Showing results for lives in disgrace: ‘You’re profane. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Breaking in looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Good.’   
Then you told me borrowed methods will go further —   
Making money w/out reason is mass   
  
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the way we feel, there are vector   
Utilities for expressing uncritical value   
  
— national perfume! spritzed to scale over your credit checks.

Unable to help you play a single practical joke, we hadn’t spoken for months, having found direction and refinement backstage of a human ‘construction zone’ perforated by mirrors, swindles, procedural lunges toward more pranks. I said I had had it. 
 
And Eve had. And something else.. 
The 10,000 mistakes by that boy who won’t correlate the enormity of it all as evolutionists run back to delve into causality —  
 
Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn. I am 
 
Eve, a family planner ahead of my time. 
I’m still not finished, Adam says.  
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke first.

’Recursive perception‘ — 
For your birthday (bleak as mine, too) I came straight from the agency. My best wishes welded to the dirty space in which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, equivocal, in crayola.

Angst was everything.

Once a Marxist, now I’m a Darwinian. 
To let cleverness exceed incident levels   
 
we had a taxonomic relationship.   
 
Better than marriage, it was an atmosphere-filled parallax.   
 
Some wind, just above freezing, the cat’s tongue is puffy and disheveled.

Prayer: I can steel myself to make something up and call it mine... 
Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent:  
 
I might add, seems textually modest as respectable Eurocentrics undress for survival, avoiding careers, soaking up the city among savages of their own design.  
May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! May it help us solve you and me for X! when we let them.  

Own a bolo.

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

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

Gentle numbers, time, a contraption raised to problem. But that’s good.

You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, sky 
to laugh down compliments from insurgents binding heartache.
The sparrow’s wardrobe above, beaten but he’s breathing. He’s on our land, 
his way to degrade-ultimately-destroy capital. 
Otherwise, there’s only perpetration and fortune to hide. 
After homesickness, there’s profound inebriation 
running a tab, also a little suffering moving in with your 
parents (a sunroom) because they like me... 

I just don’t worry.. your eyes breaking into immense mist clots .. hard 
to reformulate .. (It’s up in the air.)
The property goes on while.

“We played with her cat until it fell asleep.” 
Like crustaceans we cats cave to forgetfulness.  
Blinds drawn, our scavenged opacity overflows as we are alley cats from the deep state, you might say, screening off our comic breeding.  
 
Before that, looking far ahead was fantastic, a civilizing process added to diurnal space filling our eyes with uncontained withdrawal.

To figure out how you think about others’ poetry as you write about it is fairly stupid, except when you deploy invention techniques that are hallmarks of classical composition. To merge poetry and prose is against all the rules, and may be another procedural breakthrough, especially for those who have been disciplined to follow directions and not get caught. Simple to say, but the review should be as interesting as the reviewed, without getting in the way. 

Your movements go by a few names, still coordinated but hidden in.. hardly underwear.

Not dreadful but low, classic, easy, unforgettable elements surrounding a presence (for now) then taking them off — your panties — quiet and respectful in everyday nudity.

For nudity, it’s always a swing dance in practice, a whole new side of narrowing expense and becoming hallowed thru the center, handing over your hard currency and coins.

A lot of Dutch people go Dutch.

The light (you’re sensing) 
failed every midterm before —
too on edge over invisible proofs. 

Income bulking from your dad’s 
condo? You move 
to become walled-in there ..

Check out the view — baby flights 
of gleamed birds in the rough .. 
enough! 
Enough is not idiomatic enough in condo years. 
Too much room freshener for today’s estimating: 
still, seeming seasonable as subterfuge supplants higher
dimensional hindsight, requiring autonomy to hold off. Dig in ..

Edens of chiastic inquiry .. into no word yet..
how yet no such word impedes coincidence in love.

At the Tropicana 
They call us panelists flummoxers amid the full time wash of copters.  
We are in a biz talk show with no host  
as photons reinvest in the world, leaping out of windows. 

