make it current.
Currency itself is baroque with — and about — democracy. ‘Baroque’ as a term authorizes ironic, decorative extremes as cultural norms — instrumental, uncreative and undemocratic.

Full version. 

Shucks! 
Sorry. Your language is procedural lengthening its insipid menace. 
Your accommodations are key. That’s why we signed the contract 

hammering out so much history & sensory awareness. 
It’s said starting to speak of you is written better where it’s taught. 
(Our addendum is in the mouth.)

— you mentioned erring out 

for tax purposes as accountants for love will suggest — 

Kudos for some of their thanks! 
Your iron determination to play your own tax pro is magnetic. 

I’m solving you for new parity 
w/ the scum of the peninsula.

There are subtitles, various languages. You are epistemic staying awake, translating all you expose, the back of another dreaming.   
Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.  
(Sleeping on nothing to do with nothing.)    
You can exit the profession at any point, humming inside; you meanwhile can add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.

If you got close enough to Talking Chimp’s cage, she’d throw dirt, food — anything her baby paws could fit around — while her companion, Rudy [Ekornes], made loud sounds that resemble what some call a ‘raspberry.’

Talking chimp did all her own stunts.

She was the featured beast in the movie Barfly.

Upon her release Talking Chimp left the industry and went on to Oxford.

Talking Chimp was seen with a lot of gentle creatures wearing jeans and racing through the wood, building paranoia.
What if we put the talking chimp away for five seconds.

“Let’s not do this, let’s not make hurting each other impossible to resist,” the real talking chimp enjoined, unable to stop herself.

Unexpectedly, she took me home to meet her family.

We fail to clarify after political glamor, poli rant goes along with new protocol (the old manners) watched over, even policed nightly — many topics in mind so a few phrases take on character, a wince, a tilt of hat. 
 
Current government gives a glimpse into events shaping rant as in “The Owl and the Nightingale.”  
 
The passive voice made for you to prove your anger; propositional semantics =   
 
key [snap] decisions, arguments, further jibes, shaming within a sub-class of invective, a face-off to persuade waverers; Julius Caesar, Juliet, “Much Ado About Nothing,” “Battle of Maldon,” where Saxon to Welsh sat on decline benches, threw slurs across the Blackwater — add flytings of Skalds of Old Norse in Simone’s Droplaugarsona Saga, as well as the Scot Dunbar et al, “Montgomerie et Polmart,” plus vomitous insult from Middle Normans freezing progress for the Republic of the Nightingale.  
 
It’s closeness ahead shaped by time gone just like that.

The rhetor avers, “Linked phrases run through the a’s, b’s, c’s so
on, but a-phrases, again, often point to the composition (the kind I am). 

As for b, my creativity 
is not wasted in remorse. 
What I owe: I know 
almost and almost lost, 
unfinished, in everything. For the c’s 
I moved along a scratchy plain 
of dandelions, peony, clover: 
checked for snags of fern, fir, 
and only you nodded: Oh yes — 
It’s always news: 

and I see your form 
as you fill in the questionnaire 
putting your back into it.”

If you know rhetoric 
it changes feelings;  
it changes behavior,  
especially within poetry.   
 
Poetry changes  
writing now,  
writing you’re reading at another  time coming up now.  
Benji, stop that! (Strange dog.) We’ve decided to beat it out of you. (Benji.) 
Say something! We’ve lost your spirit and pulse.

Our racetrack type can’t win. 
A tongue in your ear  
loosens noise from pioneers and  
‘second’ cousins in lines of duty.  
 
It’s a tradition intractably complex, 
A two-mate cabin five steps down.  
Sleeping with you, blackmailed looking for
a waging mnemonic to store in a palindrome.

There are procedures for mourning. There are a slew of them. 
I can’t say these things. These same things. Page one, no one, page 101. 

I may go on to continue. To be pressed on cardboard. 
It almost makes me say all aboard. Then it “goes.” 

for Ted Greenwald

The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense. 

Come out and play, practice, sample finding out 
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of national cultures  
backed up with inexact and multiple scents of honor, crooning sounds  
from what we were doing before [give me a sec..] took hold,  
instantly endorsed as group identity. 

Identity and hardened m.o.’s from silences and retakes 
and feral feelings immersed in a prolonged piano lesson. 

Any ineptitude from food, cars and drugs motivates our family plan, a ceremonial prank, an outright lie living off others’ good graces: A.I. ‘living’ in sin. 

A.I. re babies under these circumstances brings up future drug dependence, except not yours of course.  
 

I note one’s pale eyestripe of looking and pleading. Down curved and black edged, camouflage for being unread. Frankly, one’s not that much into whom? When the father was asked, he hesitated and then offered, “Certainly not me.”

