A soundtrack with pulleys, leisure to sing... gazes overlaid
w/ speech you keep delaying. An investment to punch into
hapless quibbles over riv vu’s.

Taut shortnesses of thought bubbles, disarmed by suspicions, you’re
an emulation of a man —
no way flippant, standing up without sticking, you could prove

choo! Uccello on his roof car unhinged, bartending! That’s how you sound. If you stand
if you speak if you kerchief

— are you keeping suspicion warm
to the bridge of my nerves?

Payment hence remains. It comes from the Greek for feigned ignorance. 

For legions of believers 
Who are in this for praise.

The general of desire wait lists the system. 


Notebook open, wallet shut.

Someday all this will be yours. Five hundred
City blocks that lean socialist along
An untapped atmosphere of noir swing. Add slovenly
Housekeeping and altho you steal from me, puckish flair
And snappy dialog
Bearing love’s wrong.

A private-public distinction, extension 8. 
That dichotomy no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force.    
 
Keeping my writing up  
Besides giving empathy, suffering distress,  
I write on my agenda,   
 
A vapidly laden ship of ‘fortune’   
Once I launch it —   
 
I got married however without knowing the side effects   
— wait, I forgot why I called.

I weigh your music, your great granddad’s piece about

Bang you’re dead
Average, self-guilt along with bland lucky tones, a problem. No gist, too popular.
So relax thine form here.

Everything dark-accented inflates 3 dimensions into immense mist of

Taxing yarns. Poor wee sparrow’s beaten yet breathing

True to form A.

The unequal in luck float more already. I hope they’re happy.

Your flesh is on the surface.

You taste of star anise; you wiggle like the borzoi
w/ backsliding wipe-outs & their aftermath:
a delicacy we drink to — w/ cattle calls of glugging purity.

At least our calls
‘hold each other open’ setting our interpretive devices to
moan toward the top.

Any higher, they never snicker.
(There’s tighter discipline.
Then it’s said repetitive indiscretion goes too far
& some at mixed levels are more disposed
climbing into casual ritual, putting
their lives on hold getting & keeping down.)

Should we have
a message? I repeat
We’re talking to what must
be figurative breakpoints with fate.

Fate makes this factualist. 
Make my mind avoid our bohemia.  
Recover the masterpiece.  
Destroy and smooth sailing.  
Imitating kills quiets  
the system.

Something to do with chant? The amount enclosed...
All this repetition is an interdiscipline ahead of patterned, glimmering haze and murmurs surrounding powerful folk, dating converts. You know, the level of smart self regard here is high, covert. Notwithstanding we’re open to self derangement if all we do is seduce and note conquests. We lose austere joys, our own cloud dogma perpetrated out of a wiry, scentless comfort, breathing over the skies.

Scentless discomfort, too.

The cosmos in Part 1 (about hard-ons) is unexplained.

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound, remixed pairs in expression to meet their incriminating goals. Chief aim is to march with humanists halfway. The other and better half are indulged through wisecracks; but most of the wayward humanists, the originalists, we render as divas and idiots in the vulnerable minority and they take the bullets; why?

Our national leaders and their propagandists know very well liberal capitalism is an inegalitarian regime, unjust, and unsuitable for the vast majority of humanity.

Grandeur is a deluxe quest and metaphysical evil.

I’m not a model, I just look like one. (Helen Vendler)

We’re the only nation that flies into hurricanes. (D.A. Levy)

I can’t make it. We’re staying in.

A nutcase with an exploding cigar spins around saying, I’ve been watching you.

I spent decades as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on ‘live people.’ 
My relationships are mostly strung out on sofa sectionals of pulverized dots —
He tells me I know this place better than my own bedroom, seeing he knows what I mean.

I can’t make it.

New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. Pummeling brilliance lives on in a pretty good phrase, a single word, and it always has, fudging abasement in clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined). 

O ouch.
I’m not sorry. You’re available to anyone.

