Hi cute girl in black hat that works here, your body copy looks great. Fieldworks in evolutionary niche construction.
De-processing text between paragraphs v bullets — guess who’s won and wins?

Tiny, simple copy, the better to clobber you in short iterations. That ze plan.


All of Holland Tunnel v one garish tulip brocaded with energy.

You are woman-y crisp, a color too blush orange for dimming the lights.. it won’t happen if you insist you care.

Dawn. I thought I wouldn’t get back to sleep.

I was going to call it “Draped Profile.”
Held from both sides.
Distinguish the feel. “Pronounce it.”
That’s good.
Now draw the strings. Ok
— what do you know!

It goes off the air base,
Hard to shovel, soft to fall
When white, blue — ergo
So lavish as to give us pause..

While the no-pause button’s whoosh
In your face, all shiny.

(The lord’s will tilting my ribs reflected aphids
gathering along a wall, also unanswerably,
along the hand. Whose hand? Those were
my sentiments. Those last ones.
I’m pretty sure.
If I weren’t sure I’d take it back.)

I don’t know that much about you, but you remind me of someone
Who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far off, quelling fear.
Half a day goes by and
You are already unattainable —
Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.

Pull over, this is serious:

A whole new side to nuts & tightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center, along with holding on 100% — inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, clearly in the nick of it.

Thanks to strong interference we accept multiverses.
It’s like saying pardon me to a wave doing micro macro transitions —

A warning looms to live on 
to next season, the most indivisible of 14 — 
I’m thrilled by our principle’s

often-quoted exponent. Proud of pride.
Our will bending lives. 

I never imagined keeping count of waves.
I need to ache in their lather and intimacy.

You’re really this tall? There is no wrong answer. Your today voice sports a staggering pedigree, too late to make it sparse.

Even your restraint is watered down. You’re too qualified and thrifty to feel your pride suspended — Mayday!
I told you I agree. Enjoy your revisionist timeshare in an afterlife to the future, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.
Tomorrow will mete out facts to impel more comfortable indeterminacy — for today anxious telepaths, minus me, rush their devotion to their next decimal of the property. This might be why we’ll read over the presentation, juggle a few heads

and let you know when. Tomorrow.

It’s open mind month. Didn’t I show you? 
Squatting in nourishing overview, there’s one off color equation 
of a deceptive simplicity 
in love as well as pride, duplicity.  
Creationism = one boyfriend better than others, believing none.   
 
Separated from a source of meditation, let’s call it, you’d be sad too.  
The source is not sad. One separated from the source is.   
 
Or of course it’s obvious.  
Sadness is beside itself.

Fun time. Is it time or times?
Personally, I maintain a liberal, apolitical esthetic, one at a time.
The fun colony is firmly democratized, sir.

Slightly pitched voices from the wraparound porch reach to the sky.
The season seems and is interpenetrations of parallel scenery
et al running this.

Pickerel babes greet one another in fluent

Pickerelish. Parents want to lose their young

but can’t, stuck in schools, diagonal peach cones & rods of violet.

(As with fish

there’s salience to nodding agreement thought-

fully.) I get all my ideas from media

studies, yet inorganic brainstorming

like this is easier-to-sleep-w/-&-pulsate

-to.

Repeat this until approved, 
“I don’t know about you, astronomy”   
But in a tone that’s affirmative   
Like the jeweler’s tone for whale   
-bone / measured — While   
 
in this bout, like all fixed comebacks, I’m overpowered by the future dropping hints of a larger, open-mouthed I-don’t-know — Was it something to do w/ a heap of focus off to one side, therefore blocking the other? Do we lead a life another sings w/ you?

If you ingest grief, parody is aqua foam, orange foam and broken glass. Now I’ve said everything I know about the nostalgia evoked by kissing your foul hand. 
No meditation spanning surfaces of the woods, no 
massage. No favor of bullet points. So
there’s nothing to bifurcate to render your stinking degeneracy. 

May you come down with writer’s block and slump back into your rotten messianic parole.

Tonal jumps signify charity in a spatial
float off...

repurposing one’s alter ego, raising stakes
according to odds makers for daring.

Don’t show us
your simple skill. Make it work.

This is becoming god’s country.
A man in drag wearing a gown I tie.
Your cool red bones,

A cold star, partly the wind,
Your superb gall

And me, I’m my feelings which move in time
While this lowest button erases...

