Cocktail wieners.
Kids love them!
Peel’em back and throw your knives.
A (s)he-mind’s pill for song and dance is so! long overdue.

This is my 1st stab at tantrics, 
boiling sanguine, sad going through her pinafore of latitudes, so  
vet them.  
Perfect, she doesn’t see we’re getting drawing from other traces  
and no matter. 

It began as parallel ideas, say a few radio waves up on poles.  
I was saying Harry Partch’s gadgets and impulse intersect  
An immersive ocular apparatus, thumping  
W/ the capacity to recognize infinite series  
As a glow that’s cool and regular. 
 
With dangerous gaps.

Language + materials referred to, dimensions variable. Dimensions variable. That’s the ceci n’est pas une pipe part. I’m one of those hoarders of history, picking out, piling stuff in the garage 
(of accessible language), keeping barbed wire and Ted Greenwald materials reconciled like chairs.

136: I am nothing. What’s my business? Blind soul systems led me to O you

— whereas checks to you and a receipt are accounted for in secrecy, the password pilfered, your soul knows you are already admitted...

W/ several newer ideas that would leverage you right there in the pluperfect, had your love held me by my name.

Therein, a civilizing process today to staying purposely
dull, entered into too by spotting it first. It’s
a clear refinement where character offers liberation — my sweet nothing

for nothing will hold me, nothing
supports our love-suit from underneath. Only you win the job!
You’re my own nothing boss.

Start for free. Let’s call this the time left.. toward the end of the beginning. 
The front gate still won’t front.  
 
How do parallels threaten a referent? And which fox drug is best?  
Visuals today are overproduced. 
 
I produce here Spot the dog.. or now one of his infinite surrogates, whose visible micrograms intrude a moment before emptied of visibility. It seems for a time.
Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.

... the rookie is burning on the outside, your only credits were adamance /
to squelch any dramaturgy from theology, wellbeing and actionable conditions, missing how far you are beaten into their projections.

Hypoxia: poor make us sick, The

Tv interview:
I still write poetry. Yet I have no regrets.
I subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews —
The enigmatic verse syllogism under one rule is eaten alive by song layouts,
that’s the power of bounce over provisos.

Song: If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back.

This is an integument first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

“is” a known pattern of frontal opportunism.) When you’re young
nepotism is also rampant in meaning maybe.
Maybe not as opaque.
Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts freeze in total makeover

as this integument recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.

Skepticism is boosted by metonyms. 

Ever since, one’s intellect seeks damages. Time to boost actual ideas.

There’s not one left from an emergent zone for lack of despair. 
Nothing.. even huge finesse augurs repression and destruction of autonomy from institutional fictive icons. 

These icons I believe can’t predict what we’ll face when they take over — hard winds! and there aren’t enough white flags going around to

blanket utterances filling our balloons. 

Savant and scribe know where all glory goes. 
If we’re lucky, principles of mediocrity rule our larger commitments.  
Then both can devise a poem for a period of guesswork.  
 

Finish a stretch and my theory gets confused. Confused the way   
 
A rusted barge dries off in sun orange. Or   
 

Danzig is the Wallace Stevens of evil urban clusters..   
 
Ok, this is not Danzig. Clinically proven.  
But theory is something else.

Sonnet 65: 
Cultural boundlessness in impulsive concealment.. it could be a physics meditation held outdoors since last summer. All night flower action evolves stronger, steelier pretexts, jewels — many out of hand.. petals and stems sway over an impregnable riddle. 
In time we hold our own, stumbling upon a miracle sonnet holding out for continuity as it were — trademarks of both natural and technical production, mortal yet like summer honey in value or a variable of beauty either way.

What about how we enjoy free speech — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with vapid bias. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to civil union with ideal permissions built on headwinds — dormant chaos, lowered public engagement 
 
with as it were or without word craft. Good discourse can scar others, you see, yet you see bare facts slaughtered by pushing on the remote.
 
Free in summary.

Rush to earnest sentiment and keep me there, do me up.
Only four exceptions: I wasn’t speaking to you.
I was speaking to strong, sustained interests of Oil Inc.
Oh, and incidentally, I can’t keep working with you
Looking over my shoulder. Don’t be afraid,
I just kick back and relax, the year will be half over.
Summer .. if I could let myself be completely a nano reading.

