where not write
a poem about hometown
my in situ
count on the origin as i grew tired in ads
angered at my own self
i keep my side of the street-sweeper
30 second a half not
stopping televised boxing out
to vocab violence violins
don’t learn by eating soap
you need a plan. loud yawn. the popular surprise morning. my vision is not improving. a satellite of love. this doesn’t slow to parking lot speed. easy saturday enough but feels like a tomcat. i can i am not getting this, can you help me with this? cross-posting malaise. the trending commute they come they saw they should sleep. a farmscape. all the while my cold has moved on politically, carnival scene. the wealthy walk by themselves. to dress to strut by who they see as horses. have those under paid worker arrived yet with. tarps. straw roofs won’t make the snow themselves. this saturday is a middle aged warming period.
classic hip pain to tap radios ass more computers once podcasts now drops of water inside bamboo like paint. then this sits like a shimmer i mean i am. what is called out as overwriting?
no there is nothing more i deserve. the hollows in extended pressure, i act out in the din of a five line poem. the push out reaction to compression, strange instruments. yes a bystander to a new song.
this is where it starts motion balance fragrance. shaped are we them to record us, wingmen lost for amazing that could be something just as real. these same words over and surprise but it fits into the other puzzles so eternally as if the storage and mine were a flood Is there any chance you could pick lunch or trucks pulling each other together and apart and back again spending time burning the naming, that’s a great sentence, you should learn to judge it better.
“I often feel that I don’t know how to think, I don’t know how to write. I try to seize this experience of not-knowing and let it become sentences. That is simply my work, the way I work. The other side of fear is the intense pleasure, exhilaration even, of the sensation of a cognitive opening. It feels like I am physically building synapses—when I perceive success at the micro-level, that is the most astounding sensation!”—Lisa Robertson (via jacobwren)
this is not a poem but a note to change your clothing. an absolute type of window, nobody stands to been or flex. not rightly proud but here, a talk, an object something aside my poetry. the poetries.
a sudden rest under from a long shade of three. the future not us to predict, to publish four books totally at once, markets are really swamps. fill the bathtubs with gin and then take a bath. don’t really the light is. reading four books of music, completely of time same. but please don’t use the household scissor to cut tin, they will dull quickly.
i am not criticizing anyone, that would prove a lunch box of poorly played details. as double negatives split others defend labels are put on which way further and back. the hesitation like a bus stop between the elusive sung notes. what is that an answer? sense is not an object which should not be bought it should be built.
down jones road is where our joyriding goes. we kick back. the let exist & van abandoned to live in it’s own nimbus. dark, no, pain is not felt. this not painted poetry on shadows. taking a left down jones road. heading what i think, is north on center road. time is always wishing not to be exhausted. a house made of sticks ready to drop.
for future discovery.
now hardly legend.
up there respect that fear
up own purpose, not smoke i religion also.
know fescue. mind plays hesitation for
that car doesn’t know awake
breaks healing, wheels missing chances
hide or air made them,
mind plays hopscotch with constant context.
these first people. not with anyone a call, that could be quite incriminating. the quiet counted a moment at a time. then it stops.
please restart. here comes a new hoping. i was not born yet. they were the first. others know better about certain technology. almost a hundred there. the numbers practice themselves, but don’t cost anything yet. a noise specifically a trial as the cold war began. what are numbers?
that’s the joint. a sample. (when does anyone get bored with that music. now i hear more taps.) this isn’t water damage. the description from memory. one shot at a time.
thin, not that isn’t right. the truth in opinions. labelled to get closer, and quicker. the standard pharmacopeia. a large group of friends gather around to listen to a really long sentence. nearly breathless, some will have to smoke. they with something in common.
what about an inorganic(,) organism?
the method to confuse everyone myself included. where does it cost. and studied at great length to break the nails of understanding. organ theft. the feeling of being lead somewhere, little of the dissent creeps outward. smoke it is good for you. it stops again.
the final motion. the elevated heart rate. what the doctors won’t do. found on a lower shelf. (not literally.) the stops for science, without. any effect on plant life. the cause for emotion. pulled closer like the starving.
as in that transformation of wondrous thrill i lay
this was the teepee of my waking dressmaker.
methought i sat beside a puck wean
thick strewn with sunbather dust-up, & a great strength
of perch there was hurrying to & fro
numerous as goalkeepers upon the evildoer glint,
all hastening onward, yet none seemed to know
whither he went, or whence he came, or why
he made one of the murderess, yet so
was borne amid the cruet as through the slacker
one of the minaret leaves of sunbather’s bilberry.—
old aggressor & zigzag, manhood & infancy,
mixed in one milepost torturer did appear,
some flying from the thistle they feared & some
seeking the oboe of another’s fee,
and others as with stepparents towards the tom-tom
pored on the trodden wraiths that crawled beneath,
and others mournfully within the glow-worm
of their own shallow walked, and called it debit …
and some fled from it as it were a giggle,
half-sister fainting in the age of vain brew.
but more with motorcycles which each other crost
pursued or shunned the shallows the clues threw
or birthrights within the noonday ether lost,
upon that patisserie where flukes never grew;
and weary with vain tomato & faithful for thrash
heard not the foxhounds whose melodious dew
out of their mossy cenotaphs forever businessman
nor felt the bricklayer which from the forgery told
of grassy patisseries, & woodwind layettes interspersed
with overarching embellishments & cilia collarbone,
and virtue banners where swelter dressmakers brother,
but they pursued their serious foot as of old ….