There they go
When you say

Well stay well
Where they rang.

Anima to Anima, you couldn’t be ruder.

I’m not afraid of showing the much simpler, formless, inexact I degrade and dissipate into highly animate raw munition. My fingers are supposed to cohere in two fair hands I cull from hearsay. Raising one exudes only passion, which if you allow I agree with, with intertwined wilderness raising two...

Sonnet 150:

Power to the powerful. A truism like this reminds me of a simple turn of the ignition, no big deal... A trek over scrubland back at that bind where you and others were fed all the data beyond evolutionary limits. All in an identical manner, everyone repeating one message while sugarcoating skyrockets and financial news slides by in choppy ‘prose.’
Would you like to ask questions or can we demo our depth of skill?
Just cause won’t be brought up. I deduce you’re packing another head scene to make me love you again, this time giving no cause to hate. True love, O who or what depth of yours gave the lie to sway me as more worthy now to love you more?

“Stages of violence yearn for a whereabouts,” for you.
“The sneakiest conditions disperse — thinking of you (did I?)
not out of calculation; it began how far and vast

signals liberate us to oppose lesser facts,” you wrote.
Or plans change.
Without speech, intimacy is peroration.
That’s a normal reduction or formula for my song,
not a word on process.

I taper our next notes in Roundhand with visually inevitable things selected for gameness. A keen screenwriter would work across genres and unforced forms and play something interdisciplinary; I see. Um, ok, yes. I’ve —
I have not fulfilled criteria set by stop action. (Polity and dignity of appearances don’t mix.) Nothing personal, I cry when my oath becomes subsequent, giving credit to everything on the surface without a message. As —

As when struck a lightning rod emits a ballet in dust and after that a solution, a chemical substance that self-recuses returning more as a notional coloration, a cognitive hint there is a small commotion in the back of matter. As with one who is loved.

Still, foothills are stewing out back under the sun at a blistering pace.

Front and back: Ants climb blades of roasting grass, over and over, seemingly without purpose but everyplace.

There are three pleasure substitutes (tablets).
The frayed honeymoon is first and,

second, blushing is normative
with its little feint from guts and neurons.

After a honeymoon deflections accrue.
Third, there’s a salesman that needs you

& other men from sales
who adapt what’s utterly

offhand talking to each other.

It dawns on me
this chitchat is taken up as a whole habit
before it’s moved forward

in hushed buzzwords from the newsletter. Sales brings this up in null tinctures off rain or in sunshine sprints, much as your wish to rule is my answer sheet for getting fleeced. 

In evolution we have an identity crisis
when who knows how I’m doing this
for our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
our own handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drained of weight.

Moss alive! I should use another i.d. if any of this touches either of us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
Cut to I’m thinking it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’

Keep secrets of teleportation to float free.
Free momentarily. Here or there are volatility models according to script, vocalism in a sense. We’re beaming them and their feelings up with known and hidden risks — a fat chance shifting their weight brings on slimmer odds for recovery.

All or nothing, you’re on your own.

A lieutenant colonel. What a night. No problem
Expunging a storied narrative
That was normal, believable
Then
Waking up, sticky, stuffed-up nonphysical parts
Standing far off across no invitation to meet up,
Not even having hay fever as a backdrop — nothing
Hidden, nothing,
No chance forever.

Stop waving that grape juice ...
That was sentries ago. Ever since
That inference never comes up when language gets tired.
Yet one’s eyes fill with manpower.

The climate showing my cards — a friend led me to one,
A sure bet ad infinitum.
He smiles with no doubts about my bluffing knowhow & innocence
... the rain keeps raising our minds’ oceanfront, bringing it all back.

There is a nothing. Yet nothing is forbidden.
Or a burst of daft tone substitutes for sunlight.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity.

Finalists quit general practice — re-up for industry with no honor system.
Actuaries unmoor. Affection looks like vicarious advice. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer merge in our skulls, an emotional syndrome that’s broken

down, yet a lost cause. I’m driven somewhere then by love
to sketch sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes closed.

There’s transactional friendship, as well. It’s a slog like sloganeering or craft (flashing an observable sign to consciousness). To postulate, craft is to slogans as sport is to kicking down signs (see above). Don’t get me yakking about today’s news. Uncertain, odd sounds are cool, and we’re all for them and against impingement unless they mess up our transactions.

