The local is inside you, sang Pete Seeger and Bob Creeley.
First heard this when I tossed my head and rode, hey
one foot, pawing the ground before taking gallops.
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.
Hold on?
..membranes are functional! It’s an open

Darwinian algorithm to back more
nano-proposals, say, walking in, “hey..”

Holidays again. A violet mist.
This is prison.

(You have the evidence. Ugh!)

Losers = worshippers of their detractors.
Heaven is in our hearts with an egg drop of credos and documents,
From which large scale dull instruments get tossed.

We drink to our mistakes.

I swear while we continue and travel further
Even as soiled oceans rewild deserts
All our props are dextrose contingent.
Or I was
Wondering about invention of the planets, sympathizing
With a numbers guru also a director here — one of them.
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative section to sing:
Spencerian, stranded leaving war to the professionals.

Don’t take it.
That ordered a way of not answering the phone.. poof.. ..
A command now nearly lost.
I’m bipolar from the past. You know. What?

Now like putting the call off ..
We can make a poem go mute.
If it doesn’t speak, we don’t have to pay it as much.
A world-less deaf-mute.
That’s how unclear the past becomes.

Winter. What do we know? We have functional emotions and this much-traveled vocabulary of affects.
To learn something about what you mean is to let high jinks belie despair over entropy.
Make falling apart counterfactual.
Make my mind avoid bohemia.
Recover the masterpiece.
Destroy and smooth feeling. Bad or worse.
Imitate killing seeing
the system.

Ten or so
gulls kick it off, running
over sea bass.

Ripping in mean
swimmer’s blue,
in a non-numerary mense,
inseparable in another, a gnarly magenta
more down surf, startling
partisan swaps
That swell
the color skit among removed strata.

A fond prayer as the rain falls.

Your eyes are dark dreamy and tell me I never did anything right,

For which our shared experience goes to waste.

A poetry of slogans earns the Balzac Award..
Folk-maverick, a dark scrum. Adolescent in a heavenly sense..
You keep telling lies about me in spacious quarters to our hosts in abstraction.

Sing: I love it when prose or song digs in and flails.
That about covers it.
(One’s destiny is that emotional core between personal and professional.)
The larynx becoming free is a moving and intimate narrative.


Got to run, prose.

We’re fidgeting to mind our semiotic manners,
lit by mid-lunch clarity, sporting, Floridian...
an enclosure with no pulpit, without dogma...

spreading out in willful overloads of language design,

Skilled decor. De-simplified or notional contracts
in contretemps between science and who knew?
ironic technologies with no precedent...
a corporate hold across a matrix of manners and adaptations, restrained praxis and hermetic syntax.

One needs antic intellectualism. Lead-free prose.
Four husbands.
Simplistic, Manichaen juxtaposition.
A solitary genius in the workplace (seaside, e.g.).

Jousting snacks.
New verbs like dave, firebug, Stradivari.

Madam poet reads her singable pieces uninflectedly,
a dissonance that plays to mock solemnity (“sing me, song”)
and tuneful reproach (“play dough of god”).
Combing through my notes there’s a world of disputes,

Churlish puffins and other problems to shatter the continuity

Of my exploding goofiness over lunch; of course I mean exploring.

There is no circling the rink.
No complaints or sworn declarations,
Nothing frilly and glib,
No closure nor irresolution —
There’s not a single cudgel you can wield;
We’ve lost your name card and your name.

This would be my most empirical debacle 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 smearing vetiver over its mad, abstract body.

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

What makes chosen words dressed in black?
Adopting the air of mock superiority or even on-point (albeit fleeting) superiority.
Most rainbows taste like shit, but we keep looking. Bullied into autocracy
Hell is too big to fail.

Meanwhile the loyal opposition fast becoming influencial in the field is fired.

The ousted president drops to his knees.

Tensions were apparent.

Voices in our heads are paranormal (if we say so). Diversified specialists dispatch our bodies to a co-op, wrapped in steam.

Outside, a panel membrane, the third largest seller, floats me into the future, desiring vague exchange, like our national plebiscite, maybe better to pump out to fog’s grasp.

Waves (all the best of them) beat my eyes off. Don’t care, I still see and lie about what I believe is fact, clinging to both. Structured improvisation takes a volume of time, only now it’s coming back as bone substance.

Like The Inferno and Nerves and every shined thing since, we are collectively involved engineering the tide of speech desire.

One doesn’t know any more
or if there are good times ahead of war.

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

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


Voices say, personalities, like voices, are loaned to us.
Early winter colder rain or snow draws us audiophiles —

Minus wind, light rain or snow construes visible silence,
plundering contexts with non-rhyme, much asymmetry.
Rain or snow’s great undercurrents cut straight thru reconstruction,
roughing up shadows turning over in a reserve of self-abandon

Turning shreds in searchlights for a soundtrack over time.

A petting zoo cannot stand for practice?

As a curator of sorts, I have to ask. A lot.

Your space calls for more.
Defy self interest.
What’s left is alpine only in one direction,
but metabolism will live on / off anyhow, all
along with clumsy, fearless tempos,
a framework for rants surrounded by cool ceramic
wallboard, balmy altar figures.. worth conserving or not?
Swimmer:
Our models are you & everything I can live by w/out being
sequestered or bitterly charged for my shortcomings.
Ballooning in harmony around some parts of sky

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

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

A warm nearly winter day.

Solved for the resplendent spelling, but not remorse.
Now it’s a year later, a fine day emanating will go,
good news tho.
Typo, I’m late; it’s fitting, weeping inside before you go away.
Not at rest, circumspect. (I’m just beginning..)
Well, most every worry or mistake is literal, based on trying to rewrite
hellish varieties of you getting fingerprinted from eight
perspectives, from xvith-century Italian drawings..

..The stars are out of their miniseries
one boomerang day after another. Every day’s
important, I see. I remember your aroma, &..

..Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing coterie added to sempiternal space &
entered into w/ a worldview w/out achieving access to felt qualities.

Having only a sec, Are you thinking of me?

I used to believe so, along w/ all the grossular and pine boxes keeping us apart opening to our former lives, winning-losing before comic, breezy violinists w/ silver hats — Superangels w/ instruments to sound the alert, lithe, w/ a spooky edge.

Time’s up.

Ah, you’re driving me to a convenience stop — I don’t care.
Push-pull can be effortless if I tell you what we’re doing.
How there’s a piece of karate, fragile backs we erase, how
there’s turbulence... something else active, pointed. Your
push reaches a piquancy where time management is unleashed.
I’m just commenting on efficacy in speaking clearly, knitting one’s own
brow.

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

To the battlefront. Nightly sex skyrockets (blasé for improvising


at first, then it coils over & feels there are authentic possibilities) ..
We admire our parents (ghost punks), friends, enemies’ enemies,
strangers, also, why not? Attempting authenticity in insoluble
speech, I feel them, their pretty itches. How

deep blues and silvers with biological shades form vowels.

Consonants have already taken shape from older models,
losing what is always present up to now.

We fell in love and enjoyed it when the vertex saw you off. Later we got dressed for golf, and congregated in the face with peers.

Better now if we didn’t digress but file out a shade apart to trail so many copycat champions of democracy.
Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos, documents, from which large scale dull instruments are tossed upon the freeze.

Say you’ll be back. A blast of cold air
Stoked by an invasion of intimacy.

Long day, maestro. I’ll butt dial (this still happens) you,
egressing. We’ve achieved very little even with our arguments intact,
noting there’s pride — I didn’t take any — pride in our measures
— to section our mountainous itches and engagements
— to go over, mix more with money types,
top cashiers — it’s called freedom of worship.

To want as well as have nothing
I shouldn’t ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
Surface depth. You shouldn’t expect to rework this at all.
Self restraint & perverse incentives, an unknown future’s cart

Before ew teachers, new stratagems, even newer phenomena
To run down & over — any & all mayhem will be unannounced (achieved)

Or they won’t be since we talk thru flexible models &
Already what you say takes us off the jet trail! quelling fear of pain.
But.

But you never can tell. I won’t.

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also = I. This is how the toy psyche writes more conscientiously touching on a couple of endearing dual roles in an algorithmic translation; desultory of us to read and reread pain extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling for the first time.

Next, a glistening database is advanced by textuality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace your contempt.

[..]

Classification will be adjoined by evolutionary adaptation passed on to descendants.

