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.

You contain only so much of me.

I live where you belong.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Adorno says plain speech is fair game starting over (in the middle) but its put
doesn’t count. (It’s always been technical.)

Surely there’s no foundering beneath the social parasail of violence.
Rules commit us.

This emphasis does not belong in the verbatim over

-supply. That is, which lexicon will be appointed most enabling. Ellipses

Point the way out & will continue — how we express ideas, simple or not.

Big, multiple ideas are broken down or up..

constituent, subordinated data emerge, important as big data, simple & not.

The simpler the better. Bad poetry yes, scansion none the less.



That leaves too much for a traffic stop.

We face 10-to-life thickets of cloud & southerly winds taking
it to other investors who might stay offended,

the next step in the training.

Involuntary ideas of thin dots and stripes, that’s a guess.

For Christ’s sake I saw you in a documentary.

I saw your name written on walls

(sons), foam under rush-formatted steam

disappearing like figure / ground battalions,


pretexts (w/ no sound) — more

appreciable fear a cappella —

There’s product on the loose in good tailoring,

faintly reeling w/ descents into moaning
nonentities.. the Ralph Vaughan Williamses..

There is a wee automated palletizer of bread
w/ industrial KUKA robots in a bakery
in Germany where groove is still a verb.

My favorite pastry chef did the research. So
it took hold. I retracted my contemptible lies. &
I condemn & mourn meritocracy. For / & all men
are servants (JC et al.) that nonetheless practice geometry
to inspect the brain. (I don’t think it’s called Trampoland
                                                            for nothing.)

Today, my beliefs will go unchecked worshiping in Spanglish w/in the gloom of purgatorio
as perceptions of different spaces blow town including the best halo effects and feelings.
They’ll come back.

It’s nice finally to put a face to the humiliating nickname.
Today, every day open censorship is going to be there,
filtered, unfiltered as long as it takes.

Living that music is offensive. You’re wide awake thinking it through until a subfocus gets lost. You grow accustomed, so to speak, directly oblique : but pointedly no name is escalated or united w/ anything no-count!

Bon équilibre, some1 else will choke and in a non asphyxiating language at that, 1 a 2nd person, the “some1 else,” comprehends. What do you say?

I’m Aldo.

No, you are.

We’re a special team. We’re circumspect, our sharing mechanism (pretext) giving no voice to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence we back off from, nightly.

What about cleverness and famine?

Try not to be involved.

What do you say? We give up weak words that never happen, hack at reasons to try with the grit of understatement.

And then you thought, that’s what’s wrong. Hey hey my.

I’d like to restate rules for a stretch w/in a finger painting
where we get dressed for the weekend.

Full transparency on stilts w/ quarks and rare minerals that take on blackened colors & properties of icons produced by classical form as a nonprofit love nest heated on sea plankton.

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

Just like other Europeans playing the stunt of delays between workplace & dogma,
anything everyone can live by w/out being
sequestered or brutally charged by objects :
so by these shortcomings we’ll softball in harmony
around some parts of sky & parts of parts.

What if I am a drifter returning with this season of enthusiasms, could you still ‘like’ me, could you choose ‘I liked it except for you?’

One thing is to thank you guys who sent in money. Another is getting and staying in shape to bawl about only two things that changed since I wrote, ‘As modernism restarts, soi disant Stephen Jonas writes Boston into his Bohemia (Exercises for Ear); midcareer Kenneth Koch romanizes his playbook in the New York School (“Fate,” “The Problem of Anxiety”). So the musician / historian stakes a vantage but never forgot that vantage slips away. No what if.’

Perhaps for now what if is not that impractical.
I have 1/2 a mind re-imagining the blues
By Corelli as well as my life on a cattle ranch.

Taking chances put us in this lissome interpretive state (birth), after all. Function varies widely.

Paying attention is the field call haunting the future, skull,
More bounce for the retina to unscrew internal hysteria pouring up but embarrassing,
Losing both death and life

You look how I feel.
No plan is perfect.