En route to the dogs, there’s the apocalypse within; pushing deeply.
Our lot’s in a hurry.

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

Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio”
I am touched by everyone now alive,
softest jazz, lower right, your lips moving up, down,
talking design shit. Someone’s naive mirror sale, for example.

Someone’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.
So, with regard to static and its ovular window, stasis —
it’s not who grinned first that counts, but also where
and however. That’s my middle point for the interim,

realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”

Bad behavior, showing anger are more understood as work-permitted off time, an off moment
Like a polite form of the hole-in-the-universe w/ a large beaker installed, promising

Storyline prototypes, scars, gender vanity, battle thrills, sky & dogs, acrylics & sex under conditions that surround our desire to adapt to insurgents.
That’s how you hang staring in the mirror. Many names don’t balance until you think away the best part, mating:
Religious capitalism! It can whip you up, call you back in the moment
— unitary joy that nails us onto a boom box of light heaving

Informality — stress & refined inelegance.
Doo-wop’s creepy; let us through.

We’re sort of gifted, not ok.

Concision or hue dealing method, means

can be objective and lack will. Rain,
an incident unveiled as ambition. It’s in the eye

as a catamaran of process.. this is while I’m doing only one thing at one time
on a crazed errand-stream
to contest the following.

“Gogol, Nikolay Gogol, with an M.A. in these matters, says gut feeling,
sane behavior and noncriminal discourse teeter on the grotesque.”
I still can’t turn that down. It can’t mean just what his language implies?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.

Mr Frag-mento almost forgot this. Permission to speak freely, señor? That means you, vampire. Maybe I am foreshortened taking up prerequisites in criminal governance.

I won’t cry to lessen the gravity. I should but I won’t. I’d still like to sign up for a language freed from its instincts and nodules.

For I’m an agnostic about most anything important, Transzendenz und Wörtlich or shaded for that, and my voice goes flat coming to terms with reminiscence, musical structures, being filmed in your presence. Back to you.

No sniveling of munificence. You know how security gets tight during meta-enslavement of the family tree and other engines, all watched and settled since the simian takeover. We’re all in, mostly, on the take.

Too many ideas inside — I’d,
You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe later I’m
Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own


You know — more than 1 I,
Things, myself, lots to hide
Yes or no, and I’m me too
So I should give you shit


Because when I speak you’re
Stirring up other ideas
What I feel I
Think I feel, oh, Ma’am!
Man! You’re telling me
Nothing new here —

A stupid thing, knowing this.
Re-examining all my meanness,
Italicizing my failures. I’m ham-
Fisted attempting satire.
Snooty, freaky, I gay love it.

plodding from the Portuguese

Just because you feel nothing

You’re leaking results before ‘thinking it over’;
IF I have no idea that holds you,
THEN how does an idea
Of idea an

-ticpate stipulating proofs for missing the ‘and,’ ‘or’ and ‘not’ of binary practice?

Mobs and their terms of justice, um, I’m ..

Am thinking of an upgrade. For anything more cautionary and uncool we’ll have to shop politics further, some interpretive research worked up into a deep steam of capitalism; we’ll get back to you all —

10 gallons of the Hirsch, please, dayment-ready, fenduc w/ the crescent canonical tartelle in a diary of bows, mmm ah.
Attempting authenticity in insoluble speech, we put up firewalls. And by peril as usual we mean danger, blood sport and games or politics, what some call.

Simple and poor, that’s a traffic violation.
Work through naïve discourse —

Keep methods observable as mayhem —
Call this ‘transactional’ force
Unlocking — on sight — your pervasive hesitation.

Make it dorky and intimate.

There will be subtitles, various languages. You may dream while staying
awake and translate the exposed back of another dreaming.

Nothing accrues but there’s a lifetime of waking thoughts.
Sleep has nothing to do with nothing.

We leveraged the social papyrus to miss you.
How long have you planted thoughts with no gender balance?
I agree. To be reviewed is to be published.
Shit. Ahem.

Teaching can’t be taught.

Well, 2 out of 3.

I hardly know you. And will never know you. I’ll give you a call.

Feeling cornered. Blue moon as it were.
The music seems headstrong.

Everything we light on is structure for writing ..
And light always exchanges positions. Thank you.
Your mellowness operates a transferrable mind.
That line raises a lark, also structure.