This is my first try in three dimensions.
There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace
— w/ the emancipatory normality of curiosity, kindhearted proof —
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, one of you for me.

— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-


Per sacks. Imitation spinner features, it’s
Just there’s the royal we (a pain) in game theory to pla 
Y. This may be an insight
Bringing us closer to following your advice.

Now you’re giving me the finger. Technically. we’re not there yet.

I do declare.

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

A green thumb trying to paint and cover

A chocking space with dabs of marine titanium, dabs that dilate
Blurring the root truth of setbacks for over 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!

We’re released into the water supply. Globe-trotters. Kissers, both cheeks. In the heights curls are back. Bells in heaven. My eyebrow arched and I gasped. In architect years this is an old crisis, fallen and liberated by the carpentry of sensory input as the doctor’s tongue worked in circles. Then he darted in. I realized tension was flying from my face, dull and throbbing.

To a chapel goer

A warning looms to live on
next season, the most idle of 5.
The fiscal thrill of your sorts.
Your will bending lives.

I never imagined keeping count
but it’s on my list. My list of lists.
Lists cover all bets. Scars are luxury goods. 
Drapery, French, Italian, English varieties, completes these sentiments. Yet never over stays.    

What’s next? to find Fra Angelico innocuous you’re as blind and innocent as any promise keeper who goes to chapel.     

A stupid promise keeper that housebreaks into almost any sentence ..    

.. that’s a bad idea of particularity. Like unemployment among household heads, subsequent foreclosures = the largest causes of forcing children into poverty. Which is a true sentence that feels incomplete.

I use bigger words than you,
pluralizing the spring flowers, the moons in autumn —
Classification by evolutionary collisions.
I think I prefer you all-purpose, best calm, never resolved.

We talk about words until it hurts. We work around functional emotions & this much-traveled rehab of affects.
Hooray.. I just missed the last place you looked. Stay with me. Never stop exploring. Turn here.
That’s the isle I was going take you to; it lifts, lukewarm, soft. Splash. I admit I was curious.
Small islands serve as hideouts. Tall men are restless in the rain. Excellent. We shall read over the presentation, juggle a few heads.

I love what we do together.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went:

There’s a benign debate — where brightness bore in, grateful
Prenuptials stampede out,


Drawing bonds along dark zones of propaganda.

And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a holy day, merely a
First draft.
Or only one of many noted by a crowd of flutists aft.
My terms are to settle down through the evening. Our proud examples
Gain longterm advantage when hell freezes
Imprisoning refinement only for the self appointed until.

“Devils were seductive, motivating me to seek their darkness,
Pick up the guitar & write more songs,”
Talking Chimp squealed like a talking dog.

Lean, fluid, balanced, clipped close,
His inner daredevil is fallen into a state of confusion & loneliness
— just to feel a cloud pattern about being no one.

In my canine illusion
of minimalism
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,
I should say the accretion settled down
& got lost and scattered trying to remember.

152: Today, all my vows are oaths to your kindness, constancy, love, you bet.
Back when there was a hell, each vow seemed sufficient
and inclusive for a new occasion of faith.
It’s easy, too unenlightened, even dishonest now.

Once back in the day the fair-minded had more complex appetites,
sworn to give loving eyes to blindness they brainstormed over such innocence —
half-truths, lies never happened. But

in a larger context there was the most recidivism in fashion and lit.
Dante nibbled fast, in very mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace.

There was a terrific wine list — and one knew one’s balletic twists down pat,
drinking perfusions as he had at strangers shedding their platform boots.

Sweetest of the geeks take their lessons to heart and join a special breed apart. Hoody demeanor and default dalliance breaking convention will get us to our destinations faster and more pumped. Something about / the “human couplet” / keeps me over and under. It’s a military formula, zennish almost, common enough to striving rock as well as poetry composition.

The carbon steel of every day never dimmed
Second after blasted second.

