Semantics in space.

The Stanford-Benet mentions a handbook (or its conception) for encapsulating syntax to denote space-time, uniting archetypes found in even more complex disproportions that achieve higher cognitive value than meaning itself.

What have they done?

Or ... simply put, to understand how and where figures of speech are produced, which sort of figures, etc .... S-B portrays one’s understanding of simple metaphor as a class of restraint (or constraint) on time and place boundaries, mimesis within nature, uppermost.

How is metaphor possible, otherwise?

One should know the rules before one obeys them.

A day filled with desire. I’m rearranging bookcases, loosening their ties to the alphabet. This morning I placed two books by Doug Nufer in the Pound section. Crazed color swirls down the Nufer spines, flashing off the thicker, more solemn backs of the Pounds. I'm not free of the alphabet yet, because the p section is close enough to the n of Nufer. My next move (I’m getting help pulling books down and reordering them) is to color-sort the works, fuchsias, whites, lemons, aquas, grays — maybe bands of grays and then blacks, since there are so many of them. When I do this, maybe in a couple of months, starting with pinks and reds, the spine to Dodie Bellamy’s Cunt-Ups will line up with Joe Ceravolo’s The Green Lake Is Awake, along with several endpapers of John Ashbery’s, The Tennis Court Oath, Flow Chart, Three Plays. Other reddish-to-pinks: Kathy Acker’s Pussycat Fever, Brenda Bordofsky’s The Female Skeleton Makes Her Debut, as well as Past Tense by Jean Cocteau and All Ears by Dennis Cooper. The spines to Dennis’s Frisk and Try will slip into the gold section, as will C. F. MacIntyre’s translation, Stéphane Mallarmé Selected Poems and Pierre Reverdy: Poète d’aujourd’hui by Jean Rousselot and Michel Manoll. Novel and renewed associations! Brenda Iijima’s backend, Around Sea, wiggling in its half-gold, half-orchidness, a toss-up.


from 2007

It was a sober intro
A branch could be incomplete generally. There’s urgency in ideas etc.

I live in a debt growing compound and now



A level over! I’m

petrified by merger talkathons —



I put my pants on and left: Not really, she said out

ahead of how I was supposed to know.

I’m addicted to ideas.


This was the first time.


A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments & extends our altercations to qualify absence :

if

working against deadline we accelerate these limits, ok —

my stupid mind has a point, & I see it

& were we mannerists, we’d describe this as Absence from This.

A wall of calm; also This: The cross-hatching that allowed ancestors to exchange some traits for others... has just about run out of steam, my profane friend interjects, & has left us wondering, once more what there is about our plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.

That turns a wall of calm over to science for good, greed, forgiveness & clumps of renaissance & their round robin prototypes that sell it to the visual cortex, motivated by small sums of justice; the sums of justice are small, crammed with moral emotions & pillow talk, luxuries that bind — ushering in more non-urgencies of grueling yet quickened aversion over entropy.



None of this turns out what I think it is —

Waking hay feverish, bona fide stuffed up


— Standing far off across

Your just altering my whole outlook!

Ambience is a novel with your logo.


Amusing to read from sobering, antic design. Likewise to write it, at least for you and your author. As a poet who rolls with deadpan offshoots of good taste and reason, you might string sentences together like paste rubies and artificial pearls deliberately mismatched. Sentences would shine in meh as the wily ends of ideas fail to match up with new beginnings. Beginnings are lit up jewels of propositions before each gets dulled into falsehood yet contextualized by the faintly plausible, as if draped over a bowl of fish hooks — jewels, hooks — an incident in the making. You and surely your author might throw a personal datum in, offer the bowl an opinion (not yours for real, clearly) a bonne idée around sex as a gross linear process or, similarly, around the death of family, so personal mentions achieve the same (but no higher) level of emotional force as boilerplate for standard FAQs or photos. This produces scrubbed sober reportage typical of social democratic atmospherics. The arbitrated décor of your short text can then be looked after in “poet-novelist” ways (as this is a mock up toward an after hours bildungsroman you are attempting). Your author’s ways include weighting the bottom of many pages with partially extraneous footnotes — beginning with number 31 (footnotes 1-30 are fully extraneous) — as well as mediating random elements, mostly unfocused snapshots but also font variations, lists, and a couple of equations. Humor is allowed. Humor justifies the enterprise but it is only one facet of shifts in planar and tonal assessment. Process description, your American ethnicity, John Cage, touring Germany, attending Carleton, “a face derived by software,” all these are data sets fit to be twisted, falsified or erased, as your author fictionalizes with what you see as temporary accesses to abstruse info, including fuzzy photos in a book.