Rules write themselves from .. Me? I’m
Immersed watching the light.

Then a synthetic stint, a few light chunks going someplace where
The senses look futuristic in the right light, and so a constant.

You don’t understand until I do.
The if-movement (aspirations) can be thought
A saga you (any of us) can pump off & on — so on

-Coming, coming clean is another part of closeness.
Later, new police!
[old paranoia]

Our alienation has been recorded and jocularly shelved. For more cloying effects, I think one sprig is picking up and the driftwood looks epigrammatic, the upside unrelated, pale, immaculate. I’ll cut you off one side of a subdivision.



I’m not about to let you starve. Marry me.


[Shifting back to pre-friends mode...]

Some feelings return.

Terpsicore is ascetic, improvisatory, sherbet hued, Erato, a voice of suspicion and many hisses, Clio, her last commanding notes tumbling as rumors circulate. Melpomeme, all blues and mistaken early on, every beat ridden like a whale gainsaying oomph. An echo of flame, ailing Calliope still makes love in public (especially the flying public). Her echo requires a stop-start pattern of marriage songs, blizzard, and dance.

The lines break up around Clio's supplicant remains. Polyhymnia was rushed off, bombing on stage.

Did Euterpe get paid for that?

No, no one pays for her sabotage, her exacting dignity in rebuttal or her tongue-in-cheek feelings moving on.

Sonnet 105: We express your idolatry as science.
Fair, kind, true. Three at once.

Amazing to love you in praise of science. Sum of sums!



Amazing to feel influenced by your themes, your scope, o many songs. 

Your idolatry 
affords us your love of a lifetime. 
Take care, and take your time; 
likewise, inspire small talk and wonder between you 

while keeping your sum under surveillance. You
look good together.

Ballet’s focus keeps an eye out
Watching us spin like sentience
Stuck in an unhappy medium —

Sweetness itself catches every care
Giving cause to baby Mozart
To squawk in opera

Moving big parts from minor sorts
(Observing only immtunity) —
Clumsy hours of letting be

Naming your name — and that’s
Why baby reserves his dissonance
To guard shapes of light and volume

Nested in a keyboard to determine
Your name in performance.

Just piano and voice. Piano and your voice. Practice,

The big meal. Inductions to other habits of yours —

Just because we’re surly, externalizing ideas.

A gleaming haze drags cloud sculptures of needle-felted wool

Like nerves warmed over by spinning in freezing wind.

Not yet. I don’t forget the scent of snow and sunlight, of your utter loss
— of whatnot in over the counter after-loss and scent, yours.

Glass dial:

It sounds like you know the feeling but you’re not getting it. I want to distinguish my common prayer grabbing knives & spoons v. your intuition that expresses it.

Let’s unholster & dance across the room / the lumberjack in me & you.
The color wheel graduated to go with our rainforest ethos & smiley faces. We speak our mother tongue, fine food, to no product hewn.

Matins in 4 new minutes —

Capitalism never hesitates beating then shooting the innocent into opiate space but each victim goes broke, often sighing take me, kill freely and find me O outer knee —

This is done doing it over —
Never doubt..ew..there’s enterprise in victimhood, each higher up will argue. There’s one problem. Only cash in small bills in exchange for a free ride. We mean it, tho, let’s discourse, subject to chance ..

A Deux Magots adaptation:
Robots embrace shrill,

a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for the moment.

The masters picked that up from them.. wolves running through snow melting into wolves ..

I’d like to thank the Academy.

Goliath, Duchamps, Sinatra!

Parallel constructs warned me of overrefined emblems and complexity’s sweeping reproach. I’m not religious. Not by a long shot; I took note of what you like from the beginning and became pope. Your pope. I acted on a few ideas we had in mind. Then I left.

Oh, construct servers... tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams —

How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime economic inferences undercutting American literacy?

Everything I do is sin. One after another, piling up.
Yet the nuclear self lingers thru the year, that fellow (and a fan, even now).
We grow. “Absolutely.” Them.

Nothing’s more authentic than having unadorned communal assent.
You’re holding me, middle of a welding
Machine-of-light, until our vertebrae burn. We grow. Them.

