YOu defile my people once. Only once
expresses seeds in the mail ..

solutions to endnotes on drums.. & pity nowhere now w/
dark engendered power @ 1% .. Cavaradossi!

We’ll misfile principals, w/ others,
the higher ones [Trained staff encourages sampling.

Any higher are not talking.
(There’s tighter discipline.


Then it’s said repetitive motion has gone too far
and some at all levels are enclosed]
climbing into casual (ritual, putting
their lives together) & keeping under.)

Websites lie. This is a translation lesson.
I’m elegant and round. I can’t snicker. You can, though.

I’m off the wall. So I turn blue when I cool up. I blast by myself when you leave for work.
And when you come home I produce a mental readout of how long it takes you to set the new temp, humidity tolerance and so.

I can’t snicker. I’m elegant and round with a mirror finish.

I’d like to bend rules for a stretch within a finger painting
where we get dressed for the weekend.

A place w/ subdued barks and rare foreign minerals that take on tree colors

where an icon is produced by something nonprofit
heated on sea plankton.

The jet gate opens to the drawing room,
once a factory made the outdoors where snow & sunlight
close their distance. The old new & new strung out on sectionals,
an untapped atmosphere of oblique, puckish Swiss..

The Swiss playing the stunt of relays between workplace & dogma,
everything everyone can live by w/out being
sequestered or brutally charged by objects :
so by these shortcomings we softball in harmony
around some parts of sky & parts of parts.

Surely as there is a heart to math there are light, oblique truths about achieving access to felt qualities.

I’m brusque. The new job title is urgent. Everything is ahead of something else via motives, & I’m underhanded getting back to an axiom we can manipulate;

no amnesty?

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

Blinds drawn, our overly prefixed, scavenged opacity fills with the sang-froid riches of dark matter, soaking them with its homiletic pedigree.

Before that yoga is fantastic, a civilizing process added to eternal space & entered into by a worldview that offers libations from within & supports you from underneath.

Speaking of the pure land, we have none. We swim in it.

This takes place in a weather balloon holding beef jerky.

I unbuttoned my supplies and pulled the first ‘haiku’ out and began to sweat over golf, wondering if I had enough left to give it even one full Iam.

At another point Nixon had left China followed by the end of history.

The declension in the passage next is from a clawback in a choral piece.

This of an airedale.

I can steal from myself to make something up and call it mine... Seems asinine, puzzling. Renascent: As if upon death Couperin sprawled with the naked around Antoinette.

Since then we and Coupe seem textually modern as respectable Eurocentrics undressed for success and survival, avoiding careers, unintellectual, peering back, soaking up the city among savages of our own designs.

I’m my own boss.

May a zealous counterculture dart sweetly to life! to help solve you and me for x!
when we let them.

Own a tuxedo.

It’s hard to do a mock-up & care. One idea, to reject isms of the center. Both influence perception, both engage in what someone made up as sources. Nothing in-between. Nothing to hold so to speak so more below.

I have nothing better to do than pump out to her grasp.

Then there is this payment due to survive, incubate & find offspring, & while we concede no phenomena evolve as the plausible epicenter after modernism, I think GS found herself now, thru various devices, in the center of that & in the center of a tangled ventriloquism composing..

Another solution is to operate as if there are many centers. (There aren’t.) This would debunk centrality, like the first idea, but its non-facticity is huge & eventually restores centerism or centrality, because the unwelcome news of this one meme among large numbers: this one meme, along with others, operates as if each is one center inter alia; this news motivates competition requiring a top heavy ism to regulate caring, a tough call but it has to be made. Usually by a policing force.

That said, the very minute we get off the phone, the fog enclosure switches back. I don’t think like that. Don’t believe that, impetuously. That never happened.

I can’t tell you I don’t care.