If we’re lucky, Euro notes will rule our major commitments, puns of data solutions on the punishing ground looking up. They’re bearing full dark 18th- and 19th-century ideas.

(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand over our new theory.)


Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused. Confused the way

A rusted barge dries in the sun painted orange.

Ok, this is no water view. Clinically proven.
But theory is something else.

Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping the gloom of purgatorio as perceptions with different possibilities blow town including the best halo effects and feelings.
They and you’ll come back.

It’s nice finally to put a face to the humiliating, hand-covered breathing.
Today, every day your open censorship flourishes,
filtered, praised as token austerity.

Cliché inflects empty chit chat.

More serious is only the dreariest aspire as such in the abstract?

There’s a key to forget this mess when we mask how often nobody gets a hearing was mentioned —
disproportionate to the vacant bits transcending that of hearing itself.

Folks from a gridded compartment have decided
most perfectionism is out of step
while playing as aficionados of the vulgar

to provoke both nature and full disclosure.
Those organized under their strong gesture shall triumph.
Those compartment folk know this and tap
all our communication, born of necessity. Our own dialog reflects
gritty highly-trafficked back alleys of seduction and violence.
Oooo we’ve discovered our voice.

Dinner in precision blizzard-words, drifting,
Reversed decisions rotating in cavernous surf like mercurial quanta
Shifting soft, whispered — this could occur. You’ll go in circles digging deep, redressing
The boat’s mortality —
Say when. Pulse, how did we say when?
There’s the written form, a cool word
Clambering, feeling its way...

Filming at midnight — kvelling schtick a transitory nontactical concept.
And today’s laughter protocol looks ‘more than serious.’ Except...
It’s been remarkable to gauge how sneering, vaporous, obtruding personalities —
A sure loser’s term — proceed un-amusingly
Or even uncivilly in opening salvos. Seems rehearsed practice, perhaps.

By salvo — the first three or four minutes of monotone in character, in talk and in poems.
You can even do that up in film.
“Stump, don’t ask,” I said — So much slobber invested from the start, forced discourse, along with any oomph, runs dry.

The terms are, go settle down through the evening, finish your addenda
at gunpoint. Perhaps heartbeats get covered by a shroud that frays
and unspools to gain advantage spreading the plan.

Without license, we impart numeric dicta slathered with platitudes —
with all the conviction of a third episode —
century-old middle ground (the themeless module) where we stay sleep (wavy
fields of inaction) and continue playing around vulgar innuendo to bear being
kind, as you undress to force a smile, fully emancipating me into becoming obliged to rule you out, generously.

Self determination for all in distress —

Dissonant sports metaphors seem prepared for a gullible ally, hon.
Like preparing the red matter.
(There are no guarantees in risk engineering up close.)
Gadgetry from the future,
How can this be put?
Hey I love you naked —
We went from one thing to another, not coming back.

Buds to blossoms.

Credo:
Misery looks a lot better. Go. Fees balanced. Get out!

Staring at trains’ inhabitants at South Station —
Our blankness fills in family trees offside. After.. there are instrument
Channels (word flares) for composing love. We never saw this before.

Burn,
Suffering coincidence.. you’re leaning into expression muscle, undressed
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come..

To admire oneself, one’s distinction,
There’s a lot more ahead.

Poetry goes thru many drafts.

We marry. There are mantras on rustic tolerance, manners but no one has more than the allotted answers for the stumper final (newer solutions are nothing less than what we had in mind!) :
Did I mention your heavy eyelids helped us set our algebraic terms? This is a dynamic factor everywhere loving supersedes manners and physicality itself, but where there is no privacy. Not now. Started before Béla Tarr’s close ups, his editing, the ‘border violations’ and the runtime of his films transcended precise location and presence, running forward and back, and all too near.

Fact: eye contact is mostly on the defensive but our strategies around the eyes are consensual. Uncreatured narcosis aggregates, drifting toward humane sense. This is how contingency shows up in prayer, making to and fro altercations sited within a figure-ground colloquy.
“‘In a way’,” he said, “nothing saved me until ‘we ran the gauntlet —’”

You like it, Sleeve. Native fluency may be floatable within, once regarded in its wholeness, its contours beeped forward w/ the news, smart enough though meaner beyond its whereabouts. There’s also a slurry kiss inside.

Ounce by carbon resin ounce, a take-off economy was to result.

Where o where did we hide our donor workspace, the top percent of it, and who kept you from living freely?

I can put a prayer this way.
The color of the spine goes ultimate, high and low, austere yet foreseeable.
And the evaluations are in.

You are part of what we hold.

It’s an argosy of what’s evolutionary before it gets more uplifted.

Career update: drinking exercises can save us from scrapping the mission (& face off) — Bacchantes are survivors.

Follow the process. Tease near-misses out of explosive dumbness to hole up then expose your ethos without cut-off points where ideas muddle on. (Better to become accoutrement for a mouthful of secondary definitions.) All this in anapest.
This is where I lived until I began to write on spec.
I moved frequently to exhume a favorite idea, absence of no desire, not a disease so much as hope in health, loyalty (for sale) — assuming we understand what’s not right from mission creep.

I remember looking up at at the music itself, feeling
we live in a debt growing country.
Maximum restraint = knitting your own brow.

Then let me pull an invisible to the eye hair off your blouse. Blousy
threads & too much sex belong in one pile.
It’s a good look except for soy containers suspended from a branch bow: cowslips
& top limbs drooping synthetic blood over your chest ::

When stairwells mesh & go nowhere either side
between you & your affection, let’s hang in for a while.
Hang our names in artificial druthers.

This one is what then? ‘“One’ more piece of funded solidity.” Solidity, not for those who have no more.

My quandary repeats another wish never fulfilled as you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with abundance.

At midnight again Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with a master’s degree in these matters, said the landmass of gut feeling, sane behavior, and noncriminal discourse — like mine — that mass teeters on the grotesque tattoo of a human skull. I can’t turn that down. I can’t mean only my language. It’s a tradeoff, my trade. In the din nihilism shuts the door 24/7 on indisputable birdsong. A good thing. That door leads to the rescue of children and all rescue contains, all I could have told you.

Taking on a dominatrix. Matins.

Sweaty in bed, fountains, aqueducts..
Above the clouds, would you like me to exhibit agitprop cruelty for our audition? Giving up is a gamble, a bet gone bad in your case.. finding my cause I can’t honk loud enough about the importance of deception, glimmers of withheld affection empire states high, taking on a dominatrix.

And leaving you still alive in many forms, all human.

(I’ll end this as a Euro emigrant without you.)

Clay-toned physiques
fighting their relatives, waving, receding on one another

— everybody under an influence indoors, thoughts that are
filled with light, rotating in
reverse as if knowing how to purify their offspring & manage forever
in bionic lurches of nibbling torque .. adjusting ..

You may notice I’m after zest constructing new meanings in your arms, and oomph — one long eyebrow (for wingspan), fuzzy and continuous like our séance now, now in the present that has no update or purpose, just falsetto in your eyes.

Eurozone class struggle is more and more slippery. Or peach-dreamy. I’m not sure
discourse product pertains. A shrine of axioms certifies wealth and income distribution,
honing you / shaving one into two dimensions on the surface.

I’m socialist by nature, maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy), I pray
while cashing in analytics but I’m alive
(lifting one datum off) to mine parallelisms (partisan gold), no one strain.


Atheism is otherwise the main event at the Hague. Secrets of satire float
free to find an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) and structured
multiplicities (and an ear for sex).

A gridded binary has decided most perfectionism is out of step while we act as aficionados of the vulgar to provoke both gendered nature. 

Those organized under our strong gestures shall triumph. Binary frames know this and tap out our communication, a dissonance born of necessity. Our dialog reflects gritty highly-trafficked back alleys of seduction and violence. Oo oo it’s discovered her voice.

Self determination for all in distress —

Dissonant sports metaphors seem prepared for a gullible ally, hon.
Like preparing the red matter.
(There are no guarantees in risk engineering up close.)
Gadgetry from the future,
How can this be put?
Hey I love you naked —
We went from one thing to another, came back.

Buds to blossoms.

Not a koan
(how could

it
be un-impaled?)

— Religious type, agnostic,
both listened to reason while a temple friend sliced
off a nipple. It was the middle way,
enlightenment so simplified, you can spell it out.
Lightning over fog. Over ravines. Knower and the known, all branches, all matter — an open-miked state of big joy, electrons.

