All in vain a head transplant brings on the knowledge affect where cloud equivalents prosper on a narrow isthmus, watching four seasons float in willpower.


Later, you do dangle like squalid balances netting zero,
a big net zero from demeaning upper ends and
capital variables w/ finish.
That’s everything, a verb, noun phrase, enclosed ..
The sky squeaks now w/ common sense, folds into dreams.

The prose poem has changed due to college English.
Lake Drastic.
On second thought I am gay.

I touched it and it rayed on me.
3-in-1 (the herd rushed but not to the rescue) ..there’s a deadline, a tumble of conventions, an ambush

— a boring excitement nuances the innocents —
No variation. 
It had to be known to you v. you know.
Already short of truth, research suggests shorthand abstractions,  
buckeye elements surround international topics, street names 
more indirect than searches show.  
It had to be known to you like a blind man.
Minor formalism otherwise holds the screen for the overweening moments, 
winning or won in an upset, out of control yet  
surrounding aggression with our touch.  
108: Admit you miss smoking gold.

You miss the first drag.

Have you read, teens get ten percent of their daily

Calories from soda & smoking. That’s how

They become bilingual
Also. Now. What’s new to speak..
The smoke takes you & him in stride, in spirit
Among the underemployed in hyper décor —

Your glass is half full. Your hair’s on the brink.
Your eyes fill with manpower.

Counting no old thing old,
Stay informal in no time. Yuy...

What now to register?
Stop waving that grape drink.
I don’t get what you want, teacher
— our lives are directionless without a group, a clan?  
The telling problem with engineered simplicity,  
You annoy others (doctored meditations.. I’m telling..).  
I don’t mean rampage in a civil sense,  
I mean surgically knocking other chanters  
Off, throwing knives, wrecking them  
From the inside, slicing up!  
I was kidding I’m not religious.
Mind and body worship is vicarious before conforming to system leaks.
I’m too ugly to be molested. It’s true.

I kissed a cat. Once.

Once out of what? out of dying belief
I wrote on otherness when down (“I’ve stopped looking”) otherness came.

A sober-garish run on sentence about beach sculpture
Lay before my head cold rumbling..

My body in the language of dunes
— soba colors with melons and blues.

I’m sorry for shoddy reasoning and growth. Sorry as pieces

Of aqua and orange foam and plexiglas.
This copy has been duplicated.
The rest is history, throwing leaflets.


When blood types were fresh no one faced blame. Now I am bleeding to see or set up the 1st position, be shown the dissolved needle and my as it were haystack with no frontiers, knocking the moment down with glances, nods, inspiring small talk.. yet keep it under wraps.

Deep-rooted. Soft-voiced. How now, the anapest.
There are statements of facts
And facts in law. Their truth
Levels go down or soar — depends on
Outer linear order.

The young gain on the old, those that would,

Externalizing an antiquity beyond their years. (The renaissance.)
Without Ashbery
pausing to look at two books & how you toned them.

Inside the 1st it’s gray. Divided & confused, I signed 
up. Redemptive (how?) acoustics here, also 
a container for every dataset up loud 
so the workspace for the 2nd, smaller volume will hear it 
& feel it in stages getting taller, striking overnight. 

Research-bent, both books move to replace 
— a greater system for appeasing & thriving
that’s always wrong to prolong your appeal.


I would love to be back home.
They’ve already taken it from you.
They have taken your home.
You have no one home but you.
Undressed — except for slacks — anonymous like Updike but I turn  up   as Camus. Look me in the eye and diagram conditions of spatial sentences (touching both elbows behind your back) . . 
The bear, untameable and wild 
But calm it down. There’s always a dual nature to justify finding “resentment and forgiveness” within our not being sorry we can’t erase.   
I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the poems.
77: Society is like building blocks. When you’re on my mind I see cubism and social media touched or felt as progress to eternity. Vacant, minutes wasted, overrated, I whisper to myself, falling for your acquaintance.
It’s a classic knife-in-sui-generis. 
Parts of recovered history come to streets whooshed by impurities of state.  
The unfurbished carport reflected in this broad point perched high above molecular attitudes of state, deploying grammars of people using data for material, like us.  
There are late payments for those out of state sweating liens on older attitudes.  
That’s why everyone polishes the text and hands it in.
Focused. Demented.
No shortcuts. Nope.
It’s regrettable, they say —
Twin Peaks doesn’t add up
under binge watch...