The crisis up to now: Form is not an
object but double identity, an explosion,
funneling a non-hegemonic pulsation — and due to substitution
off rhyme gathers the moment. Makes sense

You look fabulous in encaustic. Then ancients draw closer
under scrutiny from your upcoming voiceover!

They’ll have heard everything.
But that’s when we fundamentally begin to wander
Like qualia or twins once in a trance of a lifetime, just one.

Geometry respects the brain.. 
operands like to piggyback...   
 
Preliminary findings we said,  
knowing it’s going to grow   
 
— I just drove all the way  
from Hawaii.  That proves it 
genius-like, it was  
lighting up my senses   
 
like just before you’re shaven. I’m  
noting how your chin juts into mirror form —   
 
Your neck’s more formal than that — really  
a splendid animal halo front to back.

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?
What does it mean to work? I don’t know that either. What I know is how to belong, stake out territory and bust heads, maintaining an atmosphere of trust.

Knower and the known in physics, all branches, all matter —
Is that a document in your pocket or did you make it up?
If you agree I’m happiest procrastinating.
Up with proportionality, southpaw.

How did Auden begin? Green song of ourselves...
The dumbfounded rush in when he’s around. It’s not their fault.

He has that look-for-it itch. Garish tulip brocaded w/ physics.
One presumes Auden’s elements are strung together out of capital’s desperation and a deeply ingrained will to dominate the unknown, much as technology takes on all comers...

From Iraq, Africa, coming from Brazil to Hiroshima, Syria, graphic measures of tragic-comedic obliteration.

All this time the dumb and dumbfounded are different.

How did Auden begin? Green song of ourselves...

You & then I change very slowly thru a shower curtain 
on televised football. Management will yell  
raising your pulse rate. Or is sweet smelling flame just to remind us?

In my illusion of minimalist guts, hammering steel,  
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of time. The frayed entity, o   
neh, I should say the accretion settled down, humble salve   
soon spreading over us, losing out touch, scattered trying to remember and      
 
Simply put, to remember where early wounds from speech are   
pronounced, which wait inside, which sorts hit or fit our doing....  
mimesis within nature,   
uppermost.   
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?

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

RNA itemizes facts. 
Do you name your dares?  
Or stay bubble-footed in the dark,  
 
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 their finding-it-out tools.   
 
Distribution adjustment has those to spare..  
Now tasked down from behaviorist briefs. 

Singing into one’s hat is like shooting for triumph.
Otherwise, sung language has a light vegan sexuality.

Whew! I’ve been chewing to 1 side, noted by 3rd parties (dentists)..

Hanging out in unusual white corridors...
Suggesting we’re still trembling, owing to

The chew off, creating new intelligence for making sense,
Most often pulling some predictable rabbit out of a hat —

A Pythagorean hat for which there is a beginning,
There is an end, don’t fix it.

The three acts to life comprise the intervals it contains minus select channels —
life like deep blurs formally at odds,
life in split seconds joining bigger movement with no data.

Yum-suffused shortbread has some regions, ancestry
In brogues. So it’s really something and nothing

And we have developed responses
.. untruthful automated Now Pro voices ..“that acquiesce on a positive note..”
This can’t be real, one doesn’t have to seem interesting. “No clouds, hi contrast,
Of little depth.” But that doesn’t sound bad. There’s a slimmer chance

I’m captioning the fixed width to Now Pro today
Evolving in massive overuse. Hmm?

Last words on process: Counterfeiting
Is luckier than reading everything before it’s rooted in or out.

No sweat on heavy attainment comes up next, avail. in this rough version of Recently Used
English to wish you any and all the full pleasure I withheld. Damn!

Like dozens of others spin
-ning opaque data sets, it’s probable
I’ll never make chicken
or any designated soup for you — I never make
chicken soup but if you ached for me
to I would.
You come before vegetarian salvation.
I’ll never make
that either.

I’m a floater of cynicism when it comes to treatable influences.

Early on our folks taught us to celebrate country music!
Burp through the microphone, Earl, and stare ahead.
It’s early on — it’s a joke — I hadn’t spoken to you I imagined
about a construction zone perforated by echoes, swindles,
procedural lunges toward extra gags. But I see I had.

Flashbacks pertain.  
Large reflecting pools of the future, it’s just a thought. 
If I introduce vagueness to mitigate error as a more devout  machine therapy, we can escape  
thought-train derailment, bringing on threat streams in graphemic parole,  
a narrow rescue from disillusion. 