A sweet industrial morsel went for all 3 doors assuming no threshold ahead where materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no interruption.

These could be so

as Buddha and Buddhists are only disparities.

Credo: You’re good doing this.
Just
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest
Misery looks a better way. Go. Fees balanced. Get out!
After.. there are instrument
Channels (word flares) for expressing enzymes with love.
We never saw you before.

Burn,
Suffering coincidence.. you’re leaning into wailer muscle, undressed
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come..

One to admire oneself, one’s distinction.
And there are a lot more ones ahead.

A fop sur la route is a Parisian invention, an essentialist’s incarnation.

Steer clearly. Highway safety — bow, I love what we do altogether


Like switching work bags, mixing it up then. We should be mortified, not impressed.
(This siegecraft apparently works.
For a drive, I’ve hired a fop strategist.)
We call that yeah
Parentheses to explore..

We defied the polls and voted against our interests.
Later we’re taught the integral self can level with all the others
While sadness is a public health scourge.
So protesters are hired to raise contentment ratings.
To deconflict our strategy from human loss
In no time we put six 27-to-46 under water
Then we ate cupcakes. Impression seems

Today one can eat excellently here and tempered bluegrass friends visit.
They are real actors, not people.

The focal point of early versions is the entity with many comforts and drills. Isn’t that a calling?
*
It was at the rational start. I know that. Taking chances put us in a lissome interpretive state (lissome as a turbine at birth). Function varies widely. Scent of lilac is the geyser of zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.

Full employment. Fully refrained.
We like new taps on the shoulder in a way when they leave imprints. How I graduated from this shame, this ceaseless loss of pride

in the going battle between the sexes? (The rich won.)

Can you place our names? Or I’ll trade you. I have a canoe for an alter-ego, asides and decorative indeterminacy. With various hats, I’m reaching out to anticipate mind control as disingenuous.

Rhetoric like this often dies off.
Came from outer space; was well radicalized before it got here.

Freer speech in every direction — your known inclination
for walking strong will accelerate, wild and tranquil,
ruthless in a sense, boundless layers set in funereal trance
tweeting under the bust of the rhetor, a civil, democratic ideal.

No tweeter wants to get ‘under..an ideal.’ Freedom is personal.

And we think it could be worse.

During the break we reached an agreement,
so the ham’s anger has hatched.. while no choice
enables the passing tourney among tense Fu dudes
to nuance 3-in-1 innocents to proceed.

Rhapsodic justice is made to look cautionary. It’s easier to have a set of rants ready to throat than break our rules and brag too much, too enormous a bliss.

By caution as usual we mean caution to the depths.
Discourse in a hammock, wanting to be nearer. Caution preserves protective access
to the core. The equation can be reduced to healing power = unhealthy options = smoking, on fire.

Tarantulas of steel squeeze under the door, isolated by
an obsession coming on, coming right in. There we go, holist.
Theory-and-forth..
Theory is the place you and I detect the language driver, a feeling you’ve won, untidy and young, accomplished and loathed despite a basal rule of no feeling without permission.

Our tarantulas grow mute in dim light over and over —
burbling with a kill-agenda tickled into decisions, aching to blather.

Breathtaking.

Auto-electrocuted. But calmed down. Sore thumbs. No more tv. There’s a dual nature of justice going around in “resentment and forgiveness” with high notes we won’t erase. A muggy, fantastic soprano, jittery, active against the grain. She reaches a point at which touch management is unleashed.
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.

A blue feeling about a sweetheart is breaking over the lazy and dead. I’m still not awake, a bad idea. Ideas with particularity, again. A feeling for the bread before it rises stuffed with blasts from space, our fond way in,
praising doom on our own dime.

I’m that slaphappy-proof to diffuse your eyes from posterity. Where your eyes go is the whole body cool from so many substitutes for meditation we can’t breathe.

I promised you a ham 4 quilting bombast.

You live within politics and practice warfare
to engage another’s psyche, smiling, you blow yourself up
& you’re always wrong to prolong your appeal.
A headboard with no utility other than book nooks.
Can we cut to the scary part?

Materiality can’t exist. No dissonance, no disruption, a new status quo that’s 4 ever, sparkled, meandering within ordered appearances that go dormant or run off with incentives in unboundedness, unraveling optics in dissolved attitudes behind all the good times 4-ward.

Despairing of applied animal movements within self regard, “the self-valuable word” is embedded in instrumental discourse. Bob Perlman maps, among other things, Quintilian’s rhetoric, noting key components, meaning, clarity and tasteful adornment or decoration (“Words Detached from the Old Song and Dance”).

Meaning and clarity are fair game for Rob Fitterman: “weeds we may not always / have emptied this meaning for / a top-growth peel-back of another.”


When it comes to weeding and adornment in poetry, which involve making sense of / sense in any alteration of literal expression (via figures, other prosodic devices), Fitterman is an advanced horticulturalist. With 1-800-Flowers, Fitterman smartly “updates” sources for Louis Zukofsky’s last completed poem, 80 Flowers, a construct that “takes to new extremes of density Zukofsky’s methods of composition by quotation, transliteration, and compression” (Mark Scroggins, Louis Zukofsky and the Poetry of Knowledge).

Fitterman replenishes the grounds with inventory of similarly conflated devices, writing in two sections “About” and “Through” Zukofsky’s work. Fitterman frames Zukofsky’s as “constrictive verse” that indeed gets “driven” by inventory, while Fitterman’s own lyric comprises mixed inventories within a discourse hybrid, an essay in verse, substantiation of his exemplary reading, that is, his generatively engaging Zukofsky. More splendid, Fitterman fulfills the half audible invitation within Zukofsky’s poetry and poetics, joining Zukofsky Ltd whose biz ethos is “precise information... thinking with the things as they exist” inside a recontextualized (if not continuous) present in which Fitterman fixes “new meanings of word against word” (Prepositions).

[...]

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m ..
Am thinking of some upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further or some alternative interpretive search worked up into a deep steam of exploitative algorithms against enmity and death —

It once read, in criminal matters, you’re my business.

“I heard talent & beauty, money come with their own harsh light; by your putting them to rest they take ‘full effect’ with no attachment to addictive capital, arresting.” Leaving you. Gasp.
Is this documentary or did I make it up? —“when you remember wit & austerity read each other perfectly from the start — seems mathematical to think about transmissions of all kinds favorably.” Tho programmers have a fiercely vandal-like approach to appraisal under uncertainty.

So this is an edit, keeping watch. “That’s as close as no personality has to keen, restless pulse.”

fot Rene
Heedless and highly egotistical —
Two good words. And too,

The beautiful person deals in opinions on redeeming enterprises and I’ll —

Conquest contributes to a wonderful unanimous
Just unnerving enough atmosphere
— an image of while.

I’ve got goals. I’m an anthologist of agitprop. I think it’s colossal. It gives me a boost as a lifelong cold intellectual. Fun is fun, but not when friends are struggling then flattened intentionally. An observation from Succession.

Lately and I don’t like it, we’re out on the town looking for the perfect spot to brush up on the visual grammar of the assault on fun deep.

(There is too much to get back to.) The hilly, glittering lawns on this side of the divide are actual circumstances at twilight I prefer to canvass and peruse for my oenology Ph.D. I'm looking for novel jitters from others. There aren't any, so it's out on the town looking for that perfect spot in lovers’ eyes.

I sleep all night, chastened by my agenda. Like everyone else I’ve got business waiting and I guess new places to run over. Tender hair sprouts with sweat, sill alive, pierced to the root by tamarisk and peyote flowers at table, ample liquor and song. The sweetness outside not wavering in rain to any rational depth... I’ve got bed then business waiting in my crosshairs.

I am citizen physicist to an inner antecedent. How drowsiness may be my great escape or I may walk it off, forgetting I’m oblivious.

Your face, the trains I ride, it’s all good. And staying casual definitely has legs.

Come midnight Mr Deadpan had a big smile. Anytime I teased him or cuddled him, his four appendages went as wiggly as a frog, silly, a smile across his whole face, black button eyes on top of his head because the night is not over — all smile and eyes in front, green in the back. When I held him he was a jumble of cuddles and inertia. His legs flopped around until I stopped.

That way.