Not entirely, but it seems unforced holding to an ideally liberal weirdness.
David L thru Kyle M is an observer with an uncapped fortune,
reflecting what adolescents do when their backbones ice up,
raising all boats, all social levels.
I’ll say it again, there’s a method to share but it’s overrated.
I’m high-fived as I whisper to myself, falling for the tautology.


Onto what?

We’re a special team. We’re circumspect.
Our sharing mechanism (pretext) gives no voice
to repeated wandering motifs over a long silence
we back off from. Nightly

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.
Cloistered, possessive habits flatten into praxis
— tho it’s instinctive to watch who’s singing
I get no points jumping in or off.

It’s just synecdoche leaving not sharing to chance.
The gear managers inserted a bonus to exchange and it’s not so bad — 
an innate physical act of fondness that ends in a draw sustained one  
by one getting up, stretching for an hour.   
Whilst I’m driven to de-humanize sweet totems that “look pretty close” with my eyes  
now closed, with you, I’ll possess our language with no lexicon,   
without conforming to a belief system to insert a hyphen and assert our memory.
107: Even tho you can’t concentrate, you’re in a place, well
A place I’ve never been before. Your dreaming on things to come.
You look fresh. You have on your eyeliner from long ago.
I like what you said to the speechless that time.

Down with tyrants, their crests and tombs.
No sad augurs, no uncertainties.

Suppose forfeiting doom, suppose
Peace with no death, of endless age.
The School of Nobody takes 8 lives.  Nobody wins in a debate over no- and not- distinctions: for incorrigible voice matter is always interesting  & moving to work for meaning.  There are no stages. 

This is the last time.

No punishment without a reward, reverend.
Only your own revels meet you halfway, morning blurring promises in
Aftermaths of the hiatus, letting your adages cool.

What are we thinking?

Is this a document or did I make it up?
Frozen water on Mars is the smoking gun.

Another question. Smelling coffee gasses a decimal
Of where should I hurt?
Once more and be done.
“Indebted” you may think sounds offensive and depraved — down where “forgive me” and “accept me” weave around power lines, ow(n)ing. The next step in the training.


I don’t know that much about you, but you remind me of someone
who can recall profound formality taking shape not that far away or far off, quelling fear.
Half a day goes by and still you resurface.
You are unattainable.
You are hypersensitive to chaos, a thing to uphold.
Frame: A diminished mood will surrender, scattering photos and books, many unread. Cast more atextual sources as fodder for your new faculties in text engineering, new excuses for bringing up composition sophistry to measure the temp and humidity in law and order, as well as subprocesses harder to isolate and observe as they flood into short term memory. Keep feeds in order and fixed for two (or three seconds, as many as you like). Liberal arts breaks further from esthetic scholasticism, inventing new suppositions for species martyrdom and intimacy. After government, wiry empirical jolts, semblances but enmeshments all the same in a readymade mood and control structure parallel to vocational ed for poetics. 1st defense, an old appliance: a metronome.
Rationed compliments ensue in secret and bloat under rush-formatted steam, 
Accounting disappears like functions of context (procedures) —   
Physicalism (neural meditation) adapts to amoral schemes, quieted  
But more fearless (less indiscernible) a cappella — Travel well.
Meantime we’ve moved off the mainland. 
No unknown futures present newer phenomena, fenced off. 
It can’t be easy. Dig 
around for numerals and replacements.
We have no perverse incentive to take any more chances as we talk thru our replacement words.  
Sonnet 100:

We have spoils subtracting song
— idle work converted to argument
that sings to the ear.

