One assumption is tomorrow’s flights will be extensions of how it’s going now. 

A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced  
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any. 

Combustion and dust spores filling avenues between half truths.

We delete any plagiarism still missing
— but up to now they have fewer words for it.
Fielding skepticism makes money harder to borrow. Clenching-tight,
I’m in another century where hoax passes for coming near.

Wigs pick up, driftwood gets epigrammatic, upsides unrelated, pale,
immaculate. The sky has its style, subject for close attention. It’s said.

Paying attention is a field call to valuing the future. And the future notices who attends.

But it does not impinge on the field.

Ode: I’m sleep. 
An only hill / a huge stage 
I’ve been searching  
Awake most nights, debating decay:  
A clean face in the morning − caped  
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best  
 
When I distinguish dogs from woods by the ocean  
Together, like them and like us.  
Can you dig the stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over. 

I can’t make it. I’m staying in.
We can’t always gather this way but we do as we’ve done.
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. The brilliant live on in one flarfy phrase, one word fudging abasement in confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined). 

To support prostitution, I choose multiple-lease 
Lean-tos and wound functions. I understand  
Abstract intricacy  
When I’m ready.  
 
My name is not important.  
I write on the road,  
 
Don’t like accordion folds encroaching  
On my notes —  I’m compressing a complete  
Meltdown. There / -in  
 
Buddha tells me I’m a baby.  
All the best students begin this way, gesso-ed  
Pencil marks across rad lad  
Pearls, slim trance police  
 
Axed into life. (I’m not sure anyone would  
Sell you any.) / Big, jaunty shapes, thin hair —  
Once I was moving I thought less  
 
— dreams, planets, back light spread thin, float-drawn, there we are!

“Devils were seductive, once motivating me to seek their darkness, 
Pick up the guitar and write more songs,”  
Talking Chimp squealed like a talking dog.  
 
Lean, fluid, sleek and balanced, clipped close,  
This daredevil is fallen into a state of confusion & loneliness  
— just to feel cloud patterns about being no one. 

Rain drowns you in the best ‘hosing.’ That’s a pet name for my tongue.

Surely as there’s a heartbeat to math there are light, oblique truths gaining access to felt qualities.
We’re tart. The new job title, urgent. More pets romp on, ahead of sober ai redales w/ no clawback motives. But I’m underhanded getting to an axiom we can manipulate: No amnesty?

or / & like crustaceans we give in, to forgetfulness.

This rain surrounds a weather balloon holding impossible jerky.

I taper this next stage with visually inevitable things and select for keen gameness. Today specialists would work among genres and formal, interdisciplinary stubble; I see. Um, ok, yes, ma’am. I’ve misspelled some signs.

I have not fulfilled norms set by stop action. Nothing personal, I cry when it becomes subsequent. I credit everything on the surface without a message. In Throne of Blood — if you’ve seen it, you won’t forget — the tall growth of Cobweb Forest is sawed down to new ends, camouflage for an avenging army on the march. The sad image is threshing fir and pine needles that shield warriors advancing to unseat a despot flummoxed by presentiment.
Ontologically, a wild deed like rewriting a poem is complemented by an autocracy of attitude toward its occasion; deed and ’tude combine as a sawtooth. Standing by and looking on — face it, I’m prone to passive aggression — stunted, I limp off scowling to the dull deforested haze of profuse misses in experience and lightness of touch.

Love, A cool looking Japanese acrobat slow-motioned to me to go for the moody and unexpected.
Doesn’t it freak you when categories are givens you don’t need to work out? Some of you has given in — there you go, retreating, emancipating solitude, more sound-oriented than dance.

But that reminds me, your draw is immediate, overwhelming, terse and of a Castilian order. A hundred decors contained in one = you at the piano. Leafy veggies toss for George Balanchine.

Not to arouse hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. I can’t forget. 
Not even a tenth of a millionth of a second. 
And that does it for this free frame. Proud exclamations have put off even the most uncomfortable of changes, advancing a lighter viewpoint, the world as it is, pressing ideas with multiples. Many observers.

We are We Are So Sorry  
Thesis Study Group — writing in 
Extremely quick intervals (about a tenth of a second) and short distances (about a billionth of a trillionth of a centimeter) — just as our dads, quantum fluxes, drive through terrestrial ideas of up/down, day/night, before/after, you know. 
 