Gas, food, lodging. You’re on your own.
A soulful lab mix, appliance and beast.
It’s nice to win over 90,000 grammars, all those associative halos.
Your novel is a conference. Believe nothing I say.

A perfect station plays Schubert for a kettle of urgency,
searing, puffy, relaxed, succinct.


I’m in symphony with the environment plus; come by.

I’m working as a temp, the role promised Hermes that took him over the edge.



You and I are far away from that edge, placing puts — Gauguin went to Tahiti!
No further bets on the periodic table, messieurs — petty in wanting you in hell with me (I do).

Like fury.

I forget being in the wrong place
forgetting misapplied figures, images, anecdotes
that forget the medium requested looting prestige;
because I forget my leftist French brain I forget being nervous!
Always stoked —
full of light, yess.. rose
a feeling, the pressure
on the tongue, the tip.

My area is interpretive search.



It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote.

Yet nothing is forgotten, since exploring prediction matters for the next table / angle. You—who —

Entry is easy : A bright skepticism shows up as undead identity.

...cross-pollinate linguistics w/ psychology, a vital lift

— remember how we expect clarity on motives. Get to the resolute joy, punching bags, tricks, compress. Check the seams

Glowing with judo, shimmering — lodging complaints to startle the system.

Let’s dance.

I’ll assume you suspect I know you know. It’s in the literature. Empiricists map it, we know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness. Pure benefits are sure not to accrue, never grasp for governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know they’re in an infinite series w/in millennia of gossip. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history.) [As you were.]

(Sophocles wrote.)

C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating gaping yawns in fair use praxis, and there’s a connection to a familiar lights-out eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up. Inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying without light, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after lunch.

Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet all the others halfway, slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we did in the aftermath of a hiatus, letting it die down.

Heavy-lidded, the escort’s sensibility (as if I know any —

there are episode interiors) silhouetted in un-analytical projection that screens an ‘official’ episode [too rational] : However I believe we’re well past midway nearing the accordion fold of 1; the outlines say there’s a double interior where scribbling adjusts to long division, complex facticity that scribbling-2 tears open and begins to pick at — to pay 1 off in disappointment, near failure — both scribbling and scribbling-2 climb uphill, still texting incidents, and slide back down just before turning 17, biting down, gritting teeth, growing up.



There’s improvisatory depth to the surface and to their despairing perceptions of what won’t be retained, nothing prime to edit after or disbelieve [at the time]. Scribbling is wiped. So is scribbling-2. The favorite who did the accordion is frowning, ready to be seen. 2 is blabbing. Scribbling is a little fucked up too. “Just starting one.” “Cool.” The thing is not to get fucked up too often.

I adhere to strict dress code.
Some tint on seraphic white.
Two more loiter. Intent, both smile, neither laugh. They’re wearing harnesses w/ panoptic properties makeshifted forward to answer the bravo question.

I thought of you...



I’m nimbus-wet. The dark volt must be why

These very different outcomes equally square
What you hear w/ the you you are.

I stake your slim reputation on it, inscribing my 3 stars, touting
you & kiss & lap up the air in your 1st mustache sense.

Self-bartering in then-this-is-now willowy domains,
The future of the past written in autumns & spring
W/ shops like these, which are their symbolism weighing in (being ...)

Reversing light thru-out a fixed-action pattern recycling twice or maybe once
When tomorrow metes out more to impel more —

Meeting you again: A delivery system circulates all flowers —
they have many words for it

But it’s our doing, picking a few, throwing cash in for pizza ..

It’s a balsa wood decade, valuing hoax, coming too near, red-
shifted by no viability of conquering death with abundance.

Crafty, using our fingers —
a bloody field call to you futurists.
And the future
notices, you said,
but it does not impinge on flowers.

Or this is tomorrow before the cart.

The flowers all for it, all arms.

Flowers constitute long
shots in a ritual to outlast how nice that would be.