My cohort flock to travel benefits. It’s in the evolution of avarice, loose ends everywhere giving wind sheer the opportunity. Looseness keeps younger bodies moving forward. And that goes for the sun shining with its belle-lettrist metamorphosis in the street, damning grown-ups.

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

— Travel well.

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

Midmorning dining, rambling
like deer in bed, shiny
children faultless in smoke, we know how —
No jitters, the heart wrapped
in flames from passive groans
uttered to affirm fajita in snatches ..
opera .. and shush.

I usually snooze after a bonfire of love, not one note of cynicism vis à vis whom I adopt. It’s better after I begin to wake I’ve landed. A roundhouse in the sun is great. I merge at the top, asleep... Moreover, I landed. A roundhouse in the sun... I said. The left knee just there when it took a variant position with scratches — an honest hermaphroditic itch countermanded in ambiguity until it goes away — released at last into newly impartial states, witless after a while still asleep. But not dead.

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?

Outdoors a muted roll call was gathering under bright archways, 
A hazard to paper aircraft taking off.  
 
Um sure I guess.. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation now or a few seconds from now after the transaction but before thinking about it, looking it over, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands reprieving vice versa.

The invention of worship is over. 
A wall of calm is put up.  
“A week of such weather” an authentic first language and natural quests are forcibly asserted.  
 
Cultural obligations shape who we are during a late phase of withdrawal from a deadlock in eerie nuance, given future attributes.

Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. I can’t forget. 
Not even a tenth of a millionth of a trillionth of a trillionth of a trillionth of a second.
And that does it for this rehearsal. Proud exclamations have postponed even the smallest changes, advancing a prouder viewpoint, the world as it is, pressing ideas with multiples, parallels. Many observers.

Simple and poor, that’s a major violation. Enjoined, 

the unclassified face 10-to-life... 
leaving it to other investors who might stay offended, or  
 

not — the next notch in the ground.

We’re cruising at altitudes of theorem. Quack probabilities dim until we restructure our credit history, nail it to live data. Where does the political economy have us put it? His-her terrain — 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..  
 
Sorry, not tonight...

Self-barter, a potential volt in a then-this-is-now domain... 
Just praying. 
 
Who dealt this mess?   
 
Lunar cycles are not analysis. The Sunbathing Council is countertherapy.  
 
Love your synchronized neighbors. Ghost writing their ideology is pure brinksmanship in disordering consensus and political allegiance. We’re all redistributionists, symbolically living on to go on. Politics is outrage, useless bruising rhetoric. And capital is conceptually gross, always. 
We cross the road tonight.. Join the revolution of the ex-well-off (at least ex-feeling it) slicing icons up for our very first media slumber & shower free for the asking for those visual enough to tell us about their recent postal experience.

Questions of motion and change belong in the verbatim over 
 

-supply. That is, which lexicon will be appointed most enabling.  
Ellipses point the way out & will continue — how we express and re- 
express ideas, simple or not.  
 

Big, multiple ideas are broken down or/and up; discrete yet continuous 


constituents, subordinated data emerge, important as big data, simple and not. 


Simpler the better. Poor poetry yes, scansion none the less. 

I flash to the new real place. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by a speaker’s desire somberly floated in a fun orrery, only display except for the impossible, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed response with renewed power. 

Unless there is nowhere new.

Your immaculate body becomes numbers and detached frequencies.  
“Pronounce” it —  
 
That’s good.  
Now draw the strings. OK.  
— what do you know!  
Mayhem  goes off softly  
So hard to shovel, soft to fall  
White, rose, pale red —  
 
A roving shadow feeling like  
A thermometer — legends says,   
 
Crossing fingers blood standing’s  
More feeler than hand,   
 
It shakes the nombril ray,  
 
A maneuver crest high just dimming the drowned thumb,  
A sculpture with a cup.

The focal point is an entity with many focuses getting to foci. 
Isn’t that a calling?  
 
I’m filming pratfalls that seem hard to manage.  
 