Cinema likenesses are profuse or would be if we probed more Nippon mirror dudes.  
 
That’s why a good workout is a terrific poem.  
 
Usually. I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist. 

At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there spirit is on your side. 
It goes with a backhand irony like a guided missile or extra guards at the gate.  
 
As there are centers of wishing beyond closed doors  
All batteries are charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring  
Molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber — I’m about to walk the spiral and more!  
 
While chestnuts stand around in jobbed hoards,  
coupons expire.

All fauna hear of conditions thru the smasher anthem,  
spoken in an argot of a woodland pedigree.. 
 
yet morphine-ghosted by indecent  
schooling (successive getaways).

Our emotional drive is then spli-  
ced over a magnum of service to the art precincts  
sidled up the hill from Predictable Harbor.

Predictable top looks rig their sawtooth nakedness
down thru the headland, sundry wharves… Matrix trees
 
doing problem sets there with hens of steam; bereavement  
a trifle beyond the earth’s weatherbeaten whoops while

head stars are pouring kerosene to kindle tomography for
enduring glitches in the forward ‘flow’ of timelines to matter
within so inclusive a silence.

Our odd moves, strains...
I'll write a few postcards, pour over them.
The periphery picks up my solemnity —
I’ll look out from the attic rooms,
Watch others work, sounds they make,
Steeples, chimneys, cones and thin masts over the gloom
The town burns to stay awake maybe.

A uranium-brimmed mojo now a whiff.

Dear, naturally you know you’re a misfit for an assignment like this. 

Monetary policy calls for a quirk of sculpture in a spatial recession. The joy of employment  
 
Is no less spontaneous here, now than when a think-tank answers to its dark alter ego; tho, the specificity is easily lost. [Get this, a think-tank that critiques itself, as a supposition. .] 
 
Take info, then, about, and in, form to bullet your ideas, sweet, grading your results.

Politics is the gene expression omnibus. 
Each of us is one viral video from partisan fame.     
 
Vanity is promotion.   
Amen to showboats opposing simplicity...  
I don’t mean rampage in a civil sense,  
I mean surgically knocking other chanters  
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them  
From the inside, slicing up! I was kidding I’m not that religious.

Adjunct Pavel, the most cinched at the waist of our trio, interrupts Murf while the cheater Zoubek jumps into a collaged kitten mural of plastic abridgments joined by static hangers in back. 

First up, an acrobat for the moods Pavel evokes like watercolorists also emerging for enhanced abandon during and after pressing and spinning hate. 

Ouch! buckets of rain coming down, undistinguished and going away. Someone has cut the grass, no favors, that greeny, wettish smell is everywhere. Hay. Optimism. 
Remember to slam the parentheses behind you 
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang 
(to be on the safe side). 

— James Schuyler

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

an unclassified face 10-to-life... 
leaving it to other investors who might stay offended, or  
probably not —
 
(The violation is estopped as lines of Malthusian housetops bob and flicker under
phosphoric conditioning, alliteration by Fenwick of Taiwan.)

I flash to the fresh writing space. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by a composer’s desire somberly floated in a fun orrery, just a display except for the impossible, now audible signs of new history, of mixed intentions, preparing us for a fixed response with renewed power. 

Surely there’s no rebounding beneath the social parasail of poetics sequestration. 

Reset emphasis belongs in the verbatim over 

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

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

constituent, subordinated input emerges, important as key testimony, simple and not.  

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

So a redraft prompts special inquiry tho tentative after all meaning of structure. Putting it in a memo, we sleep with a relationship. It’s not an investigation but inquiry. Rough seas but you’ve been out here long enough, you know how we leverage missing you at a time when it’s least expensive. I’m happiest procrastinating, indexing suspicion and objurgating..

Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Capitalism never hesitates beating then shooting the innocent into space but each victim goes broke, sighing take me, pluck freely and find me — O outer knee —    
 
This is done — 
Never doubting...ew... there’s enterprise in victimhood, each higher up will agree. There’s only one set of problems.

Reversed decisions, rotating surf, mercurial quanta. 

True and lost — complex gangly, mostly mute yet histrionic, not cruel 
-ish. We apologize for the inconvenience of modular adjustments.  
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll ..  
 
We’ll correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventual
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie).

Quiet room in the West End near the ferry. Shared kitchen & bath.
No calls. Text name, recent work history.

