Saturday, August 01, 2015


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

I’m socialist by nature, maintaining perspective (the tatemae policy), I’m spooked
while cashing in analytics
(lifting data off) to mine parallelisms (partisan gold).


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

The glue is “Token Austerity.”

Friday, July 31, 2015


A bright spot on the game horizon, we’re beginning to see a need for a blanket authority or foundation to issue antinomian licenses. A nondemocratic institution that constitutes only one of a set to which no democratic or parliamentarian voice matters, no second thoughts, no heuristics, and in which nothing un-elfin or hurtful belongs or stays put, holding itself to the test doctrine of multiple shots at Todd’s Miniature Golf.

Thursday, July 30, 2015


You contain only so much of me.

I live where you belong.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015


To a lark,

Like torsion in third-level calc,
obliqueness shows up around access to felt

Authority. It’s far if you can’t say why.

Let’s be brusque. The new job title un-urgent. Shorts and flip flops are ahead of an orb —
it’s surely layering something else via cheerful motives & you’re evenhanded getting back here;

Yes / No thunder?

Or / & like crustaceans you give in to forgetfulness.
Around dawn your prefixed, scavenged opacity fills with sangfroid
                riches of dark matter,

Soaking them with hometown pedigrees.

Before that yoga was fantastic, advanced yoga for always beginners, a civilizing process added to eternal dimension categories, entered into by you.

It offers libations from within & supports you from under.

Speaking of the pure land, you have none. You swim in it.

Tuesday, July 28, 2015


Cliché inflects neckline flasks.

There’s an essay to forget this mess when we mask how often Prokofiev is mentioned,
disproportionate to the vacant bits transcending that of meaning itself.

*

All these personnel to be shifted or fired but keep their jobs somehow,
achieving an overweight bliss of the non-willed state, an enlightened
legality inside streamlined minds.

Monday, July 27, 2015


There are a 100 butterflies in what’s wrong watching even one

                    or two spin like mediums, happy in the dirt, re-engineering their variety and persistence.

We build something better.

One can feel it drinking coffee from a can, its sticky metal heat, fun, seething too, proportionate to the open space.

The smoke is rubbed, worn and you’re mortified with ozone.

The whole firebox glow yellow wallpaper engages on.

The collapse of saying it better is.. no, the aim changed, functions bounce.

Saturday, July 25, 2015


For AW and JY

An idea dawns as I back ‘into’ the salon. It’s a salon poem! exquisite, uninviting, keeps its distance, so what?


A tai chi student crosses Walnut. Compare Dana’s silhouette to one of anyone who won’t study. The arts administrator, director, a politician acquires a verbal correspondence to her, an equivalence inside a process repertoire.



Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one more subjective state, a quality of the frieze, not an elevation or height.

This is a dance question. Fibber Perseus v radiation (Dana, his mom). Which are ya?


In one sketch you can see big futures ahead, mouthpieces to the salon [O flat major] rolled ‘into’ burbles, ‘into’ spools of Walnut pedestrians sweating lead colors.

Thursday, July 23, 2015


Slumped over in gaffs, so

many without pulse, how did one stand tall, pause

then brush his hair back? Men

like him looking up like flight risks; say



“Exactly,” in that miracle voice?

A faint breeze on zoom as you slip

your phone in his pocket — How against

containers hanging along the bow all fonts
are justified by defacing matter —
1/2 linguistics, 1/2 I’m sick of nice things. Whiskey.

Wednesday, July 22, 2015




Tuesday, July 21, 2015


East Cambridge has its rhythms
on occasion.

The sun, which is divinely authentic, is too direct, preferring disorder
beside a confection of labs

..getting off the T — Is it memory or in fear
the new governor becomes a hypothetical of passivity
putting you first, smaller democrat than the original?

Aggressive governance heals more, less
if citizens get to pay for things,

Float a memo, commuting like Derek Blurs.

Steering is good, Borodin on HRB, home town
wellbeing in windows : there’s a legacy voiceover.

The sko-ah is persuasive