The no-fantasies plan, weeks running backwards
After the announcer’s ecstasy — there are no water edges or dikes
Yet with a rush of civilized dichotomy.
Music filters out hearsay against the grey sky.
All the airports sink back in black and white fjords.
Day to day sometimes the sun’s light goes for more,
Going to be here as long as it takes.

Let’s see what we have at the top of the poetry game.
There you go again. Tax and spend. Death panels. Lyin’ Hillary. Toxic concepts infuse social ideology and organize perception. Political samples direct voter behavior.

Joe is sleepy-crazy. Play along or rue it.
You guys go ahead.

I’m going to take my inside voice and ...and turn around and walk this way.

Outdoors I pledge you a wholly hidden idiom of renderings, highlighting themes out-of-focus, left to twist in the leafy apolitical acreage.

Director’s cut.

There’s always looking out, up, through fitful silence & a humane sense of feeling cornered in music practice. Enough, enough men & women are deaf to their ruin

wherein love rebuilds their smirks pressing on — drizzle would hurt if they could see but it’s only visible as a short, stout white truck rolls under haze, Kia-like, choked in a soft, fluffy diorama.

Like Clint Eastwood I was shifty
Once. What was that all about?
I know where I am going gawky, rattling my cage.

What happened? Diagramming conditions of jitters and others’ sentences, I am anonymous either way.

Thank you, cohorts, for cartoons and commissioned videos shrieking with what I must bury.

Levitation in words has to be modulated. (The levitators wanted this.) Modulated is like coming out to play, sampling indecisiveness, the masked hostility of our verbal environment and backing it up with inexact beats, multiplying love of what we were doing before the procedural took hold.
Then we go off a notch keeping our eyes shut.
I miss you doesn’t change anything. I want you happy but be on time for signing our sublet pledge.

Don’t we have a duty to criticize?

Gavel to gavel hours and hours turning the page.
What we inkeep converts to personality and stunt-craft.
What we have to do and say are open discourse, what W. B. Yeats calls the bestial floor.
Please, have your way, fleets of stars, your options. Or have your composite gods do it for you.

(This soon after his last breath, is it safe to mention Yeats? or gods?) (Maybe not.
It’ll frighten no one into temperance.) And some of us are too polite to save the day.
But not all of us will unfriend you now or any time.

It’s natural, all a picnic in the wilderness.

The wilds... on all floors.

Clay-toned physiques
fighting the relative fight waving, receding on one another

— everybody under an influence indoors, thoughts that are filthy.

A foot of snow from the window. Laps of water are filled with light, rotating in
reverse as if knowing how to purify their offspring & manage forever
in lurches of nibbling torque adjusting ..

You may notice I’m on the side of zest, the construction of meaning in your arms,
and oomph — one long eyebrow (for wingspan), fuzzy and continuous with the present that has no purpose, just falsetto in your eyes.

Admiral, there’s a figment in my soup. While the quartet’s on a mission, higher
up, the soup stands in doodles / parts of speech we can void
as we learn to operate thoughts like fluorescent tubes that meet
over magnets. Tubes lit amid disentanglements.
My views are mostly leisure-loving.

There has to be someone in charge.

There’s a container for every passion.
Ounce by carbon resin ounce, a take-off
economy floatable within, once
regarded in wholeness, its contours
beeped forward w/ the news, smart enough
though meaner beyond its whereabouts..

It? I guess us.

For practice, renditions of this altogether. Take care, and take some time, since to censure another’s progress is groaning effrontery and off the mark, much like not approving a pianist’s shoes. You can do this, feel free, but don’t expect to be asked back to the next marathon. Likewise, avoid rejecting criticism, keep your catnip under wraps, knock down with a glance, nod, and inspire small talk while keeping everything surveilled. Mad Thief and you look great together!

Rightist verse, M.R.I:

It’s meta-conscious. On the surface it projects text as selfie, “poking” materials, assemblies, audience. Selfies however adhere to reticent schedules.

Pedagogic systems administer exams of dominant samples. Absorbing their data is high achievement if it’s duplicable.

Conservative epistemology’s key reinforcements:

It’s all about people acting in a way.
Maintaining a skillsets bias.
Honoring calculable hierarchies

I have no name now but my ass is all into listening. 1st Crusoe, the boss, and Friday then Jessie, Natasha. A small party turned into a lost colony as the fete dispersed for seminars on eon comparisons, fact-rechecks, back formations.

While we’re at it we’ll talk about process. Then add neural linguistic products with teal / aubergine edges to render our new squeeze pages. This, this is the ballad of how your bespoke guest room became the office.

Ringing again — a prism on top where you can point to the horizon that’s both magnified and revilingly askew. If you admit you rejoice in tricky intersections you’ll have to skip lunch. I told you not to watch.

I should be collaborating, writing this down.

I’m seated back in my studio, dressed in un-despairing perceptions (and reading) of what won’t be contained — o Swami, nothing to discredit nor disbelieve.

My U.S. idiocy pledge — I hereby ...
I’m holding hot and cool scrims of mist and water balloons floating over a lap pool, views down hallways into stairs cut apart and fronted with metal rock, waking in hazy brightness without a clue how we got here.

I’d be lying if I said we aren’t criminals.

There’s too much junk in triangles. (Composers have to know this.)
That’s how I got to live alone anticipating mind control as
disingenuous. As

my own job conposer I got a full canoe of alter-egos,
asides, and decorative indeterminacy.

Love memorials are cool if they’re your own.

The smitten dissipate swarming with pleasant memories.

At arm’s length..
There were dimensions an hour ago enabling 2 events in one plot we’re party to. Tenebrae, we said. Let’s return to the olfactory sketches, in which the cosmos is left and right, unexplained. Constant and converted. Incandescent, then, our ardor comes back to choke a human rocket sidelined by a braided chord worn as Lars’ necklace, a burning space distinguished by diffuse vitality.

What about Lars?
We didn’t kill him.

Clad to the hilt in gray-to-black cashmere, we aren’t discussing real business at table. Taciturnity in such morbid surroundings is statutory. “Mm,” Mr Dolt says. He was staring at my teeth, wondering how deeply they cut.

Let’s rewrite “Biotherm.”

In this chapter I fear the sarcasm.

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

There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for a sacrament.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.
Somewhere, who’s a sociopath?

Finalists, top achievers have quit general practice.

This is not a means test. It’s blues. But who can tell if it goes well. 
We’ll leave it at that  

in case there are higher trending hoaxes.
At least the place was democratized even with trial mechanisms.   
 
The mechanisms blow decorum of law...  
Also, it’s beautifully easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes from now, to have less to eat to soften the last interruption keeping the consonant hoopla around your throat.. as often predicted, that.  
 
Simple to say. But how many spirituals of parallel scenery can we communalists invoke?

No one would presume elements were strung together out of desperation and a deeply
ingrained exposition to de-mark the unknown. Much as technology funds science, random
sentiment attaches to most liberal singularities.

Compassion goes into theorems.
Maybe I can talk to your teachers. I can debate with them.
I can’t reason with you. I can’t even talk to you. No one’s there. While others don’t hear clearly
when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of empathy.

He called the universe a positive word. 
 
Reading and living are continuous variables 
That ontologically under-simulate his few senses.  
He should be furious w/ the authentic world w/ dogfood dishes. Be  
Angry at literal keyholes, too, w/ their conservative  
Counterviews to earnest alignment as his new parts pull up,  
A parallel prowess of floating unquietly  
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice.  

Keenau is still guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life.

The question of blood flow takes 8 more lives
rising or not to non occasions w/ pretty good yoga probabilities.
It’s said thorough life study is shaped by diacritical time taking
steps to parse one’s appetite and hostility..

There are quite a few newer injunctions

for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting:
& moving against meows
while nobody wins in a debate over non or not dissemblance.

We just saw (a few feet minutes from now) 
your address changed. We could have done it differently before  
you discovered our abuser charts; the parent company was yours before you took over.  
 
You’re not going to be delirious, meow, are you? 
Just for a now... good for you  
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...   
 
Good for you!

Any rule violates sovereignty. This speech pattern has been expanding without genetic engineering.
And the polls are now tightening.

Your proof is some topic you can take indoors to vote for anyone with no experience. Try.
Give it a chance until late afternoon. Even interrupted our conversation never ends — for
You. For you’ll be taken up on your offer.