Worthless to speak of darkening power, but it adds up.
Numbers and verse surveil life everywhere. Time and again
you return, lending my base subjects light — you’re faster than time.

Return! you, your fame and skill redeem our fury within what time spent,
if not, a despised waste of life as satire, the survey went.
My first night at E. 12th my impression was I had decamped here weeks, months ago. Tub in the kitchen will be finessed, a foyer, walled in packed bookshelves, a studio workroom off the foyer filled with files of graphics and drafts, a large emptied bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows, large, no curtains, just windows and walls with decades of paint peeled, peeling. My bedroom is perfect as it is, futon, a damp sprig of pine in a ceramic bowl, one or two books in a stack in-process. I knew the poets in the building, a few famous, many pre-famous. It will all be familiar backdrop in a newer craft, hazarding and giving.
Sobriety, not mine, makes the case for / against boredom in composition, that is, in the poem-making venture. Boredom? Blame it on relatives, the empire-prone who ride escalators up and down the Radisson nearest you.

Sociologists are stepping up and nodding off
Under the influence of futon cramps at home and similar vehicles
Transporting pouti debs and elephant men,
Dostoevsky wrote.
Destroy and smooth nothing.
Mind control is a full canoe of alter-egos, disingenuous.


Depends — an authentic adult language first and best, including charades, dance,
Mores are raised —
Bullets and lists shape one critical phase, a significant influence, last,
A look back over who we are after we agree — not that I care.
RNA itemizes facts.
Do you like spiral dares?
Or to be bubble-footed in dark briefs!
None of the above!

Fat, never satisfied, we live on the edge, they say,
we come from creatures far back, slowly calmed
by fear we were of a kind they were to others, lacking
redoubled patrimony and finding-it-out tools.

Distribution adjustment @ sports.com has those to spare..
tasked down from behaviorist beliefs. Hi, they say.
Anyone can wish for ‘portal trans specificity,’ Me? I replace all the markers to get inside a face. Your face. Your brow sports a few layers of sleep relief, aching in baby, accruing intimacy. Meanwhile we form a new team on portal strategy, yielding larger holds on dispossessed cynicism...
Sonnet 86:

The future gives full sail bound for intelligence, prized above a ‘mortal’ pitch, teaching us to prize and grow, that is write, great verse.
I thought of you
giving us cohorts aid.. No, we see our pride flies as it works around a crowd of familiars taught to write.

Once our brain ripens, we reach neither victory nor fear — by night I lack a precious affable character beyond mortality.. both that and a familiar’s ghost morality strike me all too precious matters, like enfeeblement, like death, like filling this line.
There’s no portrait, not even a good i.d.; the lion took  
the eagle’s wings yet kept his own name. 

Then he had an idea. O
there were reproofs he keeps inside him just the same. 
I notice the lion hadn’t said even half of 
anything before he took off.
Flashbacks pertain.
Large reflecting pools in the future, it’s just a thought.
If I introduce vagueness as a more devout
machine therapy, we can escape

thought-train derailment, bringing on experiments in graphemic parole,
rescue room from disillusionment.

I do what I can. It wears on me.


A kimono has been entered, explaining sex without thinking, and with. It explains our slender objectives wearing each other’s fragrance, weakening the night body.
Unfinished sculpture.

I am is still here, the body’s heroic 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).
If you want an interview we need an answer to this, Guiliani said in an interview.
All experience is seriously correct.. 
But what is?    
How can it if I tell you what I’m?    
A blind accident, 
I’m in no hurry. A life was charged   
now curled up on the menu.     
(Have to go.)     
There I was, preaching to your eyebrows.   
(Cave safely.) 
Sonnet 65:
Mortality’s boundlessness in impulsive concealment.. it could be a physics meditation held outdoors battering days since last summer. Battering all night flower action to evolve stronger, steelier pretexts, many out of hand.. petals and stems swaying over an impregnable riddle.
In time we stumble upon a miracle sonnet holding out responses for fearful continuity as it were — trademarks of both natural and technical production, mortal yet like summer honey in its shining value, a variable of beauty’s strong hand either way.
Kites: pinky juicy crisp
Space parlance —

The language predates motto handicraft and canned vibration
Slithery, waxed down toward our bumbled abstentions.