Let me hold us in the dark... It’s a future perfect thought  
 
as your body keeps moving, clouds part, sotted with the urge to fit nothing in.  
 
That’s how being with you works asleep.  
 
               Slapstick.

Well, our early faith promised us immortal lives, backup roles that made us teen idols, central forces in an improvisation we lost track of.

I gradually began to buy things in no order, branched out a little finding a passion for saluting a nation that apprehends my experience like no one else.

Poetry, jettisoned and as you wish, there / not-there let go, sky,  
river will go, let people behave all the sharp, sudden ways Ute    
speak to, looking around, starting to rethink we’re  
using our 1st language! Short iterations carry  
such signs. Dreaming in bed deploys influences — image, mind or frame — far output...  
You can exit this field or not, burning one muted  
end then add features to nodules like in finer arts of epistemology.  
Meanwhile, your eyes fill with unmeasured disassociation.  
 
Your hair’s on the brink.

When we single ourselves out, we get closer to feeling guilty formulating de novo concepts of exclusion.  
Ya, you are important to me. You had a free hand, still there are holes in our discourse.   
Our language hits inference-blasting denominational registers, theological as Lyotard would have it, but our argument is plainly empirical — A concept is “not ‘innovative’... but something unheard of”  — Tony Brinkley

Yes or no, certainly. & all right  
All attempts to throw your voice were patently dumb & of a special force,  
Interventions & addictions too disproportionate  
To the unknown risks. As one infringer you fail to mushroom,  
Ignored. But our positions are hellbent when three or more  
Discover wisdom on unaligned terms. So we need oversight.

I follow the rules about Nordic weekends along with a more palatable wardrobe. That’s if hit by what you feel in the a.m. 
 
I believe in you. Evening you’re different.  
You give me a big temperature, a fine spray of message marvels.  
What are we fixing up? I’ve discovered squeezing you around your hips brings up more meta-activity as superstitions based on fact —  
  A cult of dance per se sharpening endurance, risking focus..  
Hermes masks, a precondition as two satyrid mayflies pop up, heaths, ringlets who advocate for peace. Their reputations recede but their early apprehension has held sway even before guns were worn.

A burst of daft tone substitutes timeframes. 
Wait. There’s nothing. A blank referral. 
No tone, no daftness.    
 
And rightly so o I know  
I lower the volume to closest approximate parity   
and we have the yard puffing, bearing poetry sounds..   
 
.. I see your potential; don’t wait, time is temporary; eternity  
Later... it’s not much.  
Get your share,  
knocking any love-moment down with small talk, unscripted, unpredictable:  
Some standards.  
Shined asides.   
 
We pick the bests of show to set the timeframe for a prize bowl,  
Really a vase,  
 
Set it, let sunlight pitch in its foam. Infer  
Poetry goes thru many drafts.

Your looks, my cooking ..

An imperfect actor converts expectations.


Stage fright shows perfection is error.


To misappropriate is to provoke rage in absentia, unoriginal, merely sly



while the ephemeral triumphs wearing socioeco white gloves.

BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on process when he can’t dream.. 
 
parking spaces have words with him. Children are the future —  
keep them distracted.  
And  in media res, when you lock your room you can’t get anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues in a white nothing to them, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go. 

I don’t deserve friends like you.

I can’t believe this.
That’s all I’ve got.

Do you know what I am?
I’m leaving you. Good luck.

No future arouses chaotic phenomena rooting for any singularity ahead until there’s no threshold. Matter persists, no dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo: perpetual and sparkled amid meanderings that are ordered appearances gone dormant nearly or running off with fresh incentives for a frontier in more unboundedness. Opinions unravelled in dissolving attitudes behind all the good times forward.

Poetry can’t be blamed even tho its part of civil discourse engineered by dogma. Politics & the dignity of appearances don’t mix. (The pacs industry is just kidding.) Nothing personal, here’s your speeding ticket, Mr Trump. Trump is the sustained concussion version of national charity... I also give a lily for what’s not available, a big cabin in the launch, etc. 