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m writing on borrowed-spores.
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a feeding..

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs,
A pragmatics circumvents the will —
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..

— Let’s be fair, the partnership was an accident enjoining boosters of equity.
Runic, compared to language proceedings now.

It just snowballed until all frontiers on Earth were taken under one rule.

Our slogan has been restated: Bodies of formulae destroy discourse until only style prevails.

(Yay..)

My alter ego 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. Auteur-ship is a social construct.

The archives are at risk.

— you mentioned erring out 
 
For tax purposes as accountants for love often suggest —  
Kudos for their thanks!  
Your iron determination to play your own tax guy is magnetic.   
 
I’m solving you for new parity  
W/ the scum of the peninsula.

I picked up in a flier my soul is a hypothesis. A fish out of water surfing coastal states to destroy his wiggly self. Since we live in new enterprises and ecologies, you and I begged him to learn to swim further and stick with a sublimely cute topic, to rally for more than this textual ceramic holding a spray of looking glass.

Warning: It’s impossible to separate understatement from early performance; both are adolescent in an admissible sense, pitch. So that’s how cave and landscape can be felt, my sovereign.

Next, an inevitable database advances to burn out your swing — try living on meeting death half-way hapless (and deceitful), sensing value contingent. Warning: The underground minimizes collisions within a dominant tribal identity or trance. That opium waterfall is waiting, on a bender. What comes first is calm to recover and / or replace each close-to-noble escape route on ahead.

43: There is your dead-of-night agreement to let me in. Iron clad. Skull with putty.
Urgent, dizzy, it all comes down to earth time in dreams, darkly bright, best seen directed darkly.

The more you put on earth, you know shadows, shades, colorations are evidence of imperfect (un)seeing, but blessed (made more adhesive) and happy when looking on you.

It’s much clearer in the light. Yes. Quick. This is a speaking animal in heavy sleep, you remember regression —

all days are nights and nights bright days. Time’s up.

Our cabin has not improved. It’s being set. 
For all appearances nothing lurid was due at signing.  
But I am confused, sin  
-ce claimant to the photogenic vitamin to stop bleeding  
is not a complete thought, lacking nouns and predicate, useless  
as a future maxim in dissent tho settling in  
meaning in a way — like a raincoat of moods, no rain.  
Only my thank you for queuing up for assent.

40 winters: a sorry concentrate: I went broke to be indebted. 
 
Unable to owe enough. Do enough. 
An international scale now attributes innovation and its subprograms, scary-loud at first, yet comic ultimatums as dreams seem to centralize, acquiring a new fixed order.   
 
So what if I say prompts an assembly of torn Gillette letters and fractioned decimals?  
 
Simple-torn versus complex debt proving my excuses add up in successions under laws of physics.

It would be a challenge to simplify winning as in a new car or suffering injury, 
Starving how?    

You’re at the door    

As I thought of you.    

Now a delay for    

More. 

Websites lie. This 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. 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 see your inside relevance, binary to binary autosuggestion. 
When it gets dark rebooking happens fast.  
 
The relevance we wanted to get to go to a naked singularity, that is  
This abstract point now stabilizing outdoors — over the ocean  
— smelling you in all your possible reassignments. 
 
— A rank in heaven!

(I gave up appeasing you.)

Free for you in the $100 million section.  
 
An old master picked that up from them.. ..wolves
running through snow melting into wolves..

112: Do you like spiral staircases, scandals that strive to branch out to no one alive in so profound an abysm? 
Facts are a marketplace whose figures look green when least derivative. Volatile objective content triumphs. Right or wrong it’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B).   
 
Our nervous system can distort music in an adder’s sense, Charles might say, to emphasize changes in snaking, radial evil neglected by the super ego. B is for Bukowski. 

Testimony, transit to.

To float in Buddhist undercurrents from work by a mature avantist is not much of a surprise. We know one poet and others as bona fide avantists, demeanors of a calming, enlightened refusal that likely rubbed off during their intake of an illusory social imagination. Or don’t know.

(Also refusal.)