My love as a fever costume, inky as hell on opium.
Back I said, a piece of non-advice.

Hell, like innocence, wrongly revealed, concerns ethics, not intent.
Adoration had had a lilac scent. Still has.

Reputations get worse preceding character, even when an act of apprehension remains
Deferential. One fifth of known marriages are conditions in such unreasoning reprieve.
Who will advocate toward peace, for the tranquil
To empower mergers & exchange?

No foes, no spite — 
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting 
Back there uproots a retro series, exalted then stiffened into parody.. 

Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray 
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in what’s feasible, wanting nil and showing 
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems.

Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio”
I am touched by quantum perpetuity and everyone who once lived,
lives now or is about to live,
softest jazz, lower right, someone’s lips moving up, down,
talking over adult computation. X’s naive split mirror interference, for example.

X’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.
Amusing I suppose.

X may have noticed I write over your first-born face, in a kind of praise, 
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of primrose choosing you 
of many then forwarding you as backdrop for my dear, dear heart X, Fidelio.

So a redraft morphs into an urgent inquiry tho tentative. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you joined the service, expecting these long hours. You know how we leverage missing you, talking about it. Happiest procrastinating, I’m indexing suspicion and objurgating..

Publicity is the soul of justice. 
That’s a great question.

Social progress is in hot water. Talk
of art goes for cheap and too far in other directions.

Finalists quit general practice — their art converts to cottage ministries  
with little or no honor system.

Nothing much about jazz dance, for one - it’s almost curtains
for the prom fitting, a horrible hot mess.  
The shortest path ignited by havoc,
overworked and exhausted ex-employees.  But crowning the present,
Thin dancers are perpetual winners I guess.  
I wager at least we scarf their uneaten take-out on the table. Slashed 40%!

Feeling comfort in disruption is one tall order. Together, you and I define an entire affability arc of ironic laughter, a genial series in slippery zoning disputes: Two feelings or more (identical in all respects).

Abstract attitudes are buried below our strip-down (the whole of reality) to relatively unspeaking, as tho history was a full set of realities without language.
Body-snatching, the third point at hand is you and I have to enjoin different orders, since our lives are directionless in Cambridge. Good night, ensign.

Good night to expose an accident or two that don’t matter, made tactical as we circumvent a few exchange elements, remaking spatial morality into a closed agency, no vision, no dash, no longer having to know.

Modesty is unimpressive in itself.  
There’s an either / or for attrition of affects, concision or eyesore.   
And there’s a struggle to housesit mucho information. Try: Oil, vinegar, mistakes...  
 
become defects in the emulsion. While pairs of prime numbers have different sapors, pots, odd sets, syrup-simple to complex, some devolving into a brawl, tugs of randomness, others’ chaos, as well a gaggle of self-similarities... can’t make it out, call them alloys of function routing. I’ve highlighted this one, Apollonian male familiarity that will never feel safe, topped with a Mainline ranch dressing fabricked in aromas of surfboard polycarbonate.

(Someone asked me to float a tremor phonemic as old style bait.)    
  
That’s like the sound and meaning dust flecks skim from the top while our so-named public face makes its living, almost kidding and choosing your chest, shoulders and hands to precipitate full clemency.   
  
What kind of government overthrow takes bicameral 
maneuvers more lightly?

Combustion and dust spores filling avenues becoming identical, your honor. People borrow shelter in ice cream convenience stores, then bolt for the subway, running with asinine language (you can’t call it dialog). Ugly apartments. Life-draining clothes. New affections. Highly recommended. 

Spacetime.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while evangelic angles of light conscientiously make a big deal taking us home.
Vaccinated, I have a merciless itch.. just what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
Quote: Passing the “casting
of cities,” thinking past us — end quote.

I’m never sure. I’m still a novice,
numb to knowing what conscience is.

...pleasure before horticulture, that your box?
For today’s scientist, boxed fits of modesty are supposed to impress, yet their affect is sweeping, swept up or vacuumed from the shrunken floor.
A year of modesty and you switch into an autodidact of excess. We’re pre-empiricists, now, viewing my theory as particles of pink turtleheadflower, Joe-Pye weed, twinleaf, wild bergamot, beardtongue, foaming down in yellow violet.

From here: Modal syllogisms are sanctioned conjecture. So modest one, buzz me up while disquiet grows cutthroat. We’re our own custodians.

Solitary dark 
the air pushes                       ..aside   
 
— tilting your head with no untoward parts, transfixed silhouette  
 
— the Demon Puff in his plumage / seafaring language.  
I was hit in the face when he turned himself in.  
When struck a lightning rod emits a ballet of dust and solution, a chemical isomer that goes itself and turns over in our thoughts as a hint there’s commotion in the back of what matters. What matter is. Who is loved.

Informality keeps the hosts busy — maximum stress & refined inelegance.

Doo-wop’s creepy; let us through.
Factor in visual plug-ins for calisthenics, just a load off the mirror.   
 
Artisanal resonance turns into reflections out of which you finger-point to the horizon,  
 
magnified and now askew, flaking off. So note what happens. 
Yeah? A soar sport. 
 
Soar and insert the bonus and exchange — what do you know!  
Tongues, clean up to your neck — a radiant  
 
pattern, your drain pipe, a phenomenal circumstance that can end  
in a draw sustained by   
getting up, stretching for another solar system.

Granted on a more personal note, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic for one more time.
The place was firmly democratized, sir. The beginning seemed and was
interpenetration among important parallel scenery et cetera running this. Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for now anxious telepaths, minus me, rush sopping in devotion to their next decimal of the scenery. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when.

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

The work-together bellows forges random events from a momentary lineage we’d overlook otherwise. No line proof required, especially. A range of conversations whooped into uncluttered opinions, dedicated sentences. 
 
A flaming kitchen to heat pizza.  
(more below...) 
We’re imprisoned to reach our markets — 
 
Otherwise, normal project staff on the roof, smug in taut outfits and at the top of their game, which is often synchronized, perforated by breaking news. No naming names, please.

Beside Panker observation tower, from which one can see in good weather the far over Baltic to Danemark, the Forestry House Hessen Stone lies.
Can we construct the weather to circle bright light credited to seven chimeras in a purified labyrinth?
Yes, I think we can. Those evergreen shivering now under the weather thrill to sleep, resembling one another trembling.

Pine assembled.

In former times vertikal foresters got their Ausbesserungen with sailors for a Senkrecht. From that forest messengers with sailors on Hessen Stone glow.

Today one can eat excellently and jazz friends here come also.

I like it when prose or song digs in and flails. 
( It’s that emotional core between personal and professional.)
Becoming free is a moving and intimate aria. (Like “Summertime.”) I got joy. And sun.  
 

That about covers it.  
Got to run, prose.

After glamour there’s revisionist power, a legacy inside us. Wo- 
lfed down improv crap — we’re pre-wired or is there a fee? 
Radiance now is in a lather. Remember deliverance?  

“What if it doesn’t work. Then what?” Everything works. 
In any time and place of our choosing: Act gathered, there.  

True love brings on a physician practiced in the art of relapse.

Any non empirical approach compels outsourced argument.

I’ll try for an overweight blunt invention
of the non willed state, or what some call civil

efficacy for streamlined intake. Soak up the view.

To commune sounds handsome, also calm, also a bit bendy. In the same call he reverses prerogatives — or his voice does. (I’ll table the difference. Each.) 
“Cloven, we are incorporate ... ” 
His message is mixed but never better aligned. Together, all across our call center that serves as our hideout, we’ll be learning the ropes, perusing scraps and parts of hope.  
 
No fins of infinity. Nope.   
 
No patterns clenched exponents where attachment is rimmed.  
 
We have no ho issues.  
No shady aftermath inter-scope.   
And to think a way out, we blur the ground and yield authority to a bowl... really a vase. Sit and watch dogs turn smoky brown tracking vans in drizzle, tarnished from sight, playing against a stack of storm windows, within a composure for light a translator can’t reach. -- To commune sounds handsome, also calm, also a bit bendy. In the same call he reverses prerogatives — or his voice does. (I’ll table the difference. Each.) 
“Cloven, we are incorporate ... ” 
No shady aftermath inter-scope.   
And to think a way out, we blur the ground and yield authority to a bowl... really a vase. Sit and watch dogs turn smoky brown tracking vans in drizzle, tarnished from sight, playing against a stack of storm windows, within a composure for light a translator can’t reach.