Life is better, a few times
Looking broke with pencil marks across gessoed

Pearls — trance police, a hex video
On top various under-invented heights.
C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating fair use praxis. My focus is the hand hath put connection to a nearby eyesore we could fix up, borrowing an old face beauty once remanded. Inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping focus on their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: further focus on infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs that flare up into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer.
Well, I knew m’lord was a prevaricating, bloodlust child — the writs of Rolfe d’Hampole had warned — unceasing sycophant, his incarnadine shadow spilt down dim stairwells to redden more, divagating before olive branches in nightfall, exhorter of few changes, hardly any.


To tyranny,
I was thinking of god, shoplift energy ..
Hold on, I was handed this bag of sentences.

And this is what I did not want to say.
As a big spender you don’t have to be interesting.
That doesn’t sound right.
Always repeat what appeals to you.

Acquire many dialects of feeling beautiful, more profitable than deep discounts.
And you need to review hedonism before it’s retouched out.

So I’m returned to the foreground of what is more
and more like great footage with a shore

in bad translation ecrus, stock blacks, pitched provisos
and scripts-to-be, no part to fix, no comeuppance, none.
There’s a benign debate — where brightness bore in, grateful prenuptials stampede out, 

Drawing bonds along dark zones of propaganda.  
And owing to your interest... this won’t constitute a holy day, merely an apostolic sacrament.  
Or only one of many noted by a crowd of flutists aft. 
My terms are to settle down through the evening as our proud examples 
Gain longterm advantage spreading the launch.

Our ceremony for being creaturely unmarried and staying that way.
70: I don’t blame you.
Alone in your ‘kingdom’ flying backwards. You’re facing the street, passing it... A science fiction flushed hollow, cankers and buds looking prime outdoors and you’re still passing, unstained by the ambush adhering neatly to nothing, just passing, yet with suspects’ approval ornamenting impurities of state. Heaven’s sweetest.

Who are they who envy? slandering, even wooed — and such charged discourse! Don’t hold it in. Talk to their doctors.
It’s all set here. The economy is fixed to move. 
I’m a meta physicist to an inner antecendant for whom marooning was neither scarce nor chic. Tempus fugit despite taking an interest in properties & stratagems bequeathing us  

sherbet, oomphy comforts & massive inflows of feel- 

ing great! These brands are shocking taken to far corners every day, above  

a once bowling facility, now airbandb-ing. Tried to.  
Thousands tumble.
Very good, Jack. We were going over some numbers, audience shares, I mean maxims, and...
I would like to voice concern about poetry / critique spiraling out of control...

Look, I’m filling out forms by the nightstand.
The point is I’m not writing anything “garbage-y.”


Don’t be silly, Jack. You are daytime poetry.
That’s cruel, Rabbi, very cruel.
“I’ve got to get back to the city.” Why bother, Buddha imitator? Reeves is guileless, a pious, ethereal hulk in a collapsing bug life. He sneaked his junk across the border just to release his frustration, verbally sneering at no place to go in a natural voice.


Nice beachfront but there are fewer nouns
and fewer bonds with semiotics doubting itself (if only a little) —
it seems immaterial — immaterial, 1 of those 2-headed enigmas :

nothing much and — hey! another noun phrase.
An eerie self-eating metamorphosis.
Bands break up.

I lost the point of that vast line.
To define natural tears...