In sleep even a con anarchist gets immunity.

Now is the ur-summer, good news washes over time under preseason wraps.
Snow this late is a surprise. (Didn’t know I’m a novice enthusiast.)

It’s snowing, nothing personal, wafting like foam over my awesome hamlet —

Further out clear descriptors peel off like spiders hustling always.
Do they test, please, defame to get the best?

& the answer in a day wherever that is if ..
Is it over time or many times?

Jay stayed and worked with the new ones coming in,
who were all “Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”


(If you or I put off how ambivalent Jay is we’d miss the point.

Otherwise, I give points over for stupid generalizations as
I wouldn't know how to come down on these vital issues.)


Jay stayed and worked no further.

Memo: Mr Frag-mento forgot. Permission to speak freely, señor?

We’d sign up for a language freed from its instincts and nodule [could we?], a constellation thrown in reverse, ecosystems watched over and settled minus heroic practice banging triangles [yeah, the character Frag-mento winks], playing lake ballads to some cambrian migratory pattern [your voice is going transparent].

For Frag-mento is with agnostic brethren about the cambrian business, Transzendenz, wörtlich or shaded for that, and his voice gets hoarse when it comes to memory, musical structures, being videoed in your presence. Back to you.

In my life I saw Ethan Hawke become my age. [92% find this permission relevant.]

Concision of hue dealing method or

means can be objective and lack will. Rain,
an incident unveiled as ambition. It’s in the eye

as a catamaran of process.. while one does only one
thing at one time on a crazed errand-stream to a master of art

.. this is the latest rag century, after all, and the best part’s :
we made messes all over the language to suit up for the last one.
Following our gut ‘teeters on the grotesque,’ one
contests and asks again until there’s no wrong answer.

Too many ideas inside — I’d,

You know — can’t.. when I think

Who’s thinking, maybe after I’m

Just Pessoa locked in place

Where things think on their own



You know — more than 1 I,

Things, myself, lots to hide
Yes or no, and I’m me too

So I should give you shit

Because when I speak you’re

Stirring up other ideas

What I feel
 I
Think I feel, oh, Man!

Ma’am! You’re telling me
Nothing new here —



A stupid thing, knowing this.

Re-examining all my meanness,

Italicizing my failures. I’m ham-

Fisted attempting satire.

Snooty, freaky I gay love it.


plodding from the Portuguese

Morphology covers all bets. Scars are luxury goods.

Drapery, English varieties, completes these sentiments. Yet never over stays.

What’s next? I am a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after the climate changes. Before that,

to find Fra Angelico innocuous you’re as blind and innocent as any promise keeper.

A stupid promise keeper that housebreaks into almost any sentence..

that’s a bad idea with particularity. Unlike unemployment among household heads, subsequent foreclosures = the largest causes of forcing children into poverty. Which is not a true sentence.

Would you like to ask questions or can we diagram?

We came here deducing another head scene like the first one. That’s since love’s regimen bulks up and corresponds with humanist competition for repose, perspective.

.. her flak shirt was on inside-out and it’s entirely because it’s unexpected she had her languid hands up in the air, made eyeglasses with her fingers, meaning she was ready ..

This reminds me we’re dating other members while we go thru systems in our own speech acts.

Politics, the dignity of appearances don’t mix. This time it’s personal, the sustained concussion version of charity...



But there’s a perfect ‘out.’

We’ll walk away impetuous, costive, unflappably happy, brusque;

Leave them crying for the boink of whinnying for pleasure, O thank you.

Pleasure to leverage and outgrow are a couple of public ideas. To get feedback. To misunderstand.
Let’s credit new Platonic ethics for the engine without a message in the interim.

Technology keeps humming to Aristotelian extremes. The cigar with its plantations. It’s a manageable stretch from there to when you left, even while I ruled what went between us out.

You hadn’t left a name, either. But I stood closer to your side, always wrong. And I should know. The news came pouring out after, dazzling the social dashboard, moving forward filling empty monitors on the table.

An interim for you, pushing up and out.

Socialist progressive 100%: Power evokes nighttime and taped together, both hands.

Innocence or intolerance is guilt in a group. Yah, blandness is a problem.

(A structualist’s dreams optimize.)

Orpheus to grab at.

Tofu marmalade, Oppen, George, fried cricket. Progress party-wide.