When we single ourselves out, we get closer to feeling guilty formulating concepts of exclusion. Ya, you are important to me. You had a free hand, still there are holes in our discourse. Our language hits inference-blasting registers, theological as Lyotard would have it, but our argument is plainly empirical — Only cash in small bills in exchange for a free ride, we mean it, tho, let’s discourse, subject to chance .. make that change ..

I’ve lots of parts going in, a series of vignettes, monologues, whatever comes w/ writer’s block undiagnosed. An intersection of an un-demarcated self, motion in patterns, math as therapy and fear of validation. And another thing is a screenplay called Alone, My Back to You about a homeless guitar sampler befriended by a yachtsman who hides from the world. They head off exploring Taoism so there’s a lot of take-out food. For a documentary short it's a bracing swim. The guys bond fast and the plot revolves around eating, watching tv, taking long wharf walks, suffering — all of which figure in my earlier career, another inbred pattern I hadn’t even realized! 

It’s up to future officials to unpack all our failures’ base ironies. Failures of autumn, first. Where are they, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to 
let supplies flow out since they  
make love too much — therefore and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too. Staying this relaxed can lull you into a non-jazz tranquility or into resorting to the language instinct’s sentimental counterreactions.  
 
That’s failure up to now.

Prose gets along within a poem. It has a work permit. That’s why  
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors.  
 
A poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from icons blurred, unmoored;  
Bourgeois think war unjust when there’s no one to wage it. Essay...  
 
Until now there were no bourgeois poet essayists.  
Yet, we can rubber any room —  
My advice for exploring ideas, stick to the sentence. 
To go along continue requiring riches.  
Thanks for your prose.

I have ten lines for you: 
Let’s go thru them again as generations of worship can set in. Some even come back. Soon you relax your balance, equipoise for a good writer is common, just now. 

Notwithstanding you’ve got the ages mixed up
and hearts don’t get taken back enough.

We went into this. We went over appearances, for instance. Funny and finally, some lines are commanding in three or more dimensions like your breast. 
Key is you volunteer in a regimen for hours at a time and it wears thin — here’s what’s known: secretions from glands meet up (chilling out) in our brains, slanting the blurred promise you have or had or you never knew in the aftermath of the hiatus, revving up.

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

“The French know it’s summer. The rues de Lille unravel.
— a puppy, Golda’s aid

disengaging emotional ties to higher purpose.
The goal is to savage any foresight —”

Henry James is a crazy bastard. He hangs and continues,
“To my donor offspring ownership will be sweet.
The goal of foresight though is to i.d. another’s
sexual boasts, never far from the surface.

Freudian documentary airs
our loudest commercials over 10 decades.”

Interruptions: We left the module to look over our curricula.

Lighting a match, dropping it into conversation.. Odd,

Filming, taping, imparting numeric dicta slathered across middle ground,
‘local slippery conditions’ (where we can sleep it off):
Keep it together. Own your swarm and their jackets.
Count up for minutes in blanched smoke, flames, sparks...

A red bonfire indispensable for smearing a highway color

Making the herd more relaxed,

Dying for more opportunities for fraud.

I’ll copy Creeley singing to Wieners or it could be vice versa.
Both old masters
Who never spoke for backwoods, briars, chaparral.
Not equipped 



To weep.

Who is? 



— here you are on a brassiere stool overlooking time is money plaza,
Neither you or I could express feelings about delimiting botanical time.
That everything once alive is precious; time is priced high as it’s an art space.
That “Having no space to spare” comes off as counterfactual in a pas
De deux we do apart
— slipping on pieces of tracing paper after ballet
Making a racket
Even as we withdraw from thickets of saying nothing, the wicked deep.

Absenteeism:
What can be done to language? Never again?

Lethargy is poor experiment, our supervisor said; and that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And a 3rd cousin once removed to dream. Knower and known are clean osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind the suitably flared frontier. 

Time I guess to air-lift over my future eagerness. I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to almost any concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,”
Btw, I consider myself a neurolinguistic product manager. Never removed.

The soul is a belief system
I hope you can let this go..

I’m breathing without commodity or form; structurally I’m sustained by hypothetical force —
I can’t go on without driving your car, then an amble — an episode in your telegenics.
When we walk together, it makes no language difference what we believe, what the soul is.

I’m just commenting.
The soul’s inscription read it’s good I have the keys.