Being used as part of the audience seems offensive.
You pass over that and ask for a 2nd date with an audience member.
Soon after loggerheads are avoided with grit, understatement.

What do you say? Bonne balance, hey my.

You grow accustomed, so to speak, no name
gets escalated until the focus is lost.
De rien and thank goodness.

Leaving the June-July beach
— dazzling lethargy undoing our cuffs as the wagon sways
with fellowship. Love in the future, a handshake spreads the rain,
flowers, rain, flowers. (That's it! The moat-house for the wagon
then some new wagon shirts we can walk away with. A mighty wine
origami and the wagon yard for our widows. This is spring history.)

The one-act was mostly about ticket holders with initiative winning the status quo from the beginning..

After the show folded we were never serious. Toys are another good idea until they cross us. We weren’t the first to overcome what we like & hold onto it, so it would take the future to adjust how how began.
That’s a rough outline.
Preaching to altos is an art
practiced by Art Farmer.

Or you can stand by & have what you are looking for reappear
as an entire practice. Suddenly

there are no stages.

The Japanese are fascinated by pottery.

Any dark ceramic with asymmetrical tenets is tacit

but could be looking up at a source of light, feeling talkative..

maintaining maximum restraint
to engage another’s psyche.

The normal exec in an expanding field by a highway will grow up, in a flash forward, and work for Strategy Foundation Japan, a company that parses pleasures around the world. Pleasures, not dreams.
Not any more. One exec becomes an energy therapist and keeps rabbits. You see virologists learn how to say what no one ever wants to hear. “You sure of that, doctor? You sure those were your rabbits?”

You or I can’t copy Creeley singing to Wieners or it could be vice versa,
Both old masters
Who never spoke for love,
Not equipped



To weep



—
Who is?



— even on a brassiere stool overlooking time is money plaza,
We could never express feelings about delimiting time. Figures of thought are tart.

That everything once alive was precious as our talk is precious and cheap.
That “Having no time to spend” comes off as counterfact in a pas
De deux falling apart
— we interns slipping on pieces of tracing paper after the ballet
To make a racket.

The drill of local news, temperature, hours of indebtedness, mayhem, a fascinating stack of known challenges — locality reduced to the economy, co-rejecting isms that are not concentric. Centricity & challenge influence perception; both engage what leftists & the right make up as sources for so noted middle ground. Nothing but themeless modules. Nothing to uphold.
No to Bat Masterson & Hamlet,
Gothic non being, lonely contexts & Goethe’s juvenilia.
No good instincts, no ephemerality, no hidden rounds
or flexible spite.

I’m not sure it’s inclusive or scrambled enough if we differentiate among them, & besides, why be preoccupied with peculiarities?

Nobody has to talk it over with me. I see what no means.

I have felt your voice,
followed your craft —

One touch,
one orated note.

Sleep has more ideas for here and now
where everything is a right turn;
we made contact then for a time
inspired by my taking your course.

No plan, we thought about speaking,
better than keeping you out —

Watching you spin like sentience
“refined by distance” since that was the last of

casual contact \ spectacle,
putting my life together but keeping your drift ..

Your new boyfriend gives me butterflies.

Butterflies have no meat. Not really.

I guess they’re unprincipled, drawn into narratives of low concentrate, lacking design,



squeezed across a syntactical floor with shaky particulars.

I prefer you not invite tradespeople in.

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

A parrot’s vocal cords give way to multiple hunches. You’re really that tall? There is no wrong answer. Your current salesman voice sports a staggering pedigree, meh, too late to make it sparse.

Even your restraint is watered down pat. You’re too qualified and thrifty to feel anything suspended — Mayday!
You and Boy Marisol, I told you both I agree. Enjoy your revisionist’s timeshare, the afterlife to the future, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.

The last emperor had sex with multiple staffers.

He had on one of the most advanced distribution systems.

His agents were crazy for the bigger paradigm of aftermath.
An aperture opened up and a lovable perspective was achieved soon lost. He disappeared, and he had children and they disappeared.