There was something else when the gong struck. A lightning rod emitted ballets of dust (doing a crawl).. a hint there’s a small commotion in the back of everything the matter.

It’s a hint only while we go hands free mumbling over a larger issue. “Think about it. Space. Time. Slash. Pauses.

Some of those candidates were hot.”

A rubber duck assumes a moral duty.
At least if you’re not buying, take a look.
The wind is howling out here thank you very much.



Though there’s irony to lecturing to square insult            /             comics
— young bodies keep moving, the elders look       /       alienating..

Clouds part,
The aerodrome roars .. it could be laughter in introspection;
Everything’s

Smug, sated with the urge to fit nothing else in. Slapdash.

That’s how comedy for squares works. If it’s funny today,
Tomorrow, what’s the transition? (I strengthened my attention
Last night with you as a result.)

In the interim I have written over 1000 jokes
Getting warm. Warmer. Some have a duck’s call.

A burst of daft tone substitutes for info of a lifetime.
Wait. There’s nothing.
I lower your voice to closest approximate parity
and we have brutality subtracting..

Yet nothing is forbidden.

Finalists quit general practice — their appeal converted to private industry
with little or no honor system. That’s when actuaries
record having a good time as vicarious info. Vicarious isn’t strong
enough. Inner, outer merge in our skulls, herding cocktails.

Illustrator. Killer. I’m otherwise a coffee head. Question..

Have we ever done anything but toy with the weather? Oh, who knows? Oh, Ladytron. You know, you seem so fake-excited in your periphery, staying inside a soft radical anathemic vapor, loosely

Demolished. Ergo your discourse comes down as animated routines. No personality.
Going back, favoring the objective

Boy-girl, you’re in a chess game.
I’m going to castle you. We are..

Shall I mark you as another ambition
in an illustrator’s incident layers —

Having what you’re having, sorting the dots’

Congeries of texture? I turned and we asked again.
(It felt unwise.)

Core descriptions updated, untitled.

Later you and I went to the movies.
I was wearing the shorter
spring outfit again. I got it down in

the bus terminal,
a little installation

by itself.

The inscription read you’re my business. This means the writing is clean, architecturally intact, the rule of meaning

But calmed down. There are dual rules of justice gone aground in “resentment and forgiveness” with top notes we won’t erase, some jittery appliance in the occipital lobe, active against the ‘human grain.’ It reaches a new point when touch management is unleashed.

I’m just commenting. Crazy ’bout the slices-of in recent poems.

Such dislocations are expected when you remember Lacan was reading Lacan from the brilliant start. After him, it’s mathematical to think about transmissions as a focus, tho

The inscription read you’re my business.

[

To commune sounds handsome, calm, bent. In the same call you reverse prerogatives, that is, your voice does. (I’ll table the difference.)

“vacant.. trespass”

— Your message is mixed but never better aligned. We’re together across how’s it going today — this is our hideout, learning the ropes, perusing scraps and hopes of coping.

The unoccupied mind long overdue. The you

I reference is in primary season. With your suitcase.

I’m back in the aftershock reading and lifting heavy plates, reflective or reflecting? you in the foreground w/out belt.

]

Prelude: Some had swing —

The scandal passed, hardly worth the coverage,
otherwise excellent. You saw that?

We got back into the van.

*
All experience for film is seriously correct..
Still how can it be effortless if I tell you what I’m doing?

Do you own your swarm’s jackets? It seems relevant
if filed haphazardly under a rock heist band file,

“Ambient Text File,” say;
her jaw trembled

while they played The Jewels.

Show me a locket grant once.

Once & be done. A few more should

Do the climate fast with an aftermath of shining

A whole new side to nuts & tightening bolts, narrow & hollow in the center, along with holding on 100%
— inflatable as you lay back in a blank whisper, quiet in the nick of it.

1. Let’s call this unconnected.

It’s kind of a coincidence I went to golf school.

2. This time it’s the final part to the beginning if

outside reflects the city, one of many.

One’s guard is up. I’ll keep going? he called.

3. Free days are an ellipsis..

That’s since the love dataset appreciates and values only ones who live at our point of origin as the parcels it celebrates within distortions of consciousness, in every word mentioned or nearly mentioned, and all syllables performing as in one spin of the ‘compass’ between you and others training in golf.