Government is economics, an engine without a message, without news about identical instances in two universes.

My muse wants subjects to invent ..
It’s our advantage being excommunicated. 
Being British, it’s not our nature to boast. Fortunately, because of her we don’t have to. 

We’re British.

I love needing what tv does, colonizing until the wheels fall off. 
Nearly sunset viewed thru coconut milk. Skinny ‘eventude’ brings on waves of fluttering, populist rage, some dishonest dogs. (Boob dogs taught to come, fetch, force it down.) All in favor held under pressure.  
 
Channel surfing here in the cranberry state I see immigrants mix well w/ bohemians, capitalists, folky folk surging in subjectivity w/ certain rights for a life entrenched by exigency — it feels very large here. We’re on tv.

Start writing. 
It’s easy going out and doing things you don’t know. No repeat parts.  
The charge is here, thrill in peeling back from nothing as well as failing to  
remember the (mission) exchange. Or extra charge. 
 
Virtue for now is farfetched. / Let’s consider what might outrank Zen. / Your  
dialogs sound libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio, some science  
fiction   
 
— all right, let’s start in the open air in complete command of nothing.  
Wearing a wigless wig is 1 method and standard model.  
Measure = unbending contradiction, full, official division in one’s mind and 1  
other, you!

I’m talking in American.
Not going to lie, I watched us concoct a new economics affecting the radius of birthday cake, like the present indicative, destabilizing everyone’s temperament.

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

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

Looters, rhombus-gatherers doing well, respectively; great work, cuts straight thru the tea act, baking more cake to abandon.

The indicative becomes a popular racetrack, in effect. Feels like about time, epic sums, new slender totems, new business in one rotating ruse whose subtexts you know.

More federal $$ for new walkways and more lethal instruments..

Dispatched for
chaos

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

awing in a wolf’s regime —
There’s brush
fire toward mosquitos — shot
through the throat, asking too much..

Secrets in satire have to fly free
finding an informatics of doors opening (bassoon étude) & structured
lasers (& more reeds for all-holds sex). Are you healthy enough for consummation in an airborne environment?
A stencil of our dialog brings up others while, over time, beauty’s struggle gets more slippery.
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history and waxing satirical, as the poster read, ‘time’ encircled on beauty’s behalf.

For a time those impressed w/ strong gestures agree. A pilot is also a passenger.

The catch, a fading ailment: 
Ten or so gulls’ kick it off, startling  
over brown trout.  
 
Tearing in mean  
swimmer’s blue,  
in a supernumerary mense,  
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta  
more down surf, slaughtering  
partisan swaps  
that swell  
the color skit among removed attributes.

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

I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two  

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan 

with no memory how it got there?

You, behind the evaporation 
 
— we owe you nothing  
 
falling out w/  
your idea of daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer exposure..  
every day becoming ordinary knowledge  
 
in parallel ebullience  
waiting to come to round us up half asleep, 
steadfast in geometry we assign the horizon horizon, our whole body. 

Something came up. 
Little.. no, nothing. There’s so small  
 
an exchange to transact, no tangibles, only  
 
exhibitionist’s subtopics, within a power den (conscience),   
 
proving repeated effort is self plagiarism.

Another time.

I am a visual person. Always have as I see you admired you. Liked you. 
A month ago I took no umbrage, bloated out of proportion, 
any umbrage hurled as a term in frustration. But now. 
Non being in an octave, lonely as un-filmed pretexts & Goethe’s juvenilia. 
Good instincts aside, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds 
Or inflexible spite. I see what no means.

Showing my cards I leave some change,
while my lover & swim lieutenant leads me to a postmodern workshop,
a sure bet ad infinitum.
He smiles with a mutuality that never doubts my bluffing knowhow & innocence
... I keep raising him for starters at the oceanfront, a replenisher, bringing it all back.

In this bronze age of cliché


Men and women can act like spangled genetic machines. 


We know that. 



Taking chances put our genetic lines in a lissome interpretive state (birth).
Function varies widely.