Ode: I’m sleep. An only hill 
I’ve been researching  
Awake most nights:  
A clean face in the morning — caped  
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light that’s the best.  
 
Dogs and woods by the ocean, other 
Kludges and hacks harder to implement.   
Can you dig the stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over.   
 
Repeat this until approved.

Time runs out. 
 
Your poetry has a political bent.  
Stays in position, authentic / inauthentic;   
 

I model your bifurcated attitude  
yet  

everything I do is sin. One after another piles up if  
or when —  
 
Today is when —  
 
The nuclear self, writing you & me, lingers for more... Huh? Now you know I did it.  
 
I wish I hadn’t / I wish I didn’t.  
Fund-raise off that.

Is that how you see yourself?

— your idea of daylight?
Every day becoming popular knowledge
of parallel ebullience

                                waiting to come up
half in sleep,
steadfast in geometry enabling progression
with utterances to the horizon, horizons, the whole body.

Calming down, there’s a dual rule of justice gone aground in the frontal lobe, some jittery appliance done in by semantic brushfire... calm that rubs against the ‘human grain’ under our governing bodies.

Back I said, my piece of non-advice. 
 
Innocence revealed concerns ethics, not intent. Spinoza spent against his own young interests.  
 
Adoration once had a poetic scent. Still has.  
 
Reputations get worse hinging on character, that’s why apprehension remains, deferentially. Creature masks are conditions in unreasoning reprieve.  
Who will advocate peace for the tranquil  
to empower mergers & exchange?

Stutterers stutter trying not to
looking to feints in thorny circumstance,
unable to help us play a single practical
joke — I hadn’t spoken to you for months
about your adaptability thru mirrors, swindles..
distending procedural lunges toward more feints.

It’s hard for me to take credit for all you’ve done
yet I can see these things happening without you;
furthermore, I give up on any topic I redact.

Why thru sprinkles? stepping over water balloons floating 
In a once swimming pool.. spurts of views down  
Hallways, stairs set apart and fronted  
With music waking in dimming brightness  
With no memory how you got there. That you? 
Didn’t they tell you  
slim tones and soft muscularity prove   
our brains are stolen. Later   
 

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

waiting for payday in awe-inspiring taxation.   
Hazards all sides.  
There you are.

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

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

Per sacks. Imitation spinner features,  
striving for positive letterform   
 
Abstracts, speed processed  
but that alone is wearying. Bitch bitch.   
 
You can’t do this job alone — it’s intuition.  
Nor can I maintain perspicacity. It’s 

Like all great conflicts,
synecdoche left not sharing to chance.

Step Five (ok, I hardly get to do this): I nod off while admiring clearly invisible gamma material at a teeny axis point of existence. One is strong and stupid with an emphasis on novelty. I can imagine a spontaneous disintegration of pragmatics and rarefied syntax until I find myself in the same place here, only in a ‘half-life’ where — 3 decades later! — speech still matters.

Living in an urban sandwich, 
tomorrow or the day after you take out what’s here,  
where you live and dream, even where you work. 
It’s in the doing log, down toward the bottom. Even if you see  
spoilage as natural you might sense a hidden hand (vengeance)  
every time those who argue grow untimely. 
 
Yet this is space and time — Sense better. 
Whew — you think of puppy paws  
as your head fills up with the stickiest,  
most adorable pup gifs filled out  
in dissonance for street lights hum  
 
and flicker  
 
and ......  
 
and  
 
make a daisy-chain of my 3 emotions,  
which the urban sandwich aims to lay claim to and  
project as its own.

My counselor affidavit registers a deficiency of thought and evolving stuff. All the same, this is the second point.

Again the others’ doesn’t count. (I’ve always been competing with another self.)

Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for smoking a joint within the social paradox of treason. Rules commit us. Voters went for the bumble head cheat. Yet this is the latest case.

Everything I note here is integrated. These databases center on surplus insertions while someone super and sober on the ground keeps looking up. We like our democratic ideals to get by on appearances.
It’s written that was enough. O May!

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


we face living with memes & east winds 
taking it to other investors who might stay offended, 


the next step in the training. 

Onto no worse, regarding progress.

Guess what, a vibrating rattle in hand
rings all night tumbling out of mind, leaving this hole
open to irresolution,
figure suspended, door ajar.

Once you really had us. I was choked up by your running in and out, nearly in a sidle. I told you we agreed a little but not a lot. The plotting — lackluster — I hope you’re coming back for things you need to follow up, us.