Skepticism was blacklisted by sharpened anomalies.
E.g. there’s nothing left of an emergent zone to secure a prosthetic like lack of despair.

There will always be a poem


I will climb on top of it and come

In and out  of time,

Cocking my head to the side slightly,


As I finish shaking, melting then


Into its body...


— Jim Carroll

After lovemaking, performance: the words and rhyming systems for pride and license.
Once you think about it, think it over in a narrative, to execute thought is itself recursive — beside the thought, working it out.

By caution as usual one could also mean caution around the Koch Bros.
Hence the political surface is blood sport and games, what some call discourse as action. Caution is exercised to preserve the constructs protecting access to the oligarchic core. The equation reduces to politicians = mascots.

A luscious, noiseless bonding in the very era or epoch of the perpetually alterable
— a stream of gasses embossing conjoined tattoos. Outside the feel of an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ brightened ways w/ brays.

All our neighbors are mirror bees. Are we not ones?

Teen to older person,
cornered (not to say conned).

Hold to your decoder status that’s forever sparkled quo vadis,
meandering within ordered appearances unraveling optics —

I mean to say high birth, career orbit
mean very little to vocal fervor.

Either way is a fractional
infinite in the context / e.r.

OK I mean
I’m done.

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 —
Comatose, I'm yours.. Returning the favor.

A heedless apparatchik, I came to my senses later to strum the alert.
Modulating the self raises the stakes
according to types of daring.

Don’t be offended, demonstrate
a simple skill.

Self mastery begins thus,
With pencil marks across gessoed

Pearls — trance police
— I’m not sure anyone can
deal with them... turning into a

Spectacle — They’re taking dictation
put into thinking doing the math.

Space parlance & more intuition —
rhymed with situations beneath disappearing

Molecular
effects.

On the closing date, only a scent. No contrivance or Schubertian opposition feels like glistening bouclé heating under pressure. Our roles are to fill this in, lengthening Schubert’s insipid menace while coddling the wetlands. I call this a sex drive / minus attrition.

The wetlands work it through. Words we had and didn’t have consequences. But not if there’s a chance. Seismic shifts are unseen and as unspeakable as libido constituting a knowledge module, aimlessly blowing in news of constant unitary joy...

Spinoza acts against his own young interests.
Adoration has a poetic scent, nascent pastels.

Reputations preceded character, an act of apprehension remains
deferentially. Who will advocate toward peace, the tranquil
to empower the cliffside —
quiet in the nick of it.

For a recap, artificial Intelligence continues to take up ‘busy work’ leaving humans to important dreams.

I color within lines. Drink? I take my latte to bed
And set it on the stand, tagged and released.
You wailed it, Yosemite. Morose I am.. and optimistic.

We like newness in a way when both leave things as they were. Like

how I graduated from this shame of yours, this pride

in the battle between the sexes? Thereto the rich won.

Can you place our names? I have a full canoe of alter-egos, asides
and despite the foundational rule of no rule,

decorative indeterminacy. Without hat, I got to anticipating mind control
as disingenuous.

Misdoers — let’s say with a kill-agenda — are tickled into anticipation.
Here is the place you and I may detect a language driver, untidy and young,
And speaking up without permission.

You get somewhere then stop. Wretched you.

In the mentalist version we grow inner living language over — to pillory hindsight.

‘Electing’ a demagogue feels like brain cancer.

What if we put the male talking chimp away for five seconds.
“Let’s not do that, let’s not make hurting each other impossible to resist,” the real talking chimp enjoined, unable to stop herself.
Unexpectedly, she took me home to meet her family.

Metaphor and life changing commerce..

Sugar Dust (you in a Bernini head replant) brings on the knowledge effect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching seasons float in willpower. I never understood insinuation. I never misunderstood it, either — a pulverizing divide teasing my attitude into admonitory tableaux sponged with your eyes...