So our group utterances are for sale. I’m intensely delighted, taut-
But-relaxed, I’m exposed, unspooled. Thus I think this is not a test.
I could see up to their clavicles, I think, Marines and their police
Were wild one lane over, so I was arrested.

Awake, our sonneteer writes: We have to know about the nose and its utility in poetry. One question, does the nose intuit (hold) more lyric than the eye, know more than the throat, or even our ears? The nose makes the mid-alphabet pronounceable in English — M and/or N. And if the nose makes it pronounceable, it’s hummable, too, and that could just be the sloping tip of the nose’s lyric purpose. Hard to hum what the heart may be ‘saying’ — we can’t tell without sizing up other body functions, humming from the nose.

No!
No contusion of the spheres,

dyscalculia, no, no hindsight bias,
Fra Angelico, sun up,
girl,
you’re a mess.
I’m going to grab you.
I am a visual person. Always have as I see you admired you. Liked you. 
A month ago I took no umbrage, bloated out of proportion, 
any umbrage hurled as a term in frustration. But now. 
Non being in an octave, lonely as un-filmed pretexts & Goethe’s juvenilia. 
Good instincts aside, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds 
Or inflexible spite. I see what no means.

Think of our courts and cunning missing bail. 
Everything you expect waiting now in wistful   
 
landscapes, hum-vacuumed.  
What’s the worst that can happen?  
Um, ok, yes, I bet. Open the curtains.  
And de-peopled points trip up our not speaking for months  
(critical moments you thought),  
 
  finding my direction as I thought of you —  
So it never happened.

I’ll be doing today tomorrow — 
I’m individual no. 1. “An idiot,” handlers whisper.   
 
I’ll read my email soon  
because my fans deserve it. 
 
The power brokers’ search had no results.  
Their time is split into categories of use for my work and for the sinister about-face of a system download added to my labor.  
A life sentence for causing a ruckus.  
Call me when you’re ready.

What is the difference between imminent and threatening? How do you pronounce annunciation? As atheist or decision theorist?

Act gathered. 

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

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

All meanings are the full meaning.

It’s no single fool’s doing, making it easier to borrow. Clenching-tight

I’m sorry so sorry : Can you sing that? from a reveler on a roll, keeps forgetting

What she’s rocking on about.

Then a new problem set: 
A work through naïve discourse —     
 
Keep methods observable as mayhem —   
Call this ‘transactional’ waking action   
Unlocking — on seeing you — my meaning from the start, the only unmoving part.

With good optics petroleum and related interests ripple with joy.  
Slippery bosons exhale thru rainy nightfall. I reason their surrogate likenesses  
(x) are more reset than struck down. Razed once rain’s over,
prancing on the lawn, rain in light draining oil.

I’m listening to Sonny Rollins’ Blue 7. Choosing a next word, like deciding music, is a significant event entailing parallel yet soon defunct experiences unmeasured but hypothesized in a quantum construct. 
Choosing words or choosing most anything — an extraction process merges quanta, happenstance survivors plucked from a number of now-dead parallel event objects or topics. “When a word is selected as a ‘vivid detail,’” Wm. Empson insists, “a reader may suspect alternative reasons why it[’s] selected.” You’d think a given detail had been spinning either as two or many more meanings finally resolved (finished up) as confusion collapses, and one number or topical mood pops up and out, anecdotally at random. The rest are put to rest by now.

Sing (wryly): 

I’d like to thank the Academy. 
Try to ignore X to reinforce ignorance. 

I.T. warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. Can I have an amen? I’m not religious. Nor are you. I took note of what you like from the beginning. I had a few ideas in mind divorcing you. 

Oh, tech services, tell us more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams — How did worldviews crumble into poli-environmentality to pantomime the common numerator undercutting American literacy?

Big guns Fric and Frac. Remember them?   
 
Fric just called, admitted “We were swimming naked, a word I often use to characterize our government and binding. I wasn’t looking when I came out of my laps and grabbed Frac by the throat, moved in. I felt something strange but familiar. And I gained social capital, among others.” 
To bring this up this late in the morning is fiduciary. 
(I fell silent and wrote it all down.) 
 