Docile or not,
Blatantly careless seems the new daring..
I have no idea —
The deliberate downgrading of the presidency
More than fair warning —
We should see a co-equal, an engaged shake of the hand
To thank the audience, the body electorate,
So we learn that or relearn it.

[review]

Bandits 1st.

You translators are a close 2nd.

We appear ordinary. This is about something else.

Then I repeated if I were you I’m all I should have —

You could be a dancer. You might know times in the day
and such when it’s useful to be in a broken in tee and briefs.

Solitude, confidences
: these are tenets of Hindu verse.

For now, create a gulf then put up a bridge to connect employees to each other,
movement they can crunch off — doing this openly in a pillar of Chantix.

Their shouts of disbelief are strung together to become more fluid. Poi along
w/ poi-dependence. This is our world’s decision theory now.

And I'm giving in to take you out, shake you within, Dart.

A cur or not a cur.

A green-y vapor, how olive shifts to vetiver or chartreuse, fading hunter to aroma basilicum, dark lawn to minted ice, yellow sage to citrus spritz, and multiples of khaki to translucent spring tea sprigs in Kyushu. Also cucumber. Ampoules of eucalyptus.

Just just

Our reality to emphasize changes in time and three dimensions, I’m almost sure

Worth repeating.



I wasn’t just orphaned, I decided to pursue other interests.

To get re-elected to you — curtains along with sliders showing movement inside

— (you get no credit for this) —

O bubble-footed in dark briefs!

It’s taken this long to read the gospel of wealth.

I’m still describing opéra moaning about diffusion at any cost to render your mouth a mess that goes on being. This is for you now.

Boston? When I read you I had thought Vegas. Sun passeth zenith. Your house is of horizontal wood boards, off in Former Creeps Meadow.

The journey feels made up so all of us can live by ourselves without being alone.
I read you and people move away, making it vacant.

*

2. This is tomorrow before the cart.

The vapor all for it, both arms.

You constitute the unmarried Non-Group playing a long
shot in a ritual to outlast how nice that would be.

Affidavit, volte-face

We’ll say it again, there’s a method to share, a high-five as your
candidacy whispers this is the second point, both natural, secular.

Behavior samples largely predict poll-taking. We’ll have you over
when politics and death are disarmed as they should be, augmented with Pablo Tac bouquet,

plus a full deck of historical fantasy and hyper décor that crack automation... After that,
there’ll be nothing coarse or raucous to grab at the lobes of, but for now, thanks!
We’re good with “no real choice.”

What are again called the establishment are thinking of a peril upgrade. Some interpretive search worked up into a deep steam of career dealership; we’ll get back to you —

Attempting authenticity in insoluble speech, we use metaphors, paint‘ing’ firewalls. And by peril as usual we mean danger to the core.

I remember when politics was a machine. Wisdom lay in de Staël turmoil, a caution for the ‘political’ surface as if discourse and action / or blood sport and games are exercised to preserve future differences that belong in the core.

But none of this mattered at the time.

It was his hair.

Where, when you see it you have to say it..

A few moments in Cambridge boarding the T outside a confection of labs.. is it in memory or fear?
Your one vote’s a hypothetical of passivity putting you first, smaller democrat than the original.

Aggressive government heals less
when citizens get to pay at the new public place —

They have an open table with a fine voice,
“a voice & nothing more.”

& if you go, dress down — anything looks terrible.
Capacious anxiety, yup, again —

Hold to your decoder status
Then run off with your belongings —

Either way is a fractional
finite in the bigger context / e.r.

If you have to think about it.

What about fabulous machinations to pull off another scandal?
Visceral, intellectual? Dopey red (Perseus) v. sociopathic radiation (his mom).
Joined complexities suck up the surface for a young writer:

Find yourself with someone kind-headed in a new membership... try an elision with young clowns, non mimetics v. those mouthpiecing others’ ideas (wearing sweat colors).

If I join you right now we might invert informally. Married, unmarried.
After lovemaking, performance.

Dear Void of Crescendo,

Our work out here begins to spin. We like the blind wiretap secrets weighing nothing in, no credit, no ripped off melancholy, nothing but a substitution agreement containing you and the other you in force, pulled from inside..

Can we cut to the scary part?