The crisis to now: Form is not
object but double identity, an explosive
funneling a non-hegemonic pulse — and due to substitution
off rhyme gathers in the moment

You look fabulous, a strong monster
under scrutiny from your upcoming voiceover!

Some will have heard everything.
But that’s when we fundamentally begin to wander
Like adjunct pleasure twins once in a trance, just this once.

If this were untitled,
This is what then? The surface is bloody
colossal — fun games, what they call trick arts.

It occurs to you or me

a trick has already been devised wholly
before it hastened onward

— it’s not utterly offhand.. rather:

it’s called a change of heart.

Began how far ahead
we liberate ourselves to oppose either

or.

Pound. Confused or colorful, often gaudy, a mazed creature, vagabond within a Dutch bordello (condottiere inflated), involved in deliberately ambiguous strains of professorial fat (think of Cathay). A motley mayor to his inlet, his weeded self, a speck of a noun beat against cymbals, a puzzler over a paronomasia offered by anti-popes and holy fools who wore down the degringolades and moving tyros at the head of modernity —

In the forefront of wooden tones, EP served his victims the mystery dead hand, uncertainty occulted and shiny. We borrow from EP, tracing him down now to throw him into erumpent, latticed breakthroughs he first walked into, then over. A discolored specialist for a mendacious tomorrow, a tomorrow indefinitely remote, not new, rantipole yet superfine.

Had Pound retroactively polluted intake of the high modernist toxins that aesthetic portends? Poetry released of all responsibilities regrouped, rooted in political indifference, self-abnegation, self-defense. Poetry no longer invoked to try history.

Very late it began to rain on better judgment making.

Your foreign friend flicked on the lamp.
Her neck and collarbone are burning
to show their softness. Her hair seems partible
emitting an innocence that blasts.
This is a loose translation, drawing on pitch-black rumors about your life. You planted them yourself.

How was it to go on and record the full soundtrack, none of the script? Was it like writing from a retrieval search with different data trees leading to a sensual spy novel — amusing and telegenic for killing time, so let’s narrate that. And about that. That meta-tick-tock due now and pronto — calling in Cupid — the greatest emcee and dues collector of any young century, sullen, endearing..

If animals could talk they’d say — We pick our clothing by the rules. We can’t get you out of our thoughts? Handle it? Come closer, you’re scary.

We sleep at night with our eyes open and keep a diary, hastened by its agenda in one vein, pierced to the root in another by a confusing lunch. Flowers by the table, you, a song over half the house (better than none), liquor and your voice. You came in like a gospel singer. The sweetness outside not wavering in dusk to rain and to a rational depth, we’ve got you in the crosshairs.
Freed from wow, congrats... animals no more!

Exactly. But the hand-on-thigh thing... You know, to the outside eye, to the person... who doesn’t know what a forgiving, wonderful person you can be... this looks like you’re — per the Veda — confused. How do your readers feel about you dwelling in this beastly cesspool?

To continue —

orphans make 1) bad syllable breaks — there should be no syllable breaks! 2) bad line breaks — just 1 or 2 short words on next line; 3) bad page breaks — just 3 or 4 lines on 2nd page. . BAD.

You’re a world-famous trance inducer. That’s it.
Montana homeland defense initiatives; ever higher heels; shallow buyers pool; bankrolled genocide; hideous poems...

Missing italics.

To figure out how to figure it out
We gave everything away in the trailer.
Glad you came.

Sadness is not itself; it is not sad.
Or it is obvious. Like muscle.
I ache to forgive you.

The inscrutable commercial vector coursing through — there’s nothing like it, business that’s more a film in wide release, a nocturnal thin man, uninhibited as in somehow succeeding. Timeless like leg warmers looking fine in both Antwerp and New York, which back then was more like Antwerp now. Men unwound to be children, their affection not unexpected, hungover, yapping at the top of a lintel’s worth of sustaining character. I’m coming back to New York. In the early 80s.
“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.