To reverse Frac and Fric would switch from intractable to insoluble.  
 
The split couplet, a principle that cannot be considered in words 
like suspension of liberties and financial slaughter.

The Civilian Conservation Corps was long ago (1930s) but we see their handiwork in a few large cities. Parkways, esplanades, gardens.

Public works. One’s rather excited. One leaves it at that.
The place was beautifully democratized.
Justice, liberty, rule of shadowy lures...
Also, it’s easier for, suddenly, one has more greens to soften interruptions, using soft consonants down in one’s throat.. one’s holding firm. How many minor epochs of parallel scenery can vowels take?

Socialist by nature, 
Not sure discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income consultancy, honing readers, cashing in.    
  
Looking around gradually vanishing, embrace it for goodness sakes  

Yet reading the usual way subverts low expectations.   
We’re dealing particles of thought, pastiche      
  
To paying homage running across intransitive subjects,   
Finding how axioms move discourse far from innocent oversight.

There were chances.
Then none.
I don’t believe this.

Rain fading under a bough of heavenly bodies 
Like stars in fog on top of steam  
Adjusting to bright, vermilion bushes of mist.  
They have names ...  
 
Tow trucks!

What of misprison in these shoot to kill syntactic schemes? 
 
Shoot to kill. In my semen so few dead. 
 
Wait. This Uncle Thing and the will. I find it confusing.  
The man was your uncle. He died.  
He didn’t leave you diddly. You’re upset.  
 
Full stop.  
 
What about your writing poetry together? Was there always animosity?  
 
Yes! Ever since I ran over his schnauzer, in my villanelle, to be precise.  
 
The “my” you reference reminds me repressively of what it sounds of, Sibelius
 
& forsythia —  he said. 
The forsythia is trying to warm up.

These 3-D models hasten waves’ murder at sea, mindless taking chances engaging in transparent secrecy, charged by machine concision as ascendant behavior. 
 
We were looking at machine behavior as social networking. Rationed compliments ensue and change public space, set only on youth before death occurs of itself.   
The self, yourself, is fascinating, I think, to squelch tautologies of time, wealth and actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power — nothing innocent stands that we might have had. Meanwhile you take yourself nostalgically forward to have at it. As it were.   
 
— Were one idea, we argue in the main w/ just one parallel two models of time.. where disrespect ‘crawls to maturity’ and feels like eavesdropping.

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

He comes back to deposit invariable utterances for superseded structures getting back to poison.

There now. We can drive.

Poetic license: so often called. Here’s my side, since you never asked. 
The moon at this phase could be the crudest debacle to date −  
merely an anagram of abstract treasonous appraisals coalescing, a typecast   
 
notarized in the spry travelogue almost as if we wrote the subject 
headers from experience. And the leaked soundtrack was not only plain    
 
ugly but to everyone’s taste!  
As a guest or resident adjudicator I admit   
 
“Progressive politics is imaginary if...” Those very words support denial of healthcare, unless there’s a risk. I feed off donors, important messages, prior clearance and everything factual.   
 
Everything if.

The one state is jaw dropping. Suddenly government turns away from independent public scrutiny. 
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy. Good dog.
Argument is a figure of speech, shrunk to bullet points v. heavier armor just before the death of death.

This is all I know, this poem. 
It’s so pathetic. 
 
I also know not to throw the right brain out with the  
 
a) baby  
b) broth  
c) plywood boards

The Conservatory’s always nothing much minus common sense. 

Come out and practice, play, sample finding out 
the masked hostility and indecisiveness of music and its cultures  
backed up by inexact, multiple ways
of staying faithful to no faith, crooning accents  
from what we were taking before [give me a sec..] took hold,  
instantly endorsed as craft identity. 

[Retrieve the above.]

Retrieve identity and hardened m.o.’s from silences and retakes 
and feral feelings immersed in a prolonged cello lesson. 

