This is ur-summer. & with these Q-tips it’s free to cut none off.
Not even a con anarchist.
Under pre-season conditions, the thought washes in over time —
Starters: Do you test, lease, defame to get the best?
& the answer in a day wherever that is if ..
is it time or times?
Coldest August in months. Al
-so there’s good news at the pump. Some-
one’s who’s over us in the wet & questions the vulcanized backlash? No
hope it’s you. Almost the same as hopeless, no
luck, except the sonnet structure implies conditions.
(I’m a novice enthusiast.) Didn’t know early snow is a surprise
taken to the streets. Falling in total sheer, replacement
snow walks like snow foam over Sherry Hamlet.
It’s snowing, nothing personal.
Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders
descending, moaning nonentities (the Ralph Vaughn Williamses)
Who could be simpler watching you bathe w/ in / or anyone bathe n
ow in tawny daybreak synthetic,
some tint on seraphic white.
Two more loiter, intent. Both smile, neither laugh. They’re wearing harnesses w/ panoptic
properties extending their blood-pull orbit toward Pan?
That’s verse one.
Verse 2. The future would give more / no more just when pragma-morphism is introduced, makeshifted forward to answer the bravo question.
I thought of you.
Then we see a dart has feathers and it flies as it works the crowd.
And something came up. Initial elements were bled into overcherished ideals I thought you stored overseas — they were sent back in a screw-up, gleaming like oxide from my grandparents’ era. The real guys (grandparents, ideals) were thrown out before we got to know them.
I keep saying so moral bases are gnarly, of the helicopter. Any vantage you enjoy leads to ‘representative fantasy’ or one opposite, blocking the view, requiring accommodation to a time squeeze that looks perpetual, tho cyclical, rendering obstructions fluid occasions of conflict, occasions “not to love” (according to Wilhem and Baynes). But conflict is not merely evil if it lends focus on self-regard and moving on, collegiality. This is the potential utility of slanderers, a baseline annulled.
That said, it’s not likely anything not-said expands fields, roots underground.
Guards stood tall in part over parcels. Now they tell me to take off my belt. Your belt.
An impression is each motion serves a purpose. A higher purpose according to those hoisted in the sky headed toward real politk under their own glare, collapsing into supernumerary states of hemi-fusion, small readjustments in scales opposite a line-up of our unnumbered bodies. (2 or more.) Every dancer stops mid-enchufla for a mote, a moment, feels-better internationally.
Then we speculate natives yield to the rush of new people stage center, all about the fuzz of pronouns taking on subject matter w/ an emanation or 2 brought up a peg to clear things of few or no differences worth repeating.
One who will die isn’t perverse, it’s that one adheres to a dress code. Read this. I did.
I’m leaving disjunction behind. To work with you (the plan) is one way to avoid subjectivity tho
content is a nominal fallacy like that bondage alloy. I know I don’t know, etc.
Holism doesn’t come naturally (Nickolas Christakis). Yet the parts know how to grow (Benjamin Aranda).
A Cretaceous bunny stuffed in an envelope is ludicrous. It’s untidy and young until you do onslaughts in her riveting presence, O
... the downed rookie is back on the outside, his only credits were adamance.
That’s the self, yourself, one’s mind-over-lapse
to squelch a tautology of wealth and actionable conditions, missing
how far you are beaten into their projections.
We are self-thieves, of navy birth, feeling bad about the brief gleam that seethed with rank fidelity,
a gazing furl trying to adhere figuring our life together
Our history, ok sunsets standing in the waves like Moxley’s “arc of grace, a mystical exit from the trap /
of birth chance and bloodlines, call it talent / or perhaps obedience: mostly we are poor.”
John Y approaches GS and NG after their wildly successful 1st joint reading in NYC.
As an alien I ask how can we sleep better and not get caught?
When I wake up everyone is moving back. It’s funny, everyone is in the entirety raw.
Thank you often for not murdering me.
And byob. We all’re waiting for the bullet to ‘what’s out there’ yet countering it, fighting self-mastery even in spiteful moments — was it something to do with the team? I don’t think
that changes the earnestness embedded throughout the nation and its poetics (feeling wispy). Though the homeland (minus NYC) is more like Detroit, poisoned, anything but stable, under civil forfeiture, worse than a headache. Men with headaches work there back facing a street near the Park, passing it... a science fiction flushed hollow a few years ago, looking on outside it, and still walking through adhering to nothing, just passing but also taking root.