Core harmonic structure: call back when you want

— The world becoming flat and falling across

The telling (of)

(Instances of)

Citationality exceeding everyone’s old wounds, genetic

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

Rain ceilings (of)

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

It is (falling) across
Morton Feldman.

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

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

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

All this time the dumb and the dumbfounded seemed different.

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

Marxist irony, I’m back being myself.
A kid triumphs;

My well being depends on fine weather and the power grid.
Don’t worry. I’m a prolific author.

Beautiful minds restore our faith in bonus prowess.. with full amenities.
“Give in, move in.”

It seems artificially important
The screech was spherical.
A seagull.
No one’s there.

I missed it.

Singing or whooping into one’s hat is like shooting for triumph.
Otherwise, sung language has an agile vegan sexuality.

Whew! I’ve been chewing to onne side, mentioned a lot by 3rd parties (dental folk).

Others to the side, hanging out in unusual white corridors
Suggesting we’re still trembling, owing to
The chew off, whooping a rabbit out of my hat —

A Pythagorean hat torn all over, everywhere there is a beginning
As well as an end — can’t fix it.

Sir Fric and Frac. Remember them?

Fric just called, said “We were swimming naked, a word I often use to characterize my falsehoods. I wasn’t looking when I came out of my laps and grabbed another human. I felt something strange but familiar.
To bring this up this late in the afternoon is totemic.”
I fell silent and wrote it all down.

*

The love-it-’til it-bellows medium I write thru is about momentary truth-telling thru lies, especially. A range of conversation impressed into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences.

Proportioned asides.

A kitchen to heat pizza.
Wake up and work.

We’re all buckeye strong.
Very disturbing.
Brass tacks, no essays.
The odd delay repeated.
Evasion foregrounds style, motives — the harsh gets exaggerated.
It’s been a driftwood century so far, valuing hoax.

This language hits a conference-going register, theological as Lyotard would have it. The argument is plainly empirical. A concept moves, “not ‘innovative’ ... but something unheard of”

— Tony Brinkley

The compelling work toasts knowledge construction as well as finds, explains and reforms communal repurpose. Optimism is required (a) to keep everything open for reform; (b) to understand we are beginning the work and as a species, we will always be beginning.
Still there are the moral watchdogs that wave a peace flag among all genders.

Leftie Mr Potato Head said:
A day spent fixating on filth,
ads before news of comfortable, determinant
males gaining business insight by the numbers.
Shouting ‘lock her up’ from the market floor
the day after Hillary was defeated.
Her loss, their freakout in wide release.
Robbing people of their health
care due to sly ethics if any, a bitter
incitement to find those that cheated.

An earthquake of new weather

herd-bound and plunged thru wind columns,

herded along forced exposures on a trail

loosening, splitting atoms
so they drown in front of you

drenched now to the waist, snow

stripped down by the alleyway, snowing.

Acts to living comprise the intervals it contains minus select channels —
life like deep blurs formally at odds, one segment, new episodes how.
Life in split seconds joining a bigger movement in time w/ no data.
The last dialogs are libertine laced w/ Frankfurt School brio & science fiction.

Your writing here
you’re reading at another
time coming at you later yet now.

Pull over, this is serious.

Muted desperation, the flip side of formalism, the in-your-face improvisers hold our attention. [‘We’ = a match in perseverance.] Hannah Weiner is perhaps our most performative, non algebraic example. The young John Wieners (and I’d stress the elder as much or more). There are texts and opuses that look unplanned and freely improvised. Can algorithms be improvised? According to code, of course. The human names are familiar. O’Hara, Ceravolo, stretches of Notley, Mayer. Sometimes Spicer, sometimes not. The wildness of not knowing where each is taking us would be a common satisfaction. Today’s practice comprises the layering of plans and improvisation; post-Coleman we speak freely of fake jazz and listen for positive results. Similarly, the fake improv of atomized procedures — to point to a solid phenomenon — allows for a number of false questions — Can algorithms be improvised? — along the way to sketching a counter addendum (nachträglich) between plan, no plan, a bicameral entry to inquiry about where writer and the writing are going away.