Dance: I was with two others outside on the steps, buzzed, dressed in a navy polo and beard. You came and asked for a drag, which I gave up right away. You had me light it for you. You stood around with us. 

No, I didn’t cut out anything.  

You were staggering outside the club, mate. Drunk-ish. Alone.  

By the time of the fourth revision the poem was lost. That’s what I want, not what the poem wants.

Writers like me consume their own slapstick 
when there’s a conceptual contingency to max, along  
with requisite ethical structure to examine taste levels.  
 
Now you know what to expect.  
 
You can’t put limits on free-lancers’ exuberant leisure  
within a theoretical commune of vengeance..  
Smart money on the solo stiff up against the writing board.  
The ethics staff sat this out, sweat-soaked, shaken.

I might happily have thrived at another crossroads
Painting in oils in neoplatonic archness. A white zinc
To follow a flightpath out /

A green thumb trying to paint and cover

A big space with dabs of marine titanium that dilate
Blurring the root truth of good-faith setbacks for an hour —

A genocidal collage of screens, diversions
Rocking to agitated waves, reproached, converged
In drumming opinions and science-y, practices — How the world is!

Climbing off the board with no fears —
Holy Albert Hirschman!

We’re entirely for artifice, stock in trade. When J Schuyler remembers J Brainard and F O’Hara, what’s biographically accurate beyond artifice is the entirety of the kinship, the tubby, transfixing emotional sustenance that comes with love and ebullience among friends. T Towle dreaming of O’Hara seems credible as both artifice and credible proposition on similar if more ‘platonic ’ grounds. R Creeley evoked J Wieners alive and, to more tragic effect, vice versa. Friendship and love are components of the vetting process the onlooker or reader-writer follows to decide for herself whether a writer, beyond artifice, walks among the ardent ghosts, the likes of Wieners or a budding O’Hara.

I prefer a clean hotel. 
I’m calling time-out dull  
outside regular hours.  
Looking around we need smarter drywall to excite ferns and moss growing  
Up, shiny, imperfect, not held in place —  
your nose looks finished as the stopper.   
 
Breakfast at Starb’s and we’re off wandering  
headed for B terminal,  
a legacy installation in profane solace. 

Here’s another centerpiece to explain how flowers are cut in plurals of progression. 
 
Iconoclasts count on progressions in a series, along with any allure of falling fortunes  
(they did).  
From the center literally nothing is granted, good as your word.   

Good as a poem.   
Now, fine timing   
Since you waited to listen, not empower others.    
  
Every misconception is in the open, living unhinged, no limits. A fact, also  a point... an ornamental one; our brain / body fiber pierced day, night, point b...   
  
Terpsichore stays ascetic, improvisatory, a voice sherbet hued like Erato’s toppling the series, voices of suspicion, hisses.

I first forgot the fan
of his breath we lost.

Lost resolution in people mimicked from
the wrong places, a milky foundation
for ephemeral representation.

Thought I acknowledged commodities
with assigned values, in long letters.
Letters to you whose name
I forgot while some partners lost their
spell checkers and casters
independent of forgetting. They’re

raising their heads now, front and center.
And owing to your interest...

How could I hate neck muscle warming
tomtom heartbeats, bright debate

drawn to fresh boundaries hand
to hand in 4 arms?

Conformity is a serious consequence and urban hazard 
And it’s well to recall that feeling inside you and me, too,  
How prominently your spritz of attention became the asking price.  
 
(End of asking)  
Solidly opposed to one further illusion of minimalism in networking — as in prostitution there is no time for fascination.

This cloaking device forestalls detection. Slanting, lost, an hour later we’re beginning to ride over borders. Borders are still porous, just look at this phonemic adventure! I need some top wipe. 
 
You’re turning me on.  
 
Reading pulp, there’s an interlude between devices where I wish you’d taken up singing of thingness. 
 