Peace, justice, ecology, all uplifting.
That’s not to say there’ll be no food.

But there’s no sponsor tie-in currently



— 4 plastic badges for now and pa-

Per sacks. Imitation spinner features, it’s
Just there’s the royal we (a pain) in game theory to pla

Y. This may be an insight

While I strive for positive letterform abstractions speed reading, but that alone
Is wearying

Bringing us closer to following your advice.

*

Also any emphasis prepares the manifold; earlier material representations, along with the mounting system, are the 1st probabilities of having you to touch, empowering mergers ’n exchange. That’s half of what has not been said.

*

Now you’re giving me the finger. Technically we’re not there yet.

                                                           (Maybe it was perfect to start

With also.)

If I give it back it’s about letting you go, taking me out of context,
And your Sprite. And that downsized color
In the atmosphere riding pleasure, then falling back and breathing while your
Rescuers get authenticated.

“Great I’ll hold...”

2 out of 2 observers were cut off. Innocent men on a wet
Highway, casually substituted.

During the break we reached an agreement.

Innocence concerns these ethics. Nature acts against self interests.
Adoration has a poetic scent as it pertains. You actually drain me.

Cupid’s id? It’s a violent, smoking culture so we need straight talk.

It’s a gay culture so we need some of that. We’ve been up
for two centuries fighting overseas.
Head-on war is a mistake (Diane di Prima).

We always won, until Vietnam, fair and square, violent.

Cupid’s appeal? Direct appeal even if it’s imagined could be stark
for Samsung tastes. Here, that’s speaking practically.
There’s change with movement in overlaps.
For half a second the short answer is a teenager’s
you can scream open and enjoy.

I don’t know. Yes. Details collect. It’s a mad softness where
we’re going over one part, step after Santa Claus step
as mating instruction and human rights,
the amp and pan point in overdue time.

I thought you’d get it.

I wasn’t planning to write but I changed plans. If I were Ron Padgett I might have said I changed planes. On cue, he navigates a new visual plane, adjusts what can be seen for a line or two, then veers off with dashes added (or multiplied) to another illustration made humane and in searing words although his specialty is everyday words that are always humane-seeming and amazing in how they fit together just this once on this page in this poem. He’ll change planes a lot, losing his footing on the flat oily tarp, perplexed, take it outside a Rubik of a different color denatured by the octagonal gloom of hearing his thoughts erase similes, not needing traditional structures but throwing daylight out there between them to achieve a halo of wit with dimensionality for us to salivate over anyway, a blend of mesmerizing suspense and long-buried libido that reminds one one is reading poetry while famished, fasting, scrunched up in what feels like coach on a bi-plane skywriting. In one instance, we’re not amused, perhaps, to discover the plane is a midsize corporate jet piloted by a professional birdbrain who’s not pretending — he’s really mean, misplacing his mom’s name in the space of what he had for breakfast and the blue sky. I don’t know, it’s hard to see it. That’s because this is my illustration. Not Ron’s.

We can’t compress enough or too much. We were one people at one time. We also = I. This is how the toy psyche writes more conscientiously touching on a couple of endearing dual roles in an algorithmic yet conscious translation; desultory of us to read and reread brutality extending to your one body and infinite ceilings, howling for the first time; insight is the rhymed whey.

Next, a glistening database is advanced by textuality. The underground = stick abstractions and collisions within a dominant tribal identity tracing out how to refine / displace your contempt. Classification will be adjoined by evolutionary adaptation passed on to descendants.

This break and entry taking place under a balloon holding beef jerky.

Citing a theory of clouds I cannot stress enough
Your card was de-activated.

It’s a perilous ‘was’ — my, me give you a hand.

There’s high cognition in light opera

Observing very little community. For more oomph

Rules note every commitment on a riddle gauge, puns of data solutions on the punishing ground looking up.

(I don’t mean that as deeply before we hand you over.)

Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused. Confused the way



Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..

Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.
But theory is something else.