Something else came up. Anthropomorphism. 
And what’s not mentioned expands underground. 
This is as lightning gains on fog. Lightning ‘understands’  
 
it’s disassociated. Has nothing to transact, no product.   
 
If I don’t buy this, I’m the product.  
 
How is it fire tears up fluid in sparks fog glows around  
 
and falls out with grey streaks that look glazed or remedial —  
 
I have the same trouble when I shop for oil and details —  
 
past the details and expanse of the seven seas.

If animals could talk they’d say, we pick our clothing style by the rules. We can’t get you out of our thoughts? Handle it? And do come closer, you’re scary. 

* 
Come on, don’t let me down.  
Someday all this will be yours. A few  
City blocks that lean socialist, an oblique, neat,  
Untapped atmosphere w/ corners of slovenly  
Housekeeping and, worse, earnest alignment,  
Reading strung out everywhere. Living  
Nonchronologically simulates the senses; these new scents  
Went in circles as tho undressing.. sidestepping  
Into some prowess of floating rare, unquietly new —

Marriage season. The mood passes, theory laden. From desolating satire to
Constant assumptions you parrot for executive control.

Who designs your utterances? Finitism Holding firm in the wilds where signaling is slowly ignited
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration.

In a Deux Magots adaptation 
robots embrace the free market. This was pronounced in penetrating tones   
 

over a pale rain of weather tariffs and theater buzz. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for a moment yet drifters in their virtual doubt.. ..there’s enterprise in others’ victimhood, each higher up robot will argue going forward.

74: I agree to your bail. Security should have conducted a more scholarly pat down.

We are under arrest but you’ve lost nothing. You’re mine.
Ten to one, better parts of our street rep show up in literature and data tracking. Faint Milano opera on one receiver as a memorial.

When you have a chance to review, I think this will be due you. Layers of my spirit are made yours & any remains have no life to leap to, no death, either — carried away then having some interest in what’s going down on this wretched yet contented earth, all it contains, even this line.

Neither so-called dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 
“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.”  
It’s an infinite standard for reading new vocabulary numbed in shade, bracing for heart murmurs until climax.

This is a short study. Or it was. Youth is that impressionable. 
Ultra blurry, anamorphic, sung movement bound by writing it down — it occurs in the latest forms of repayment,   
 
— you  
weigh nothing in and get no credit, no  
spectral, tiny swaggering to cash in.   
 
As it comes to end, there’s a substitution agreement containing someone to look up to  
                  along with me, in force, pulled on from inside.   
 
— or yeah, pulled awake more than once w/ a face, a filled out line. Then lines. Smiling lessons.

You contain only so much of me. 
I live where you belong, you said.

Blackened windows:
We know we don’t know 
Facts are a marketplace,  
A rendezvous to encapsulate sleights of tongue.    
 
I’ll have sherry Pepsi. And just the sardines.   
I’m sorry this happened. I was going to stay   
from the moment we set the stage squinting within representation,   
getting some miles in, taking them on board, putting them in mind   
of a menial photorealism. 

I’m dating other cast members while I go thru systems
as in your own speech act II.

We’ve gone over this.
You look great in text, available when I promise not to rewrite.
Before I’m never to see you again of course there’s a way unfolding since the Enlightenment to take you out, shake you tamed,

Dart

My quandary repeats among aromas from hydrangea in labor  
Yet it’s with Bonnard’s visuals of pleasure I’d be holding you for conniving to carpet silence. O Amerigo — 
Another wish never fulfilled, you and I round off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence, conquering death with more choices and abundance.

110: What are resonators for but to effect command of offenses we’re uncertain of or we sold cheap. There’s nothing but our affection left, my best of love. Love’s confinement a desperate measure, and it’s true in reckless hands, yet for silent partners there’s depth to surface and mostly un-despairing perceptions (grinding teeth, looking on truth) of what won’t be contained between us. All of the above.

Context becomes the e.r. Something is definitely prolonging this.  
Like a race of giants, welcome to we’re not so much friends.   
Saving a life you can break the law to shoulder perfection.  
Not now. We’re one another in other names. Later I use yours to get head. 
The brightness was shunting into red day until emotional exchange crested and dissolved like the right emissions, close to you.