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

In our process an orange cloud enters the locker room of the essay. This is the middle section where Gustave Flaubert is transported to the essay’s ‘character’ to do the interfacing, theme propositions in your own words forming a script. Flaubert did not have a script, much less digital media, and the word ‘hysteria’ does not occur in the text of Madame Bovary. In his time, how informed he seems in connection with emerging appropriations by psychopathology. It’s an early manifest of a viral cloud (in our terms). By now every sentence in MB can be re-assembled into poetry, waiting to be taken out for a non-linear spin.

“Here I use my shaken my voice..”

First on wrong, quaint, then drenched though slackened



Janus was proud to sponsor Janus 



shaking this neap vapor through no shadow weighed, no 



ten or more fears and slopes 


meeting above the steps coincided with their light. 


A high-clip to the final base



atmospherics, their blast patching the thaw 



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

So the others’ don’t doesn’t count...
“I again not so nicely
Staked out your street cred...” or..
A dress code made perfect in just one’s won’t...

Anchor the wall with fun words, fun you’ve had personally, say.
That’s an order, captain.
All your words over the entire wall.

One followup.
Today everything I sculpt or shade is yours (mock ups / ruptured items / body copy) or it was when we were in Tacoma picking up fun Japanese. An engineer described it as leaving gaps.

Light exchanged positions. A frat party to you.
It felt good how it broke the room down. And up.
The payoff is one room axis of favoring and feeling more
but far below seppuku —

Rationed compliments ensue secretly,
Accounting disappears like functions of context (text frame procedures) —

Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes
— Travel well.

Can we reconstruct weather formations circling bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?

Yes, I think we can. Those seven, now under the forecast quiver to sleep, resemble one another trembling in patterns.

. *
Pierre Bourdieu throws a projectile — “Magnified preferences [‘tastes’] of
capital distribution are stopgaps like reassembling heterodoxlogy while
subdominant esthetic fields balloon into baggier ideas.”

Bourdieu gets home to his Cajun kitchen, much later, and hears whether
it’s a voice in his head. “We gain as much knowledge from our shortcomings
as insights.” Well, ah! Our shortcomings have their own weather stats to share here
while checks and balances are nasally inspissated thru fear.

Struggling with no 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.  
  
Now no song of punishment without a reward, sorrow over death. 
Only your own half meets you halfway, how morning can blur promises   
while letting your adages cool.  
 
Is this a document or did you and I make it up?  
Frozen water on Mars is our smoking gun.   
 
Another question  
Of how should I hurt?  
Once and be done.

By future standards don’t-I-wish 
is disgusting.  
 
How so? we failures inquire. Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory, you howl. “Mm,”the anthropic analyst howls back. He’s staring at my clogs, wondering how they’re embossed.  
 
When struck a lightning rod emits dust, after that a solution, a chemical substance that squiggles down to my feet. That’s how.

Surely as there’s a corporate hold across manners and adaptations,
there’ll be curricula restraining praxis
and workbooks in hermetic syntax.

Nice beachfront but there are fewer
bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! — metaphysical.
An eerie self-eating mutation.

Missing him, there’s an itch from ambiguity, where
The sore goes away, released into red states —
The tide appears to notarize that; that &
We came here to our senses in subjective certainty.

Apology to my mate.

Before apologizing, advanced yoga is always for sharers,
A civilizing process to eternal categories, entered into by hand.
I’m not kidding, your certainty offers mores from within & supports you if
You have none. You can swim in them.

I’ll do what I can. It wears on me.
Smothered abstractions take time. Another day, slim odds. Almost hopeless, yet different jokes toss in sleep, dreams that forgive you for killing the moment. For paranoia’s belated audition entraps you if you don’t relax your authority.

Evasion tho foregrounds more advanced style, state-of-the-art motives — harsh comes across, exaggerated. Another day to recover your loss mid-grin.

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/ dog food boxes..    
Indignant at keyholes, too, w/ their reactionary  
Counters to earnest alignment as his sure timing slips   
Under the prowess of drifting unquietly   
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice,   
“A voice and nothing more.”

The times call for action. 
Not a tragedy, not comedy. Not  
 
Caliginous faces, doubts, pleasantly high alerts.  
No tedious script but liberation within horror!  
We heard from the ‘producers’ under their own rubric,  
calm down, that’s also an icon of their intentions.  
 
Stuck at this end I’d settle for a shorter story  
or a preface to a cookbook. Staying within comestible lines.   
 
We’re feeling besieged, a little called out  
in the set meaning of no revolution now.

Mind control is a big order of alter-egos, disingenuous.
Can you place our names? You miss the point.
Destroy and smooth nothing.
Imitate killing seeing
the system.
Make my mind avoid our bohemia.

Let’s knock off a masterplan for truth value, wider scope.

Sweetness is vacillating as usual birches.
Though fragrant — the trail turns opaque
And poof — still,
It could rain.