Secrets of satire have to float free Finding an informatics of doors opening (bassoon music) & structured Lasers & nanoleaf hexagons (& deep reeds for all-holds sex). Are you healthy enough for consummation in a gridded environment?
A mold of our dialog brings up others impressed, even as beauty’s struggle over time gets too slippery.
Or peach-dreamy, subverting history & waxing satirical, as the poster read, ‘time’ encircled on beauty’s behalf.

For a circular time those impressed with strong gestures talk that way.

In a nonlinear way, every right wing worm thinks / every owner of a worm is subject to restitution 
even as most tax experts evoke cuddliness w/ breeder values clad in odd mute colors..
I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.  
 
I live in a container house near the city  
 
and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a slippery disc, unmooring. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.  
I work in text, that do? .. I’ll grieve later on,
turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v drowning out the dog track.  
 
Nah.

Meredith Monk’s Falling causes injury. ‘Intimation, insinuation, deep innuendo. 
Perhaps glissandos.  
Perhaps on lavish nights, like this, something you ate.  
 
Boo hoo. Obsessive intimidation..  
Not quite theory, string conjecture (sleeping thru zoom)  
W/out inference, compressed from a postdigital “fount” of contradictions:  
A piece of research asks, Why gestate palpable beauty  
In a way that feels like games?’

It’s a classic knife-in-sui-generis.

Parts of the world face streets whooshed by furbishing impurities of state.
The carport reflective of this point is perched high above subatomic
attitudes of state, people using facebook for subject matter, like us.

There’s an end note for people who are sweating their attitude.

One polishes the text and hands it in.

How can Trix (better) hear the extreme difficulty in separating external compulsion from desire

speaking out through a trap door on top of most every word?

Trix, again, can’t care as she leaves for 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.

The archives are at risk.

Ode on hold a sec. Is that how you see yourself? 
It’s a world truce out there (fraud protection) .. 

Gambling with your money, brooding of course, waking up,
Highball glasses tinkle and clink in the spirit of a pawn shop after hours.

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

The air is sawed off, doing better. We were dangerous, once. 
Smooth, Marxist rhetoric is purely transparent. It’s too late to make it sparse. 
Even our restraint is longful for configurations in rage over mortality. Why not?
Marxist-self irony:
I’m a neo-accepter of making and being particles of subjective maneuvers, 
Eating and breathing them too. 

Auto minimalism (3 steps):
I don’t know any means to practice externalizing ideas to show myself off to rainfall in faint sunlight; I don’t know how to transfer any contextuals or theory dated a hundred years ago or any earlier!

I think I might keep to one or two esthetic tenets, but tenets are narrow, vernacular resins across, I think, global surfaces.

Vernacular means I’m not doing it unless ego steps ‘aside’ and we get paid for sleep.

I got a grip on the heebee-jeebees.
Times are an outrage. Good times, lean, treason’s treason.

We’re tracking sick jokes thru cable anxiety —
for prejudice damn well plays its revisionist bias, looks like
a XIXth century habit of selfish accommodation I’m deeply not interested in.

Tax breaks for the wealthiest (owners) keep’em watching a certain cable.

To look is also

(we note now at the end to physics-oblivion)
to be seen.

Spacetime slash pauses.
Totally never-in, our keyless Platonism won’t stand up as practice /
not while angles of light are brawling on taking us home.
Vaccinated, a merciless itch, what is this collapsed satori we travel into?
/ Passing thought immortalizes the X+1 “casting
of cities,” thinking past us. A true 2 minutes before
messing with ya. Why wait?

I’d heard a heart beats faster waiting at ease. Wait time takes ‘full effect’ without attachment to addictive capital, arresting back.

This is an edit. That’s as close as I have to lush, less certain, too-ennobling a pulse.

Or it’s what’s put back.

All experience is seriously correct..   
But what is?   
How can it if I tell you what I’m?       
 
I’m in no hurry. A life was charged    
now curled up on the menu.    
 
(Have to go.)    
There I’m preaching to your eyebrows.    
(Cave safely.) 

We’re halfway there. That’s when incubation evanesces. 
The loneliness and excruciating pain  
smothered during rifle practice.. swimming in a freezing  
basin, weeping .. try piling on debt, ok? 
 
My protectors are brokered by a security company like yours,  
taking it inside the parturifacient facility.