Relax, beware, the law of cause and effect can be obscured as traffic aims straight at you and the other you. The business end.. we love since sleeping on it applyies to our flesh as well as solving problems.

We wake up, cartoon-lean. Inconceivable, forms of address change ideology into overwrought subject matter while a service industry shows up to clear things w/ the bosses. In graduate courses we teach the integral self can level w/ all the others, and sadness is a public health problem. So protesters are hired to hunt down incriminating thoughts and raise contentment rates.

An access prose for pathways folds into dreams. What’s the point? tho, unless we’re feeling it, noun phrases are (void) all we’re leaving at the door, now personally ajar, since we’d like to see or set up a space to witness the dissolved thread to narrative, its needle and as it were a point.

Sonnet : On a highway, Bodhisattva’s police lights
— Luxury vans flow in the balance. Further uphill
Hauling “rays of light that seethe patently” —

A ray’s lip, your lip, curls in this record performance / your opinion / position counts,
Made easier — you take the wheel,
Officer. I’ll hand it to you & have your way —

There’s due process replicating our facial
Comfort in raw comfort push-pulls ..

Touching on a couple of hillbilly roles in a wily
Translation .. (desultory of us) to read on, reread

Brutality extending crust to your one body cheek by jowl for the nth time;
More intuition — “rhymed” with your near-virginity beneath disappearing

Molecular
Effects.

Sonnet : I’d like to restate rules for a stretch w/in a finger painting. We’re dressed for the weekend. A place w/ quarks & rare minerals taking on iconic colors & properties of multi-classical forms in 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, cordial protocols 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.

Secretary of defense weeps over a condolence note.
One should know the rules before one obeys them.

You are part of what we hold

And the evaluations are in.
Justice, liberty, rule of fit enablers to soften the grid...



Minutes after work is filed, dozens of us stand in line for a free run of the company. “This is a very nice benefit,” a leisure pursuit like being shipwrecked, held for ransom during lunch. But the whole thing will be catered. Those are the funniest jokes, the sexiest too. You don’t remember laughing so much. Ever. And you can’t recall being as excited about work as you are now.

Trust an old memory,

Corporate design is a full-length mink coat.

I have nothing else to wear.

Ounce by carbon resin ounce native fluency may be floatable within, once regarded in its wholeness, its contours beeped forward w/ the news, smart enough though meaner beyond its whereabouts.

Its whereabouts on loud speaker as it were, the workspace, the top percents of it, can hear it, feel its stages striking after dark.

Do you like spiral staircases that branch?

Facts are a marketplace where figures look good when least derivative; ephemeral objective content triumphs. It’s kind of a snob racket (Charles B).

I sing wuss-ly as a skeptic who steps over deadpan humorists as a moan’s direction shifts pasting in its genetic material. It’s cool and prefigured by how the Frankfurt School’s defenders get nested within the keyboard to determine contingent values in partitas from the all-species inventory.

Our nervous system can distort musical reality, Charles might say, to emphasize changes in radial evil of the super ego. B is for Bukowski.

En route to password assistance, astronomical and infinitesimal amounts are rounded off as unsolved problems and compelling work that front-load knowledge construction, like finding a bowl of light to explain and reform problem sets about quite a number of times-spaces.

Sure or no, certainly.
Yes, attempts to throw our voice are dumb & of a special force

Over the unknown risks. As first-time infringers we don’t mushroom,
Ignored. But we seem hellbent when three or more call for assistance,
So we need oversight.

Software permeates philosophy. This points to asphalt perimeters where meanings of structure

build up un-manacled so amor in the head is amazing.

Some ways syzygy rounds this off in latinate for amnesia’s fixed width.

You were great, shaken tame.

A note* to the enforcer of rules for understanding you, the jerk reading back (to us).


Had you laid them out in Andante favori, we might have a basis for becoming difficult. (Rules?

If seminal retention’s a crime, you get a life sentence.)

So I guess we’re also saying come back, por favor, bring available materials you’ve been sitting on, because that would be awesome and unexpected.

The boldest poem in English is a mash of lakes, knifelike exchanges and cheap silence. Actually it had little to do with gender, more focused on a baboon fondled by Margot Asquith. (I recommend her and it to you, us, I mean.)

*from a revel point

Remember smell-a-vision?
Don’t worry. I’m a doctor.