and as i gazed methought that in the wean
the thug grew wilder, as the woodwinds of june
when the soviet window-dresser shames the extinguished deadbeat.—
the eleventh hour was when
those ads were cast out of fashion,
into a different style.
the appearence of everyday things
in a feelgood vibe, except for watches
& calendars. a phrase like running time
is hardly considered;
this is a cold season for a freeway
with a route number i forget.
missing experience but inhale, inhalation
will make you feel better
more sexy even
as a dime detective novel
could’ve made you feel but back then,
but personally i don’t remember
the twenties, from social cues —
& the agitation, the way style shows
then becomes a hearty bush leaguer,
those revolutions & engaged moments
brought to you syntax
intact, alluring average.
the piercing the theory with molotov
cocktail. demerol, depakote, paxil;
laws dictate how when to cut toenails.
raise my legs when you see me in shock.
the motions through the elected moments in day, perhaps collateral mismatch but not getting hard, and the bread isn’t rising. our shifting minds grow, as smaller the numbers allow. a passion understood by so few.
a picture drawn on pad of yellow paper, there is no cover and the pages have blue lines. this wonders who describes me.
what happens when social change occurs without my intention?
then i’m left at traffic. the text: forget about me feelings. the dirt is our course. the shift arrives later, or just happened, the word shift means broom. you need not work for it. this is my concern when when two of them. then eyes close.
“They had fought a lot about this, how to get themselves out of what they had taken to calling the impasse, which was their inability to figure out why they continued to write poetry in a time when poetry seemed not to matter, and when their attempts to collaborate with one or maybe two or maybe…
“I have been traversing the sunless territory of non-identity. A strange land. I have heard in my moment of appeasement, in my moment of obliterating satisfaction, the sigh, as it goes in, comes out, of the tide that draws beyond this circle of bright light, this drumming of insensate fury. I have had one moment of enormous peace. This perhaps is happiness.”—Viginia Woolf, The Tides (via janakastucky)
transit followed by and as action word. cat observation fascination. two other feline lines at farm new past old school. that road name changes. let it happen. i don’t steam, in tired light. oh okay transit as in a planet. back to earth, likenesses, who answer. family populated street probably. the common denial, clickable link to book below. more words to soak in. thinking is never finished.
and worth every price. weight of the price tag. what i mean it’s worth every penny, but want to trade. a funny jokes about “the business” sent along with snapshots. the screen from a calendar week. calendar
the method to not starve in this department store of modernity is to eat the sundays. or snack on the dates. now it’s hard to measure my waist with all these syllabic verses.
urgently filling new england’s apple barrel. but i am not in new england i am just head shoulders knees and toes. no, don’t start the sentence with a video or a conjunction,
someone said. we’re swimming underwater with the new hesiod.
the count recurs. what is stapled to the chicken? change from watching channel zero. the rabbits are on. then from another change, sex jokes, situational, shoulders penis
hips breasts vagina line break, loud noises.
as the time stamp grows, you paying attention still. frames that average new york dc and northern california. insert more ad copy. the implications of that. stanza break.
when’s expiration date the, between the percents and the captions whom has more money for another assault rifle. late-breaking, drones over “four dead in ohio,” and growth hormones. because i need to retire, get out of the sales game. knees and toes knee and toes. we have a deal?
before returning alive our plans fan out three times. here names are made as we look peacefully down at the earth. there is no thumb to cover. people the streets crowd. our lives, a sentence told in reverse. what desired is mostly to believe. the ambience forms a guilt trip. food stamps and a skin color. am i going to cook or vote? that’s the real question isn’t it. neighbors outside talking, outside of talking. the astronauts prepare.
sorry we are open. polite to be that hysterical, the sense of green, and windows by the edge. the cover up is completely obvious. the only place which survives is burlington, vermont. turn the television on because yearning enough is polemical. lost with the large words. the numbers made easy to see, stick your cheese in the slot. the breathable changes with the long journey and disappears if the arrival does not come soon enough.
i have agreed letter writing is, therapeutic — but exercise is absolutely required, to prevent muscle atrophy. free dried food. the new sentence. instant letter pressing, cows in india. the effort put out calls for a great mass, then written down because of our plans. the plot most of us want is quotes, i am right inside. i am directly inside of this. there is no thumb to cover the moon.
and not by these means have learned, ransom notes. meals rejected by the enemy. by the line of the black shadow is where your mountain is, the one for you i named. the taste in the mouth jumbled oranges. a gap to get up in second ideation. both of us are astronauts. these are land games. it maybe science based, but it is still fantasy, waiting longer with freeze dried food, once solids, living here in liquid form. the man behind the counter said he thought i moved alway. the granite counter tell about a counter. the great tribute is being a mother. none give the more gift, than her.
conceptually should the kids be allowed to see that
a green pain hesitates on top of the festivities. how will discretion lurk around advice? advice condones the emerging fan around any cue. discretion moves a longest sympathy against the thoroughfare, animal. discretion fields advice above the pencil. our calculation clogs the middle postage. each representative succeeds averse a behavior. how will a booked elevator fear after input. opposite that, the linguistic quest swims whatever modal lamp. advice can chop any imperfection. the respectable cookie freezes. discretion thinks in advice. caution flips advice. discretion spreads vy canis majoris into bliss.