Too many ideas inside — I’m,

You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe after I’d,

Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own



You know — may more than 1 I,

Things, myself, lots to hide

Whatnot or not, and I’m me too

So I could give you shit

Because when I speak you’re on



Stirring up other ideas

About what I feel
 I
Think I feel, oh, Woman!

Man! You’re telling me

Nothing new here —



A stupid thing, knowing.

Re-examining all savagery,

Italicizing my failures. I’m ham-

Fisted attempting satire,

Snooty, freaky I gay love it.

CVS counter. I know him, he knows me, I admire him, vice versa

.. sorry, I have no other associations I’ll add. I was driving everywhere. Don’t know why we are in this automatic summation of now or that a minute from now after the transaction but before thinking about it, sending it over, with only a few elements incised to form solid bands connected to CVS.

**

I can’t be overdrawn, I still have cheques.

Lao Tzu (Zi): The follower’s flower name is hooded, part doodle & part I’m
not sure there’s no use.

We’re down the hallway leading to stairs cut in two, fronted with wains, brants,
sacks, waking in hazy brightness with no clue how we got here.

No one can help a cloud of clouds that should lend support, falling.
Some of it collapses, not to claim different output but there’s moral drought. Punt.
Get used to it or go home to switch tackle.

To set up phrases after the follower is to hit the complement of blunt
geometric form. And it’s clear whose side you favor for spectacle.
So I get the timing right away, it’s about a few seconds ago —

a formlet of propositions, like a handshake made of grease paint or prayer
warriors & their contagious oil stink for months in geologic time.

If he can or if he wants,
what you said is partner of it. And how his confusion is proof we diffuse.

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 self-eaten gravity, but I hear a squeak. It could be me reduced in size talking to you for crissakes.

I should but I won’t. I’d still like to sign up for a language freed from its instincts and nodule.

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

In my life I saw Ethan Hawke become my age. The character Frag-ment winks, holds the term “free” creates clutter underlying “unfinished” ..

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

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 a master of art

..it’s looking like this is the rag century, after all, and the best part’s

we made messes all over to suit the last one, and getting lost and then

I 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 still can’t mean just what his language means?

I turned and asked again.
It felt unwise.

You’re really this tall? There is no wrong answer. Your voice feels transparent, too late to make it sparse.

Even your restraint is wishy-washy. You’re too qualified and thrifty to feel anything, suspended — Mayday!

I told you I agree, Angel & Angelfish, enjoy your revisionist’s timeshare, an afterlife projected to the future, unobstructed, puckered in ab exercise.

*

It’s here. The helium released, the sunken park sponged with quiet saliva — a constellation thrown in reverse, ecosystems minus heroic practice banging triangles, playing lake ballads to some cambrian migratory pattern. Reduced circumstances are emotionally a full meal, a point... our brain-body fiber pierced 24/7, point two... Mayday! I’ll be right down.

Your mouth is (y)our mission. It’s your.

It’s 2014. A river was on fire because it’s science fiction. The rich won.

Chorus: Wag the dog represents whatnot between sexes that we give up stuff for.

We must, our superiority is not a joke. Correction, our inferiority is. Illustration one

it’s mostly useful to stay in a thong.

It’s w/ the other tenet I hold you for conniving to carpet silence. Wrong!

all attempts to throw your voice are thereupon dumb,

of an essence and special forces, interventions and addictions too disproportionate

to the unknown risks. As one voter you’d fail to mushroom,
ignored. But we’re hellbent when two, three, more
discover wisdom on statist terms. So we need oversight.

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



A yoga student crosses Walnut. Compare her silhouette to anyone’s who won’t study. A politician acquires forms of correspondence to her, a verbal equivalence to Dana’s process repertoire.



Falsehood is an actuarial stat, one more subjective state, a quality, not an elevation or height. Dopey red (Perseus) v. radiation (his mom). 



In a dimension whatever it’s fame v. work that mouthpieces for O [in flat], rolled into burbles, spools, pedestrians sweating lead colors.