I don’t know that much about you [hh.. ] but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling torture.
Half a day goes by and

You are [hh.. h..] unattainable,
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, [hiccup] this is serious.
Soft fear and recurring despair, the flip end to formalism ...

Heated inference, compressed form, along with a ‘crown’ of contradictions
veer dimensional rhetoric to here with you.
Our capital is redeemable, since our must-haves change directions and they’ll barely pertain, and why should they? What’s on our minds will be low on the must list, even lower than that. Narrative reprobates

— with a kill-agenda — tickled into corruption. 
Here is one place you and I may detect a language driver, untidy and young   
 
and speaking up without permission. In other words,    
 
young grammar gets somewhere then stops. The meaning of wind withers our good looks.    
 
In mentalist rhetoric one lives language over to outrun one’s sophistry.

There are too many of you to paraphrase.
Favorite singers reradiate the calmative afterlife attached to
Learned consensus turning to early love performance; both puerile in a hybrid present possessive voice, the going song’s deep pitch shows up inaudibly
in the hindbrain, Hun. Libido constitutes foreknowledge, glistening aimlessly.

Bruise will be stopping by later or presently. 

— since we have a method for choosing topics, don’t expect me after all.  
 
Even if we kiss later, it saddens one to inform the boss  
You’re not serious, never are.  
 
Like you we’re turning state’s evidence holding on to meet  
even newer phenomena                      (‘the stolen parts’  
To run over) any & all mayhem coming unannounced (achieved).  
Or some won’t say since you & I separate thru flexible equations.  
 
Already saying goodbye takes us far up the jet trail! quelling fear of want-
Ing pain. You never can tell. I won’t.

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

To be a stronger critic I went to a dark place with you (universal reach). 
You gave me hiccups back then, up to floor six. Now, years in the future, my senses are restored. An unoccupied mind long overdue.  

And I’m back in my vertigo seat, reading over and writing disciplined boilerplate, fond of mnemonics.  
 
To explain further is to run up against narrative: actually a proxy measurement, one affected by all other expressions of interest over future time.
As the future holds, I’m lying about the lies we’re telling now.

Add your touch and everyone you touch, everything you see, good sounds and less dustup as you walk or sit along the surface nearby, fielding all pangs as well as faculties for balance, direction of toes and feet, tastes and smells, obscure motions, textures, feelings from everything so far.
Bring that..

It’s a kind slide knot. Or not. We have functional emotions and this much-traveled vocabulary of affects. 
To learn something about what you mean is to let fine fettle overcome despair, overcome entropy. For a quiet start, try zero gravity. But you don’t keep any larvae. They’re apart. Their cloying song goes out mutely and you feel a need to ache in their baby blue blather, calmly, accruing intimacy. Hey — Never stop imploring. 
 
* 
Show us your papers, fly! 

We were used by demolition pros,
sliced, etc. Oh
You were fantastic,
an arms race in refuge.

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

Polarized as boats
keel and cover rubber planks
across their reflection.

On one side: complex gangly, mostly mute. They apologize for the inconvenience.
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. we’ll ..
let’s try to put into words from juked electronics simulcasting through longer views.
Near the power hilltop filling with theorists of a visual world culture wholly populated by posturing.

Donald Trump projects and feeds off the hypocrisy of American behavior,
especially through non-ironic discourse.

Blatantly careless, docile or not, seems a new daring.. 
I have no idea.. it’s handed to me..
The deliberate downgrading of the presidency 
More than fair warning — 

See ya,
Putin

The crisis is not an 
object but life movement, explosions  

funneling a hegemonic pulsation — and due to substitution  
Gustave Flaubert haunts this o
 
beside your double vanity, while keeping fit ...  
 
On the run, playing with tribal goals, how funny you are..  
There are bass chords you kept inside.  
Between descriptions, silence, a periphery.  
 
No way to describe — much less rhyme — hiding on the loose.   
 
Loosely hiding? Let’s compost for a mo.   
 
Flaubert loose in the air wonders how high an apartment we’ll have.

The cosmos in Part 2 is unwilling to go far from the service corps in nonstop heat. 

... you’re right.. your whole throat pivots from joking around a ringing of attention-grabbing hysteria.

The cosmos in Part 1 then is unexplained. 

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound divergences in expression to gain advantage for incriminating thoughts. Their goal is to march with humanists halfway — paternalism indulged through wisecracks.
Inky smoke up next, releasing a genocidal collage of screens, like 
thinking in agitated waves, reproached, disappeared 
in drumming opinions and worst practices — 

Tho the corps we request will go off the board.

Language is spoken better where it’s taught. While you’re at it 
sing out and fudge your correspondence. Then get off on your  
resonance and offer joint events that promote your own ventures!  
Professor, this ballad of how especially the ivory tower  
is under entrepreneurial influence  
— it’s a hair shy of failure as a tune or concession   
 

to breaching cultural ergonomics — all of it.

Let’s feed the appetite that picks up from nature “to express things ... as they are when one sees them without remembering having looked at them.” Committed to formal blocking thru stagecraft, maintaining an indomitable temperament. All seniority evaporates as a text refuge where nature, our last line of offense, draws attention as an ironic condition, a peripheral attraction. 

To be objective and lack will. 
 

An incident unveiled as ambition.  
What are meta-resonators for but to effect command over and about objectives we’re uncertain or we don’t want to get that serious about / over? There’s nothing but an eyeblush of this over and about on the one day willpower seems a desperate measure, and in reckless hands.   
 
Feeling a depth charge covering your lips with un-despairing I can’t contain.

Rare flutes in drizzle 
shining from sight:  
 
We hardy knew Dionysius.   
 
A flesh-eating virus attacked, aged him.  
 
We never forget and we do not forgive. Even tho we’re too fat to have insurance, our moms were always supportive. Viruses bring this on. The wind too. Boo is emphatic. Shivers of a sigh, I made messes all over the nestling ground to suit a creative purpose.   
 
At least I have my integrity.

Doctors approved the utility of lingerie, 
throwing us a softball, a good idea we  
maintain another focus.  
Sex toys are a good idea; until 
I went broke I was indebted  
to them.  
 
In one direction the focus  
is nearly lost. Yes, it’s scary (testy 
at first, blasé, getting bored)  
 
yet there are comic possibilities  
as most dreams seem to  
be saying. Another focus  
is adolescence. We power  
 
our own, mounting a bait  
and switch to chalk up the board 
and another board 
drawn into a new bloodbath of witty planning. 

You were in the settlement. 
We were sitting there, and  
I made a joke about it.. how  
it doesn’t dovetail: time,  
one minute running out  
 
faster than another time in front  
that catches up.  
That way, I said  
there can be no waste.  
Waste is left out of the settlement.   
 
To come back for a few hours to  
the present tense, an instagram,  
looking like it was being seen, half- 
turned backward, slightly moist, reading us.

Been reading about accelerating destruction in the Amazon. A chunk the size of Rhode Island or larger burns down each year. This malpractice yields rich farmland that’s productive for about four or five years. After that, the soil turns into dust and sand. 
Carports for farmers, then, are an interim step. Dust when it rains becomes haze and steam, the color of moist illusion, bubble-like. 
 
You were in the settlement.  
We were sitting there.

This is my deciding moment. As a consequence doors open before I’m auto-electrocuted. 
 
And that’s good, because I snuck across the catalysts. (It’s what I’m good at, wearing pajamas as weapons.)  
My plan thus converts to the meantime. So you detect I’m pretending to be a spontaneous asshole, intimating death is over. 
(Yet cartoons are not analysis.) 
And spaces left open are not nothing. 
 
Every Harvey Keitel film substantiates we may have a gun, we could be reaching for a gun, or we could just be, in essence, fronting.

Year after year we heal ourselves, each cell in our bodies spinning starboard. Cells are factories, at bottom; we are factory owners. One says the seas of government are primed for enterprise. One says what another says which is normal, not new now, never. We are natural organisms running out of time.

In a mean (like now) perspective Bartok reached for 
the moon. How is that helpful?  
With your brand one constant, you cut the rest off.   
 

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


Having it, you hobble   
 

Away like a name dropper.   
 
Emotions where they don’t belong.  
Blues by Corelli.