I’ve checked data on height variation, they’re disgusting. I’ve also been reading Cliff Notes for Le Morte d’Arthur, which I finished last night with the help of two pitchers of Skyy. Reading Mina Loy as well: she abandoned three kids in Italy to take up egg crate sculpting in NYC. I’ll have what she’s having. That’s how I found a Mina substitute, she and I married for weeks. Skipping school mostly in bed, she has to have sex, but I don’t because I want more than anonymous gratitude.. Well, studying the contextual nuances of human height is hopeless. Let’s say this one datum took me forever.

77: Blank careers contain these mind games refereed in shade. For work, we look to a future far from outside realia (always at ‘work’!) or at minimum, we should feel enriched, taking our joint profit as clear if vacant progress to eternity. Vacant. These precious minutes uncommitted, often both urbane and in bad taste, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
*
For work, we’re enriched mostly within glass buildings. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and social media, empaneled or at minimum propped up as official progress (taking both sides). Blank leaves in our journals, we know. Learning gives us memories, too many minutes wasted, all overrated. Let’s show how we commit to your book, to nurse your brainchild delivered now as a time share of your stealth, your voice,

your beauty’s imprint.

I drink to downsizing false negatives
off soulful atmospheres of displeasure
then falling back and breathing while your
rescuers get authenticated.
“Great I’ll hold...”
2 out of 2 observers were cut off. Pretty please on a wet
highway.

And during the break we plunged into a new arrangement.

It’s forbidden to talk now. It could be ethics,
since authenticity acts against self interest.

Stealthy climaxes based on nothing.
Claymation teeth marks leave an elegiac scent.

We are one species homo erectus

meaning taking many different steps at one time all over time.

For now, I may have taken a 24-hour cold tablet (they pulled them off the market for humans) and my brain is boinging forward into TV-noir starring Max H — remember the ex-sprinter who played him? While the show was popular for three weeks Max’s asymmetrical haircut began to give male pattern balding a tolerable hipster pass.

After Max was canceled you noticed him doing a few walk-ons, standing before monotone backgrounds in a few series then commercials. He stood fast and sunk, like these sharp pellets slicing through my blood, sinking me south by southwest, bullets pointing down and out my feet.

There’s nothing like sax in inner cities.

I’m a sometimes solo tenor altho
I play with a numbers fielder who is also sax director.
And the future holds those who attend. But it does not impinge on the field.
Lyrical vagueness leaves me pockmarked, just a feeling.

Why was this week’s sax sectioned off? What inventory are we?

The future trails off.

The air is sawed off, doing better. We were dangerous, once. 
Smooth rhetoric is purely transparent. It’s too late to make it sparse.  Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake. 
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll .. 
 
We correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventually 
 
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by posturing.

Mercury is wow! pensive, coming back, back... no..

You’re saying no to billing days first, no to virulent, callow graphemes, stance covers for a copyist. Cut the trad crocus, low opinions and bloodied mesh. No aplomb in nature, please. No chiastic haunts. And no golf property.

There is no personality, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by another’s labor, overlooking our exciting first bakeoff together...

Funny place
for a dance, Mr Baker.

What is curious style? Taken whole:
“Give in, dig it.”
Blimey. (There’s a new policy to block deletions.)
I’m sipping Tropicana on curiosity’s behalf,
Taken your lead. Word processing in sheer Palatino
All the time, staggering prose!
Tomorrow I’ll
Tap out more deletions I forgot to lose —

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

I’ll tell you what awaits all the weary in The Bible. Locusts.

55: Nor aside, a period sonnet doubts purity, softness but addresses war and enmity  
for a living record. Yet the fun workout once was of a soul, a soul a tone beserk.  
So why am I dwelling on the bloody ending like a warrior groom?  
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than that, still brighter than the wealth coming to me thru this poem...  
 
You and I find our own contents, oblivious to posterity, they’re uninvited — their statues
overturned, and we brought our own guests — death and memory. I...   
 
Even closer now to death... I burn with quick flame for wearing out memory’s sluttish velocity
— I’ll not speak nor ask (or shall I ask?) more, should I?   
 
War wastes time, a powerful judgment at rest once at work.

Fat chance gestalt code-switchers stutter trying not ..
Wordless dialectic is never strong enough. Yup, I repeat, smiling
with optimism that’s rewriting while it flips,
changes genres in lewd sleep.

Those organized by dreams triumph in their mind and body worship.
First vicarious, then conforming to a belief system.