The thing is ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe a grain or 2.. anything too graceful. What are faux resonators for but to attempt command of natural selection and all bloodlines.  Um.. one thing more, there’s nothing but an eye blush of heat that measures desperate ‘votes’ we put in reckless hands — 

Ghosts? Zombies? No. That market is unregulated & inefficient. 
I put a new skylight in instead...   
 
My apartment, top floor of the building, a small  
Bedroom, kitchenette, barely a sitting room with parts of a sectional.  
One wall cloud patterns, washed grassland, blue wood, lemurs on paper.   
I don’t mind if I look worn or beaten up. I’m wearing  
The national costume,  
swaggering in poplin, in a trance.  
I must guard against glib enthusiasm.

I stay physics-free for someone nice. 
A sunny, boyish grin.  
Winning the beginning, now smoldering.   
 
“The float is radiant, jammed with radiant things.”  
Back I said, a piece of advice.   
 
Reputations precede character, tact of apprehension remains  
deferentially. Creature masks are a precondition in reprieve. 
 
In bar lighting, one’s eyes drift as if  
undressing underwater. I see why snails  
 
build a house. They stand around, slowly tank,  
coltish to the end. Jacobeans.

I’m new to the housewarming.
— To start, there’s no natural retrospective.
Slow poetry ‘students’ make “circumstances” up.

The seats of power have filled up with their ‘students.’

I’m having a pitch dark
obvious brainstorm
so why stop

Only, let’s call it
O baby
all the way unnhh..

O yesses encompass in advance
shimmer
— crash. Al-

So let me see..
dreams get advanced
returning the favor.

Never dine — a term of 
solitude.   
 
Meantime I’m a member of the takeaway school.  
Mean something, take it away...  
 
how my twin psyche writes more conscientiously  
touching on raw parts in this endearing translation.   
 
Symbolism weighs in  
as a shortcut: Some future of the past thinking & writing as if. 
As if I stress  
we’re suspicious of wormholes, tho  
 
I never use tone shifting while throwing a cookout together.  
For what party in sleep?

A private-public distinction, extension 8, 
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force.    
 
Besides giving you empathy-like babble  
I rewrite over your agenda,    
 
A vapidly growing handcraft   
once I launch it —   
 
We got married without knowing side effects   
— wait, I forgot why I called.

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

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

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

At music’s end if I voice a question mark when I say I’m feeling genreless, it becomes a pick-up line for the calmative afterlife.

Slumped over in gaffs,

many without pulse, how did one stand tall, pause

then brush his hair back? Men


like him looking up like flight risks; say


“Exactly,” in that miracle voice?


A faint breeze on zoom as you slip


your phone in his pocket — How against

containers hanging along the bow all fonts

are justified by defacing matter —

1/2 this, 1/2 that I’m sick of nice things. Whiskey.

A film maker, one poet (out of two)! is turning to performance crafts, sits and lets you alternate looking at this other sleepy person and thinking, has the floor moved? To sing of thingness = wild mist, without much shine and whose staying put is more to the point — dull mist, not deep enough. 

A good film maker works in-out-of mists. Thanks for his or her almost dry touches and for you with weak calligraphy — placing personality before nature and dreaming. Literally. 

You’re standing up, looking ok despite your sleeping sickness as a work-around to perfection. I’m by your side. On your side. 
Mist trickles down rewriting chain letters you refuse to answer. Good for you.
Good for you!

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

There were missing utterances filling balloons 
w/ the enormity of what’s hooded — a dirge-y lexicon  
that cannot be regarded as tenurable  
given cost averages. One’s intellect seeks damages  
even while in concert, fired up but still missing proof.

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. 
 
Poetry is vulgate hardened by joy orbs. Shotgun pleasure.  
A proposition (like this) is anxious. Nano technology I guess  
...what? This early  
When you got up your speech was  
Vibrating w/ a head cold, falling  
Flattened onto cyber note pads.....  
 
Mary had a little post-gossip; that’s all it was, poems  
Like politics controlling our anger; how minds are read.

The flag on top of the pole
holds an optical pull
unfurling, waving, un-waving.