As ‘you learn to profit more, remind yourself...’
the president’s brain is said to resemble Chuck Norris. Interesting
esthetic, not fatal — Chuck had a funny bone, also merciless. Really
his movies remind me of gold futures & allegiance to ice
ants swarming as their mind controllers sidle away —
The earth is not the earth, but it has strength and balance and Duma
unanimity. Each winter corrupts the spy exterior.... hackers like poplars attaining their
ultra field and stream, doing a job shunned by most, showered with tips.

I usually snooze after a bonfire of love, & like flames sparks glow — roughhouse vis à vis ..
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 tough roundhouse in the sun.. the left knee was just there then took a variant position in summary time with a sequence of scratches —

a downright hermaphroditic itch red in ambiguity until it goes away, released at last into impartial states, witless after a while, undead.

Original shortbreads have some regions, ancestry
In brogues. So it’s really passing, nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

I salute park employees’ transactions among state assets.

I met a lone ranger operating with phenomenal grooms
off in an industrial-reserve about a mile away, o
-n an off-ramp sheeted in quick-fire milled cement, plywood & dust.
We’re drinking lemon permafrost, time-tested for les bees
(I’m one) — hips in a torso vice, ears pinned back,
crying, saturated enough, enough, Edgar!
This is Raven, the exchange you’re looking for,
gone behavioral without any hotshots.
A rose oasis filled w/ triangles, throats & you Edgar Poe!
volatility weighed, vibrato banshee-d.

Ten or so
gulls’ kick it off, gliding
over trout.

Tearing in mean
swimmer’s blue,
in a numerary remainder,
inseparable in another, a magenta
more down surf, startling
‘partisan’ swaps
That swell
out of matter

pumping gas
& we’re going to say we’re metabolically all for one in suspension of disbelief

sparkling pen


-umbrae, barnstorming on top
dicing / re-arranging pushed to extremes,

undanceable “fetishisizations” — yet we’re dancing.

It’s hard for me to take any credit.
I’m a floater of cynicism when it comes to influences.

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

Socialist by nature,
Not sure discourse product pertains.
A shrine of maxims certifies wealth and income
Consultancy, honing the client into two dimensions on the surface, cashing in.

Looking around the emptiness, embrace it for goodness sakes

Yet reading the usual way subverts most expectations.
We’re dealing particles of thought paying homage
To give tribute, running across a subject,
Finding how axioms move discourse far from oversight.

Planet Earth is Maoist hell — ringed with grassy estates where a blind woman can tiptoe or fall further.

A blinded poetry executrix kind of dumps on me. (It’s a leftover from Buddha’s show-and tell, a truly exaggerated enterprise.)

I never dump back. I hope her loss (me) helps her become a better entrepreneur and public intellectual. Or I wish her savvier gurus.

Don’t take it.
That was one way of not answering the phone, gone.. poof.. ..
A common command lost. I’m bipolar from the past. You know. What?
Just like putting the caller off ..
We can make a poet go mute.
If she doesn’t speak, we don’t have to pay attention.
Poems you hardly read.
That’s how unclear the past becomes.

Victory revamps our emotional sourcing —
the anabolic edge goes to distant
abstractions that the tide

makes explicit as exurban rims

and the pliant brush of milky acreage.

Meanwhile waterfalls possess a brilliance

defending prior conditions in / out

awaiting water’s new collapse.

Water worship exquisitely handcrafted
as meditative retributions..
The hollow inside mixed up, the early polling said —

overlapping symbols are way out in the ocean.

Your ocean. Our faith and consequences.

Shortcuts. Step Five (ok, I hardly ever do this): One is strong and stupid with an emphasis on novelty. I can imagine a spontaneous disintegration of one’s pragmatics and rare syntax until one finds oneself in the same place here, only in a ‘half-life’ where — 3 decades later! — speech still matters.