You’re a mess, honey. 
                           — Touch of Evil   
 
Something came up.   
 
Little or no, nothing. There’s so small   
 
an exchange to transact, no product, only   
 
an exhibitionist’s subtopic within the power den.   
 
To prove RNA is a computer protracts pleasure.

A signature concern is a reader’s experience. It’s peculiarly nepotistic, another point, that so many writers simultaneously figure out expectations within multiple, extra literary contexts, politics, cultural construction for personal (non)profit, corporate performance theory and the like.

You don’t even have to be interesting.
T hat doesn’t sound right.
Always repeat what appeals to you.

I’m captioning this Token Austerity, sleep-laden.

Copy-fitting is more profitable than deep discounts.
W e need to see everything before it’s retouched out.
This is a new policy to block deletions that go missing.

Full expression is expected yet ruinous ahead of patterned, glimmering haze surrounding the powerful, dating them; you know, that level of glamorous self regard goes high. It’s impossible to remember most of what they say. If all we do is seduce and denote conquests, we lose. We lose austere joys, cloud dogma, sculpture perpetrated out of wire in scentless comfort, winter’s coming skies. Scentless discomfort, too.

Cupid fell into swelter in unnamed aroma orts 
that led his black olive dogs to you, making clear    
 
Cupid in a blouse, Cupid’s blank stare =  
a blast furnace giving heat.   
 
Cupid pulls the curtains to reveal a street, dog-permitted 
yards, outside where pet people pass by in walk-on parts.   
 
One doesn’t know any more  
if there are good times or bad ahead of war.

33: I may not be deep enough; loose alliteration masks that, only maybe
— maybe I’ve got a thought altering ‘mentalist’ landscape up my sleeve.

My love is the sun in the morning .. You have a roundish face, green eyes and a slender yet blunt nose that hardens your otherwise sad, unrecognizable features and your sovereign eyes.

When I read about alchemy and ‘splendor’ I keep wiping tears from my neck, but I never read the sun in the morning as love before I met you.

I’m auditing theses in time or opinion  
For an interpretive opera about local accents.
I listen for: Ya, 
It’s a question of escalating to inhabit received logic.  
I’mretracting what I think I hear, why ya, I’m 
Concentrating on songs from colors, naming touching sounds.  
Oblique accents patrol in symmetry, in a body
 
Like yours, pushing the most obvious among woken arts, song 
Gripping you, on slanted footing under your influence. 
 
Ha baby.

1st proponents of holding go on.
Sometimes when a slob takes over
For seconds, sloppy seconds — versus

Achieving something.. Babylonians counted a lot.
We remember them for progress.
2018 now in a back position that puts

Shame to shame. My right.
You’re wrong, 2 new tattoos,
Change your name. You

Can move on and do independently produced things.
We talked about this on video
Last night.

After you
I went into analysis alert. The twins
bear shame? Faces change when they use
our words; plus or minus they’re so close —
in a glance we’re all about to bail out, off —
why are we even arguing!

Alfred Starr Hamilton has been on poets’ short lists at the balcony edge for 40 or more years, but he’s undergoing “rediscovery.” A stack of Hamilton’s letters to the Montclair police is “the year’s least likely literary find.” The letter excerpted in The Times reads like poetry. For counters of endurable fame, it’s another 15 minutes. 
— August, 2010

I am is still here, the body’s purring could not be put off. (One dissipates the other.) And one sorority reviews egg whites in their spare, bubbly zeal to outpace an apparatus (not properly issued to commentary).
*
Wrong. Constantly wrong. (Seriously? But why is identity.)
[...can’t stop it...through
language [going in] [out...] cheesy time lapses in which [animating backward] speech & narrative continuity become incrementally
transformed into deep structure affixing Old Norse phonemes to nonobserving verbs. ]
That far down is how my head is cleared.

Still if we had grounds I’d subside higher up having you weed out caution.

I call this on leaving you.

Ethical epitomes go against the grain. Maybe grains.. What are spurious resonators for .. to attempt command of natural selection and a jillion bloodlines. 

Um.. there’s nothing but an eye
blush of heat that measures desperate ‘orders’ you put in reckless hands — 
Don’t forget the silent partners ripening for future citings in green, un-despairing usage summaries... 