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

It’s impossible to separate understatement from performance; both are adolescent in pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be felt. Next, a cool minimal database is advanced to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death medium-hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. 

The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. The upshot, to meet and / or emplace each close to noble attempt being you.

I once had an idea today was over. I forgot, man.  With less & less destruction of our marriage, we constitute the locus of self worth taking part in a co-ritual to outlast time.  Over & over. Today again.

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

Experience is impulsive, according to unrigorous physics out-evolving pretexts for concealment with no plausibility in the future of the past. 
 
No such work experience predictable for a pay grade gaining access only to weather bombs in a manifold vacuum. Algorithms   
 
Would be taking you on and over and winning without willing to substantiate or junk your work stuff.   
 
Algorithms are vicarious. We thought no way, no ultimatums to rephrase, no immoral aspirations — nothing but work slathered with work!

I am a smoker, sativa of course : 
 
I blow black smoke in your eyes when you have a choice.  
 
“Tear up this paper,”  
Everything is trauma (“I exist”). Whoa...  
 
The way you move talking to me tonight is a fair shake at fame.  
 
When you put your money down ..  
We can start over in the middle but it’s just the beginning.  
Fame shows up in either one long consequence or buckets of sequence.

I weigh your music.
Bang you’re dead:

Average self-guilt along with bland lucky
tones, a problem. No gist, a tone too popular.
So relax thine form here,
Berlioz.

Everything dark-accented inflates 3
dimensions into an immense drizzle of forms A.

The formless, unequal in luck float already.
I hope you’re at peace.

Avoidance with a message sounds personable, calm, also passably awkward. In the same robot call he reverses prerogatives, tha is, the voice does. I’ll table the difference — a mixed result but with swift powers two kinds of physics have never been better aligned. I’m altogether devoted to the happiness of the robot and then all our tech people in the call center. The firm gives me focus, serves as my hideout, while I search for a motive, learning the ropes.

Riddle: Struggling between rarely and (purely) descriptive vulnerability to vie for solitude, taking your hand to suspend my paradigm... I killed for you. Why(’d you bother)?

Feeling is feeling. It’s official.
Then it’s repetitive, suggesting emotion has gone too far 
& some at all levels will be disclosed, then not spoken of, 
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting 
our lives together & whittling wry self management into grift. 

Comping is rewriting also writing.
So let’s see what happens.
Don’t do that eye thing.
No anything.

I’m in so much trouble.
Judah & Lion

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 hole and/or through self-negation in certitude and flatulent controversy, such as with Basho’s disproving human sound unable to transform animal to mineral, or with Duchamp’s counter-ploy to the rule, men’s room accoutrements 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 the tone and stage be set in more than five words. We were tacitly sure of this, marginalized more from different affects until we read Beckett’s new direction: A country road. A tree.

Targeting methods 
To appear transparent  
After a button is pushed  
— I’ve heard that scream.

Most cavemen taste of sitcom overblown for Broadway. 
They never make it, go back where they come from,  
corroded with physical self-disgust, chained, still, to their desks.

G forces gather momentum in shale.  
Midnight dining, rambling like deer in bed, shiny  
in smoke, how  
Without jitters our wills vacillate.  
Every pause in passive groans  
uttered to affirm fajita in snatches —  
opera and shush..

So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. Your ride is brief —

A ruse, tho, can be your generic, long-living object that looks transparent, emerging as sleep. 
So you’re still in danger within the same maize-y wait time. 

— How do bricks 
hang through the duration? (Waiting is the easy-hard part.) 
Ruses ride themselves.

I’ve crossed out lines. 
Relax and beware. Certain branches of law aim straight at us.
Avalanche, the pronoun, embodies unnamed subjects, overwrought.  
 
A starry equity or neurons? Words are beta fields  
That heat up while fertile at the edge yet a lost cause.  
And titles cost. Avalanche.. a virus.  
Cherries Hamlet.  
 
Broken final thoughts, giddy up, dead.  
Today I face thunder — how to pay homage...  
My instinct when asked is to inch back  
 
To the moody raw reflex jettisoning any  
Civil use of half-soothing words  
On top various legal points,  
The same points forward  
Of looking into what we broke.

If we were mannerists, I would describe our ‘age’ (for quality assurance and training purposes) as the one just before the death of death, approaching New Venice. So far, the ‘reports’ reserve commentary, remembering our breasts. Lovely butt.

Anyway, I retract my falsehoods. At the same time I condemn and mourn meritocracy. For all men are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice geometry to inspect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland for nothing.) It’s nice finally to put a face to the humiliating nickname.