Step Six (idealized, could never do this): One models language as emergent matter re-involved with impulses coursing around butchered ideas, using appearances and language exchange itself, varying registers. One might call this mutation of lyric intelligence if it were just that, if poetry weren’t a folk history of enslavement to procedure.

Brexit notwithstanding. Non-Anglo-Saxon Europe is widely vilified. Anglo-Saxon christians demoted half the Netherlands and Belgium for their cultural lag. Or perhaps we could say these borderlands were treated as toys, their cities negated, their verbs rounded off randomly. Thereby rain over there was so blatantly filled with nonsense that it spewed southward, completely negating sustained conversation or further purpose — moist tongues both nasal and guttural on the verge of interpretation, competing, dancing at the edge of the Flemish world, like depleting rain, a departure from what is affirmed by the original experience of the kingdom in being.

“The French know when it’s summer. The rues scandaleuses unravel
— puppies forced out as reviewers

to disengage emotional ties to products. The superficial
goal, to excoriate profitable abstractions ...

The French are crazy bastards,” James writes, hangs tough —
“To donor offspring self-ownership is sweet.
The goal of hindsight though is to identify
every extant triple threat

supposing enough sexual naiveté
was never far from the surface. Let’s say

Freudian selfhood documentaries are
our proudest lines of propaganda to date.”

You want an open divorce. Yes.
I’m thrown into an absolute — take a wild guess.

Moolah, piles of it stuffed in holes carved out of planet Earth, stacking up with such speed the piles reflect us as we advance toward convenience stops and arbitrary stretches we don’t care about.

It’s as though all is well with our petroleum investments, colors and dynamics

meaning I am ready.

Taking on qualities of the other, would you like me to coax you with a diagram; it’s because it’s unexpected he had his hands up in the air, made eyeglasses with his languid fingers turned over, meaning he was ready

— looks like he’s breathing! A spoon worm lives inside the womb, a male redback dies in her reproductive tract! somersaulting into his mate’s fangs while feeling the tap from mañana to shoot his own squeegeed pain —
Tell me. What kind of ethicist lives off oil from the ground?

Hoyle in her green dress leaned
In a hetero-inclusive manner
Against a far wall,
Perhaps not far enough, as
She was distracted —
Her distraction bringing pressure
To my 4 fingers, right hand
Fidgeting with her necklace
Which at that moment I coveted more than — sing it, babe
.. are you trying to interfere ..
& she was staring in the mirror — looking
Not at me but past me, into a space
— a slot of a zone
That might be filled by someone nice,
A successful televangelist no doubt
Yet to arrive there, on an invisible journey...
(journey, my roughshod term for predation & warfare
Which could lead directly to calmer views in the mirror..)
This was years ago, according to Hoyle.

& seeing you now in your green dress stare past me —
An instrument of obscurantism, shifting
Into a place I could only imagine
Grabbing a microphone as you fled, alluvial
— each second there’s a pang
Bursting eardrums.. the yakking
As if you & I were stepping out
— eternal blasts of facsimiles in song
From a mirror where Spotify still
Rocks into an arid white room; breathless & eager
We show up for another whisky
Only to discover this late
Hey, we can do this!

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

I’m not a prose-poet, this is reportage
and what I think I believe. A good guess is a hypothetical reach.
A good education leads to the Grand Hotel
above the empty lot swept clean by Balthus.

Can I call you privately into the moment —
Hadn’t surfeit and raised eyebrows happened a few months ago?

An incandescent unsettling,
Just look;

We have no rich uncles,
No pills or angst, no
Noble feats — Much of what counts

Is reckless footage
That seizes our space —
The beak of the finch

Hops and then the whole finch hops to
Where it plants itself.. no
Public sentience in nature.. some disgust (from particles) —

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

I forget hints of confrontation let these other voices barge in, forward, back passing thru my early meditation.

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

To the battlefront where nightly fingerprinting skyrockets — blasé for improvising at first, then it coils to meet deadline.