Payback’s hardly nice
...coming clean is a neat precipice in myth that won’t stand for practice —
not while the restive recover from plumb numbness —

we see beneath their flighty dignity...
blistered motion common as flicker tails (the angles) in light made identically hot and cold,

restive, made of the same emotional thinness getting home. That’s the super-definition :

Especially on the hunt.
Mere research reports what’s on your mind. 
Why not reflect it in text?  
You’re showing one lie can never be replaced by another  
It contains.
146: I’m talking to you in American. 
Christ went missing. No more dying then? Won’t lie, I watched us dream economics weeding fertile ground and painting over a radius, destabilizing temperament like itty worms eating up soul after soul. No lie. Body loss. Looters and rhombus-gatherers, all doing well respectively — great work for them, cuts straight through an apparatus restructure creating more chopping patterns to follow the predictions.   
The chips mount a background to soundtracks muting key words. Entire sectors of you and me feel it’s about time to leave history alone, so short a lease, epic sums on slender gloss in silence. The walkway and manly instrumentation   
are redone for full combat. Let’s remember in passing notes of hyper-literal churning depth. (It might be feminists like us are on and off genome probation.)     
Is this decision theory now? Don’t know. Hard to lie. 
Often my partner exists in a fortress, deliberately passive-aggressive like any fool.
I’m kidding. Even alone.  

In our farewell, as I see it, our descendants build a museum to spy  
us & others. They look great — stomping out corners. That’s their 

moonlight, indispensable today for smearing glows  

down walls that follow a trajectory
aimed at each atom of both of us in maroon cords.
1 enclosure without a pulpit, no dogma...
outdoor passages to enter then exit self sponsorship
spreading out in willful overloads of language design —

Skilled decor, de-simplified, or notional contracts
between science and who knew?
Ironic technologies without precedent —
A corporate hold across manners and adaptations, restrained praxis
and hermetic syntax, all noun phrases.


Tattoos first, second, his hair.

The plot leaves the door to irresolution ajar —

Guess what, the grabber is un-bolted down in segments like a rattle
spinning to take effect. It adds an all night ring to our narrative, id est,
the needle breathing hard, leaving the hole
open to irresolution,
to set up availabilities for picking up the dissolved thread.
Here’s one’s take on getting back together. It’s one part
to tensive healing (a method) stitched to transparency (washes of shadow)
& aspected by hedges, almost. To go on shifting subjects
— I whisper to you, falling myself for revovery —
panicked a zillion light seconds too soon — too late thinking literally
in compliance w/ odds off bets already placed... wherein
chants, conflicts w/ breakfast & rubbery clouds, a proverbial laugh:

Nobody totally killed it. The bonuses were un-reneged-on.
It’s not large irony tho the freehold repaired to comes only in the ‘thereabouts’ pattern...
Psalm make me sorry with the music. 
Nothing is unimportant. Neither the bray of birds nor their sweet after play. Send for Fr Pierre.  
He lives in harm’s way. Sit on his face. “A pure transit of showdowns.”
13: Father, son, you’re looking up big-eyed instincts? Instincts:
to get out of the valise, dear. My love. We pirated the code.

I can’t say we pushed them out willingly (nurture, nature, frantic relaxation in stormy gusts).
The fit is good to hold.
I noticed you work away from me to hold your poise, make it smoke
against the coming end. Prepare for yourself.

Against my love, your semblances had no results. Click or call.
Criticism “must take a wider horizon of use.” But my notes are lost, colonized with off-rhymes; my lexicon of rhetorical “skirts” wrapped around a few “legs.” 
Between a minimum and maximum 
Buddha retires in expired turmoil. His daybed is in the new office with murals of doves going out. His critique has no name; it’s all about listening.
Who ism?
Who is Meghan?
You don’t deserve to be left out.
We need to get you into a smile.
Father’s Day for the dead? hold on
I’ll put you
on greenish “pallor enhancer.”

Granddads breathing around us, sweating under a river of supportive skin
that flows on,
waking up for compliments ...
What’s your problem?

I’m too ugly it’s true..

No counterarguments.

(When I can’t
sleep I can’t

A politician, claimant of the photogenic vitamin to stop the bleeding,
is not much of a sentence, lacking meaning, more useful settling in mere syntax
as warm-to-medium as a visual partnership queued up imitating /
replicating Dionysius for the evening drive, before severing the vines.