Dear foundationalist,
I’m thinking of a color — no name.. an antsy-ness 
running everywhere that’s off — waiting for some big thanks 

there was nothing & then a voice  
went upstairs & locked the door. 

                               A voice with cavities.

Dear foundationalist,

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

Errant is not mistaken for arbitrary. 
In a way paisley just throws all its games..  
2 spiral arrays for time & harmony within a philosophy (moving spatial dimensions)  
a few moments forward.   
 
Paisley’s inference, compressed form, a ‘crown’ of contradictions  
veer in dimensional rhetoric  
superseding nature’s. Cosmos, not not unhappy.

Any emphasis prepares the manifold; earlier accounting systems join the 1st probability of having you to touch & subsequently empower half the cost of what’s not said.
A true dictator shows us the assassin is uninvolved on every emotional level — even the one you hold inside and act on by serving others, the one bosses & ‘ritual’ overvalue.

Witch: Pass the white I think they’re gloves.
With further directions your understanding registered. 

Off the rack, but great 

— a good to a very good response 

inasmuch as speaking about or to you comes across the border over thin night.

One of corporate’s donor’s places resembles a Marine camp with sweeps of property edging a subdued enclave.  Of all the varied and fabulous pieces by new pianists I wager they are bursting with Euro personae — because of what they rock to, also because many exuding confidence have gotten past graduate school, the corporation, a breakthrough investment in the company.

Just push the button. 
Lament due to Rocket divorce feels monogomous.   
 
Chafed lips, with you or not, one emphasis is how  
your modalities give me butterflies and more chasing more of me — 10  
to the 10th power, all polygamists barnstorming thru  
our ad hoc hemisphere.

The longer I live it’s in front of me. 
 
A glow in seconds before a scheduled avalanche, fun ..and explosive. Wow.   
 
Or much like staying right in no now never.   
 
A preferred toothbrush has been abandoned. I’m forgetting about it.  
I’ll be heading out soon. Moving thru a lefty runoff. I won’t be funny or make a stab, relax or specify...   
 
I’m lost in the new geography.. O again.

Starts out as an immaterial change 
in orientation before we nail it in a book.  This
 
we fill in with letters reversing dirty words around closed circles.  
It’s raw data for symbol systems inside fresh alphabets  
helping us speak to other books & spreadsheets about sub-content  
& meta summaries in even newer physics w/ fresher markings.  
 
A steel door stays open. Here are the last letters of bliss.  
We best defer to the sharpest models to differentiate ranges. 
Deep blues, silvers in biological shades that form vowels;  
 
consonants have already taken shape from German models.  
 
This organizes 5 minutes infinitely without saying bless your heart.

An artisan’s voice stares ahead — if 
allowed. Read the outpost inspection. To continue,  
there’s asymmetry in her blowing glass. Especially when it rains   
 
glass takes finial shapes leaning more to peel off  
solving the perfection problem, but not remorse.

We have 9 pm poems and 4 am. Ever notice? 
I’m staying cool with it like a Javanese statistician.  
When information is relevant to sanctioned policy, communication goes private.  
Like when decisions should be centralized within a single metaphor for good caffeine.  
No personalities, please, only one writer / editor apiece
are left standing in rain assuming sun is still shining of late,  
nipping, filing matter, spinning, capturing the dress casual in waiting. 

Marriage makes me horror-struck 
 
Aghast in wake of our previous melancholy. 
Blindfolded angels thinking in the past —  
All mute waving back  
 

Protecting us from our known pasts and predicates,   
 

Taking on more physical pain, taking many more onboard, putting them   
 

In mind of us affiliates, at last.

Greyhound hurling on seesaw feels fine, 
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s  
Not serene. A maelstrom lights  
Up a foreground, no questions asked. 
(I wagered my face the minute I handed it to you.) 
Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites.  
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a shiny fox.

What parts last fast? The cucumber ..were I a colorist. A so-called lode of fabulous glossary. Interesting for switching placidities!  
A mandate is just that.  
Why does your one face arrest? 
 
Not dying is not not wanting to die, a unique semantic potential assigned an inventory.  
 
There’s señor that needs you. He has no interest in poetry — I wonder if that’s true — His thoughts knitted together like mica piling up, shouts ricocheting through a voicetrack from the underbrush holding our breath, bounced, kicked and gloved by catalysts.

A monk asks,   
 
This is why I hate you   
 
and keep loving you under wraps?  
Take care, and take more time. Acts of omission are presorted, so they keep numbing, so like fixating on folks’ shoes. You can do this, feel free, cadet. But don’t expect to fill mine or my avoidance of frontiers, rejecting anarchism. 
These were the funniest jokes I know, the baldest too. I don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. And I can’t recall being as excited as I am.  
 
Space also presorts sometimes.

It’s probably a head cold. 
 
Unhappiness breeds from flu-like abundance. That’s about it.  
A common cold means at least a dozen things or more.  
An embedded satire about too much, just too much, and... 

You know what I think?  
 
A physical being hears what one wants, has a fever and takes in a lot  
Guessing this was a sample.  
 
And service areas are where we drive satire home and choose.  
Our upper hand is no joke. Correction, our lassitude is.

I think you get the hang of asymmetry, sir 
— living that music is wonky, a bit offensive.
You’re wide awake thinking it through  
until a subfocus gets lost. You grow accustomed,  

so to speak, directly oblique : pointedly no 1 name  
is escalated or united if out of proportion!  
 
Bon équilibre, some1 else can go choke & in a non asphyxiating language that
1 + a 2nd person, the “some1 else,” comprehends.  
What does 1 say? 
 
I’m Aldo.  
 
No, you are.  
 
We’re a special team. We’re circumspect; sharing mechanisms  (our pretexts) give no voice to parrot motifs over a long fly we back off to catch, nightly. 
 
What about cleverness and defaming character?  
Don’t be involved.  
 
What does 1 say? A few shaky words,  
hacking at reasons to try with the grit of understatement.  
And then 1 thought, that’s what’s wrong.  
  Hey hey my.

An organizing force under command matures into familiar
anesthesia: Takes my place being places (an event in tropes) —

The named oceans are dated, right, left
Pouting, getting better!

Meantime, ping. We’re here for discovery via inflection of lap pools’ recurring
condensed matter.
When we come to — there will be perorations in suspension, ripped,


1st choice for a sonnet = to solve for x. Be funny and coalesce.

Dear multiple choices from eternity: Send us a message we can wolf down.
Convey a sense of urgency if/when superfluous. Then put off all force.

Americans were living longer before the pandemic. You see yourself among them and then you won’t.

Parking spaces had a word with you. Children are the future. Let them stay distracted, I'll snoop around.

Every atmosphere has pivots. Wait for the forthcoming eel and fish heads. They’re for you.
That hurt. Oh, thank you. I don't deserve you.
Literally or latterly? I wish it were that simple. The orphaned often become scene-makers or martial artists, music critics or teachers. The last stage of brain fever is nothing if not ambiguous; today you'll enjoy experimenting on air pressure around trees. Feckless and now liberal, that man with a verge leaves faint, barely perceivable marks with his ropes, pulleys, shadows — just to find himself.

Post-cogency, you still following that? What's so strong about sadness, the real overhead for what party in sleep?

I'm so attritional about what's turned you into nothing.

Psalm, make me sorry.

Nothing is unimportant. Neither the bray of birds nor their sweet afterplay.
Send for Fr Pierre.
He lives in harm’s way. “A transit of showdowns.”
After Pierre, a burst of daft tone substitutes for info.
Wait. There’s nothing left.

I lower my voice to closest saturnal parity
plucked out of my adversative brutality ..

Finalists like you quit general practice — off to your own privacy
with little or no honor left, one laughed. And yet not you, your honor...

Summer’s actuaries record having a good time as vicarious, no
moving figures. (Vicarious isn’t strong enough.)
Inner, outer merge in our honor system, no shadows,
o praise the light flow drawn in odor and hue! After you.

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

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

For I once had an idea today was over. I forgot, man.  With less & less destruction thru divorce, we constitute the locus of self worth holding still in our co-ritual to outlast time.  Over & over.
And this is what it means to have a muse.

High sensitivity equals high urgency.

I felt something.

The hollow inside is mixed up, the survey said;

overlapping symbols’re happening way out in the ocean. 

Your ocean. Your breathlessness. My Weimaraner

tilting sideways and holding his whisky well, destroying
our bed, our bad faith and consequences.