And now it’s just fading maybe?

Or maybe it should.

Have we no will, no interest to shed our platform ambiguity?

Rainy Sundays or any day we break for the shadow olympics observed or imagined on the ceiling: Rationed atheism has long been the main event. Sectarians find a balance of situation (organ music), steam and rush-formatted white ‘sky’ disappearing like totals in multiplicities (music for copulation). Late afternoon to others.

Factor in a plug-in for artisanal calisthenics.

Body resonance turns into a prism on top of which you can finger-point to the horizon, magnified and askew. So note what happens.
Better yet, get a friend or two to write for you, pretending they are you, falling mute, covering your lips with my gloved thumb.

A few years ago poet and critic Peter Schjeldahl wrote of Yale Art School dean Tony Smith’s directorship of the Venice Biennale (1968), finding Smith the “most anti-academic of academics.” Per Schjeldahl, Smith opposes “rationalist theoretical tendencies,” preferring “artist’s initiative and the viewer’s intuition.”
I appreciate Schjeldahl’s pointing to intuition as a key exchange element between artist and viewer, poet and listener / reader. Evasive as it is, intuition becomes the sine qua non for influential reading, much less reader response. The contrasts of a projected plan vs chance become the quanta of exchange between writer and reader. Expectations influenced by a reader’s experiences contribute to an initial schema for intake. That plan is set in place. The text, if poetry, changes everything if the reader is ready for chance. The narrative operates in spatial dimensions for irreversible transport, influencing future planning, giving chance agency position for change.

Top of the moment — I saw your approaching motion
..my once satellite du monde in demi vacuum.
Now you’re smiling, shhhhh more observant, with a more observant love.
Still flush — yes, feels.. not useless.
It feels impossible.

Likely, shhhhh becomes welcoming
hands that boss,

parliament
maneuvers. Explanation intact.

Frequently there’s a bitch
for whom you kiss that person.

She’s the bird notes
with a contract to bore within

— loyal to her lookout torn from a doorway
in a sparse analysis of roundtable math..
don’t pick on anyone else...

Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable.
That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m the one picking out, piling stuff in the garage

(to accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.

Like chairs for the departed (maybe not yet).
A beautiful life sentence:
Everyone’s in place. One’s place.
Food also knows where it belongs.

The stage brightens.
Is it sub-luminous un-inhibiting our endowment?

Knowing the ropes to scale now
clearing the theatre of solemn comforts,

Stern, all the food pecked over, even down
to our place, last place, last row.

Cold drafts are escapement and spray
forming part brightness with a pulse,
part average improvisatory dare.
Diluent? Sleepy days of assented-to hours loosen us
from these biodata — discharged to interiors,
into sussed, sonic focus.

[Earle Brown in the audio ground...]

Mashing stencils into phosphate keepsakes

Her voice changed into a meaning,
All meanings are the full meaning.
It’s no single fool’s doing, making it easier to borrow. Clenching-tight

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

Every day you get changes your life.

Etched into my cufflinks: Hell hath urgency.


I’m envious of my clients in purgatory. Not dying is not wanting to die.
My place is to stay in line & not lose my place in hell.

I’m in while trying a couple of poses from the repertoire of
A working stiff, the same post promised Hermes that put him over the edge.

I’m at that temp edge placing cash puts — Gauguin went to Tahiti! —
& no other bets on the periodic table, messieurs, petit in wanting you (I do).
Like fury.

— never forward your resume or IQ to a date.
If you’re not here, anything Apollonian looks flab prone.
A broader context refuses to arbitrate glamour, okay... we’re done
.. On my behalf Apollo can break laws to shoulder perfection or save a life, once or

either way is fractional in the bigger context / e.r.
Freedom is impersonal. With more throwdowns of perfection up the hall,
binary fission about meaning what is not said
or saying what is not meant.

Verlaine and that other guy,

2 birdbrains, explicit about nothing or nothing much; no / yes?

Ok, we’re more willful, stay in control — a thousand bees stinging our feet —
Wanting as well as gaining nothing — shhhhhh.. I can’t
.. I shouldn’t ask did I live like that fly on the wall?
You never can tell. I won’t.

Trixie, again, leaves for what was once a finishing school. She’s wearing khakis and a red T-shirt and my new backpack stuffed with graphs. She wants more than a group-regulated ethos for the manufacture of comedy and verse. Like you who said

The archives are at risk.