Brilliant. Breathing new life, we’ve had hundreds w/ crazy coats of arms.

Look at you.

83: Life with Mr Juice comes up short — charm
-ing & familiar — unfair tenderness in a paper sack.
Hostess Wheel Clacker, bike spinner & fake license & plate.
A poet’s debt.
I found (or again I thought in silence)
Your eyes are nagging me for more .. admit you miss modern art & text devices.
You miss the first drag. Painting

Mr Juice imagines my wearing her new credentials
As an inner being when others would give life.. I have nothing set.
Have you read, praise & worth get ten percent of their daily

Calories from soda & smoking — sleeping to excess


Mute beauties become bilingual.
As I never slept for my sins
Thereon I’m barren as I am dumb.

Violence takes over. Breathtaking. 

Auto-electrocuted. But calmed down. No more tv, due to sore thumbs. There’s a dual nature of justice going around in “resentment and forgiveness” with high notes we won’t deflate. My muggy, fantastic tenor, jittery, soundless often, active against the v meme. But I reach points at which violence is traceable and draws me in. 

If you swallow your ego luxury is great. I say no 
with my eyes shut.  
No meditation spanning the surface of the woods, no  
massage. No smell of wood. So there’s nothing to resent.  
 
How does it resume?

Credo: You’re good doing this.
Just
Report to command centers for the new pricing, lest
Misery and universality look a lot better. Go. Fees balanced. Get out!

After.. there are vector
Utilities (direct flares) for expressing blinking enzymes. I believe we never saw them before.

Burn, turn, run away
Suffering coincidence in time
To hit the meaning of just whose future is come..

The estate repaired to is offered on the ‘thereabouts’ platform only: still, it’s not overrated, I whisper to you, falling myself for reincarnation roughing it ..oh, wait we did this already..

I’m a year and a half late. In choosing what rubs me wrong or why I don’t want to be seen with you or apologize for one more ode, can I eat something?
I repeat.
I’m making an ode to autumn and then winter, coming on, just getting to you. As marriages go it’s not all bad. I owe my bros an apology. (Not you.) My better half too. It’s just an exchange.

Summer!

So far I can see your light
tendencies shifting free of fever, ague,
Intemperance, the flu.
Coming clean is part
Entering & staying w/in a value

That comes into you, fantastic to watch!
Won’t lie but sleep in it.

...pleasure before Hey, that your velour vox?  
 
Omniscience is sham-sanctioned conjecture. Modesty goes off by itself as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a huge family of arrivistes then custodians.  

4: Unthrifty = extravagant; nothing = nothing.
To traffic in deception, record your writing. Take fast notes
.. and I’m being frank, beauty lent to you
will oppose given facts of previous loveliness gone unused —
a perplexed legacy taken outside why or what’s acceptable

to audit profit and thrift. I’m lending you
my saddle for your extrication from delirium ..

Love whom else? Is it largess for me or you to go free? In a coin flip, we

traffic with fog to bequest lilac-dark in the air
spending upon you and me
so great a denatured octagonal gloom
by our own natures, sum of sums, we must take our notes alone.

A warm nearly winter day.  
 
Solved for the resplendent spelling, but not remorse.  
Now it’s a year later, a fine day emanating  
good news tho.  
 
Typo, I’m late; it’s fitting, weeping inside before you go away.  
 
Not at rest, circumspect. (I’m just beginning...)  
Well, most every worry or mistake is bilateral, based on trying to review  
Hellish varieties of you getting fingerprinted in eight  
Perspectives, after the xvith-century Italian drawings..  
 
..The stars are early, out and out of their miseries  
One boomerang day after another. Every day’s  
Important, I see. I remember your aroma, surnamed olive di quelli  
illuminati.

Frame: A diminished mood will be buoyed by scatterings of photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources our way as fodder for your new faculties for text, new ontological components for bringing up temp and humidity composing, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep the Fed in balance for two (or three of you, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for research and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, with semblances of enmeshment in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to voc ed for poetics; appliance hint: metronome.

Hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to behold
but with the same vulgar, adolescent cri de coeur.

(Good night, wallet.)