How was it to record a full soundtrack, none of the script? Was it like jotting items down
from a retrieval search with trees of rhetoric leading to ersatz acculturation?

Simple enough picking up a pen
. . . land and lives on it have dossier functions, similarly

synthetic appropriation by composition, the vigil
and force applied putting some form of youth

into a piece, since prospective landscape does not come by itself, regardless of beauty —
the river bank played by

metaphors and substitutions of the time — more informal,
it’s taking notes, substituting after doing the math.

To be unmarried
Where the sky went.

There’s a benign debate — where brightness bore in, grateful prenuptials ran out,

Drawing bounds along dark zones of propaganda.

And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a holy day, merely a stampede.
Only one of many noted by a crowd of flutists aft.
My terms are to settle down through the evening. Your proud example
Gains longterm advantage stretching the launch over months,
Imprisoning refinement, captive for captain ill.

Should we have
a message?
We’re talking to what must
be figurative breakpoints listed under fate and fate’s consignments.
For instance..

Just kidding. Since the launch of designer housing
empty messages remember nothing of detached
sensory esotericists.

Granted, we have
a message strategy.

A politic paranoia recommended for laying back, cool and stable
in an emotional tri-level.

Madam read her singable pieces without inflection, 
A dissonance that plays to solemnity (“sing me, song”)  
And tuneful reproach (“play-dough of god”).  
Combing through my notes  
I read there’s a world of disputes,  

Churlish puffins and other dissension to shatter earlier continuity  

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

For all appearances nothing lurid was due at signing. Default 
Swaps in reconnaissance at the barricades, alive —    
 
You appear ok. Lie. This was about something else. My Jove,     
 
Never weep with your pant legs up, banker,     
 
Since scruffy footwear permeated antinomy, buried love     
 
Finally & meantime —    
 
Fools at the barricades have been taking icy notes as the weather cooperates,   
 
Where reputations precede character, misapprehension remains.    
For example. 

A sparrow close-range, a dedicated follower, packing a double large elegy of values, love trouble, last blinded by the sea only tonight, this evening of the seals. Two old seals suddenly lifted in a renown wave, the same in each. Humming back, large as the beach staring away in too much sour light. When it slips away there are too many ways around it sung. The wave lips onto Hough’s Neck floor filled with sour for gladness reasons. Often no one you know as seals go mourning the orchard rounds.

Our crash test is named Defens(c)e of Double Identity.  
 
Of course. You.. your desire and I were (are) habits of empire living off the clock, off proceeds, motion futures of one of each you / each of you.   
 
The world-without-end news is those who are pro-slavery rue property, nonphysical property. 
It’s feasible if you keep watching the clock on board one’s auto-bio.

One cause is edged with distant buzz, intervention — you have the touch —
tides by the book rotate out to here, the rim and pliant acreage possessed by that touch.

Emotions in gear, a snake tail in quiet we won’t notice until eased into rote phrases,
foiled by moments of tact, a finespun balance awaiting a lull.

How’s it going? 
 
Many of us use criticism as a blues exercise  
for putting up a wall of calm pillow talk.. impressionnant —  
 
Your breathing is still liberal, capacious, even breathtaking...   
 
It’s impolitic to separate performance from text; both are  
in abstraction. Have you thought of writing? 
 
It’s still ultra blurry and anamorphic.  
You got a point.  
Any form you assemble in is about momentary ooomphs we’d overlook otherwise. No proof required, especially. A range of conversation impressed into uncluttered opinion, dedicated sentences. 
 
Flamey asides.  
Wake up and work.

Quickest migraine control:
the patter of little consonants
like in a chem lab on a sensitive night —
in it but not of it.
Landing unilaterally
like a fleet of empty airplanes
handing thrills over to sheep owners.
Staff in hand, pharaoh.
Call our reps for further contact.

I live in an echo of a country wayside.   
 

In the interim we had a blast. Knowhow
could be redubbed genetic sleep deprivation.   
 
I’ll admit this view is crazy or a breach of manners, a soft thick quilt the sun  

might marshal over the property. 
I should break my leasehold, ergo. Not really, she said out  
loud, a breath ahead of how I could know. 
 

This was the last first time or a fragment.

We can take empty form into perpetuity where I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up “encircling purviews” for travel — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious integers-to-be. 

A buzz keeps my eyes open when I am (or was) looking misplaced or miscalled, taking dictation to wrap up sleep.