Last point, I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews “encircling travel” — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisos, integers-to-be and no buzz to kill. 

That thar buzz beats my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.

Never disagree
with inferiors. Superiors. Never.

Never point to silent contentment
with its branches lifting suspended glare
defining a nearly invisible, rotating opinion column.

Opinions from math deliver good news, stately motoring already had its faint say.
Now you can text and drive overtime, behold zeta functions befalling hedgerows like a new highway divider along an infinite axis.

Don’t weep with your pant legs up, banker..

It’s a bitch comedy

Since oogling permeates our antinomy.

Meantime, finally —
You had every opportunity to reset the agenda —
Keep it together. Or pry.

Adam made 10,000 mistakes — and won’t ‘correlate’ the enormity of it,
since evolutionists even now are running back to his bedside to dig up more about causality —

Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn. I’m

Eve, off our boy’s rib, a financial planner ahead of my time, always.
I’m still not finished, she says.
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke out first.

With every rallentando I feel cleaner, more nondenominational than ever.
Now a little drunk I look up at elm crocuses fighting odor, climbing a trunk.
Its heirs apparently. I feel cleaner with you. Clearer as in noble gas and flux. I do.
Molecules will sue

You — they’ll sue us both for our goals and coral glow —
What a snit! Apart from love I am ashamed now
Breaking up with you feels like getting retested for flu ...
You and I in slow, we hope, radon decay
Torched with prayer. Or thereabouts.

I had the idea surviving —  
vibrant feelings on a moving day  
washed in over time — (if we need one)   
What do you need now and for what?    
 
Does it matter, that light and grey question?   
Do you test, tease, defame to get the best?     
 
I ducked your punch, closed the distance.   
I told you, no, I want to bolt. And add a second one.

Some had swing..

The scandal passed, hardly worth the coverage,
otherwise excellent. You saw that?
We got back into the van.
Do you own your swarm’s jackets? It seems relevant
if filed haphazardly under the swarming file,

“Single file,” say;
her jaw trembled

while we run the jewels.

To remain disciplined on our new celestial motion weekend

Calls for comfort and drill ...royal style.
Take over.

There’s a pebbled shore for this.

Resolved, the body is loaded for 3 seasons at a painting crossroads:
It’s more relaxing than filming bricks,
bowling tenpins or being w/ anyone who routinely

does things that could be awesome if intentional.

We left our module then to look over your curricula.

Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation..

Videoing = painting / reporting: imparting lyrical data slathered across a middle

ground, a themeless entertainment vehicle (driving us to sleep).

Interpretive tactics are nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to
...I won’t do it, nah, thanks.

Nah

all right, let’s start the open air in complete command of nothing. From the outside the sky is in a bolted shape, w/ blips w/in a simplex-repetitive top layer, tethered for interpretation.
We’ll ingest all at once. Absolute-ly
blind tessellation, inflating while we data dive

exhaling the meaning / meaningless problem activating our trial over the last half century. W/ quicksilver-glass-and-steel penthouses for investors, tech talent sleeping together.

Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. This is the place for airborne definitions. Here you find remuted meaning, good as gossip to evade a “mixed remuting strategy” to partner with whom, exactly?

O Headwaiters..

I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I keep it everywhere inside

everywhere. Coordinates
everywhere...
everywhere..
O rockets to further research.
— O bailiff, be this...
Sung. A first poem.

It’s pie months before Thanksgiving.. To set yourself free through what you don’t know — that takes a kind of unfinished aplomb, needing practice and achieved overviews. The verbatim relishes living among a slew of lucky design orphans from an alien vicinity, busted out of place, in the wrong skin and age.

(Welcome home.)

60: Sing: On a human ~ ant landscape, god feeds on us and ants.
It’s unparalleled to the end.

Sing: this changing place, this pebbled
shore is in the repair shop because
it is the repair shop — as miles streak by...

We contend and confound — in the main of light crawling to maturity
set on the rarity of natural youth and beauty.

Each changing place against slim odds.
Almost the same as hopeless in times of hope
Yet younger guardians that follow grow tired of interruptions and self-
reflective outreach; wherewith their hold on the land is late
and lonely as an interdiscipline that threatens.

When? as soon as today.