Hands are everything.
It was past conjecture; ever since  
The atmosphere upsurges when the bosses are retired.
His eyes & yours swell with knife moves.  
Your brain stores many kinds of pleasure. & his the same.  

A genome led you to him..  
He smiles with no wisecracks about your bluffing kowtow & innocence    
— nothing to discredit &  
— no hell to pay!

...the rain keeps raising rules of thumb, bringing it all back.

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 for a pay grade gaining access only to weather bombs in a manifold vacuum. I Finite instrctions      

Would be taking you on and over and winning without willing to keep or junk your composition.      

Final orders are that vicarious. I thought no way, no ultimatums to rephrase, no immoral aspirations — nothing but work slathered with work!

My counselor affidavit registers our deficiency of alibis. All the same, hunches count. (I’ve always been competing with another self.)  
 
Surely alter egos bear no responsibility for foundering within the social anomaly of treason.  
Rules commit us. Voters chose Trump. Yet this is the last cause.  Everything I note here is integrated by law. Remember those days?

Today, my beliefs go unchecked worshiping neutrality (plain v harder) w/in the present gloom of purgatorio as good possibilities blow town, including the best halo effects, feelings. They’ll come back like sight for the blind in the dark. 

It’s agreeable finally to shake physics’ geomantic hand covering our breathing. Geo-theories are of a blind nature as well as hypotheses. Today, every day open censorship is tangential to being here, right over here, filtered, unfiltered but as long as it takes.

I work here but not much any more. 
Cascading circumstances. 
My travel limits are pointing to a chimera with no destination. 
Striking bells, lightening round..  
 
Take a test. Brightness gushes out, but colliding transmissions are roughened by the scream. Ballet is euphoric, turbulent-urges and compromises. But do you understand the point of my test?  
 
It’s anonymous either way.   
 
Tho before the diagramming mist rolled in I felt your grace,  
holding on all around two hands.

Bathing in wishful enjambement, naked duty —
and ‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children who blur the terrain,
a patterned enclosure: our caller, composer, shouts,

Let’s search for reason in nature’s chaos…
No one belts out a coda like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful.

A rationalized miracle.

Pollen eclipses stain both moon and sun with borrowed-spores.
Again, I don’t know much re: pollen, rising to block sky views
while I’m playing with borrowed-writing.
Any contention is biting now but my spores speed ahead 85 to 100;
that’s slow facing a chilly gust. I won’t do much more, not even for
track officials powered with centrifugal disclosure, tweeted from their past.
So forget

Any legal plaudits, forget public jubilee — I should add my power
gamut goes faster. My pollen instrument serves haves and
abandons have-nots holding guitars spinning all ways in gelid, hilly winds.

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.

I may have torn thru your text (torn only thru my mind — you
backstroke and float around in my semen).
O ouch. I’m not sorry.
This is my first try in four dimensions. How’s the missus?

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.

Frame: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources our way as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up temp and humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the fed in balance for two (or three, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, semblances that comprise enmeshments in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed for poetics; appliance hint: metronome.

Let’s not. I defy you.  
 
Empiricists map people for amoral purposes, we know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n caprice.   
I will follow conventional physics.   
 
I’ll focus on pure benefits that accrue in the future. Newer inconsistencies never grasp for governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know older ones show up in an infinite series for each day’s standardized essay test. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history over, as we have heard.) As you were.    

(The Chief of Staff thus pled.   
Suspiciously correct.)

Greyhound hurling on seesaw feels relaxed, as
Any footage balances when pushed, so it’s more entertaining,
Not serene. A maelstrom lights up the foreground,
no questions asked. 

Pit Bull sits tangled in tree w/leash & kites. 
Corgi spinning in washing machine, a hairy fox. One may see this more clearly, is it a pigeon?
It’s a true albino!
Incandescent, I was thinking. It’s hard to pick up detailed ornithology,
The same with determinate meanings of most genres of jazz —
Also, choosing an end table for instincts and learning given the scarcity
Of well furnished thought. Then there is rapprochement

As I’m happiest procrastinating when a hole in my cohesion is closed.

Turn here. There’s efficacy in speaking clearly, gesturing, submitting
To the coming onset of one’s own making.

This is my 1st stab at tantrics,  
boiling sanguine, sad going through a pinafore of latitudes, so   
I vet them. 
Perfect, we don’t see we’re getting our drawings from other repros   
and no matter.  
 
All we’ll have to do ... 
Choose love as a buy or rental option, both equidistant from love’s defunct model of phenomena (that travail and make surprise visits w/in quanta. Too early to tell.)

Choosing love creates an entire platform to spin off slower tangential constructs plucked out of big pharma. And of course tantrics.

Getting on with creative hustle, stealth
Forces in bent silhouette disappear on Diane
Street, filling in with mind-assistants, theorists of a visual culture
Wholly populated with sulkers. XXX multi-blends.

Major mist killed most of them off before we could get a look — its operation
Never meant more than feel-good-ok applied to drug events. Amended
One-line phobias scrawled with shock talk. Alpha-One
Cement Beginner Course. Heifers of Suffering. Toy Budding. On

One hand we gave drugs up because of high fealty to fitness regimens
And wedging taxes; on the other, because it got too crowded. Then
Very warm. Am I allowed to go on? Quacks toiled for meme growths
Bringing breathing back up from the deep -- smiling for their health.

Forever all night. 
Look around, what’s background?   
Barely perceptible lightning over fog. 
Homology then prudence. Peck v immolation. 
No questions asked, we work the lower jaw 
for the same carbons to put this together as refuge.     
 
Meanwhile nothing else came up.    
 
You’ll need a new camping saw and hood scoop.   
I’ll invade your space then leave later,   
lately not feeling calm over you but crazy.

Your bromide is familiar. You’re gaining attention for the wrong infinite reasons, Jungfrau.
Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow lost, fast.

The cosmos is unwilling to plow far ahead, now or later, this way or that — what we inhabit is neither a stoner planet nor merely some plywood-dream-and-particulates object flown in time (w/ fewer and fewer true intrigues).

There’s much history.

Shadow sensory awareness, a chosen medium.

Flowers are em-poisoned by design, grateful astrochemists oozin’ adrenaline

for their audience, saboteurs of the heart.

My optimum thesis is not close to the middle or either end,  
Leaving me in further states of redefinition. 
 
This introduces the cult of the squish factor. (My  
Luggage did this to me.)

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

Alien favors percolate if you diet and exercise while budding relationships are frontiers. We want a space made up of excellence in the air between unruly manes and confabs with bookies (publishers). We’ll keep a moth-hole sweat or two as foils to new financial identities.
Are you healthy enough for perfection in this gridded environment? 
That’s a keeping track question.
A stencil of our dialog frames many other expectations while class struggle gets slippery. 
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history. The poster says democracy 
But reading it in a fixed scheme subverts federalist imminence. 

Crime: The noun to which much is given. 
Can you spot the q and a between shorelines?   
While in the time-motion garden, a parallel door banged thru the night.   
Next morning I hugged rugged trees in the upstart foreground,  
Our encampment after, ridiculous, you guess.. juxtaposed,  
 
Anglophone, atonal.. fuzzy. It’s so. We know it when we hear it: 
One expects a clearer message for individual agency.   

I gave you what I have.
In this line my life had some internet.

Earth pulverized, closer to dead. And now you’re
On earth, no better with emotion than I.
A song remains where the consecrated was due
This. This

For an atom = A head turn divided by meanings pertinent lots of ways
At once. Your


Continence is still material.
Spirit but with subheads.

Black and white French films of the 1950s —
A spiral staircase was a happiness problem, withdrawn on a formality,

Noted on snare drums.
Highly camouflaged from the past.
Going forward (in French), merciless itch, what’s the entry for time travel?
Solving for the passing

Of cities, thought past us, 2 years before
Messing with you. A fantasy sport.

We were used by demolition pros,
sliced, etc. Oh
You were fantastic,
an arms race in refuge.

This is the bridge.
Have you been?

Tasted great.
And after

Lilacs with mesh
without a searchlight to blemish
the vapor

Polarized as boats
keel and cover rubber planks
across their reflection.

Leave everything : down, self.
Prune leave less, some more:
our night still external, vanished cloud
odor..

Leave everything :
while we go uprooting.

I have to take you —
months & years
with the slow ones.