Wednesday, July 27, 2016


wait for me, inspirer.. shall she
ever scale the squares, cubes any
way that cover my eyes, as if the
music of a choir: if i've master-
ed the fragrance of tears, yet we

owe and hold-- supervised surviv-
al and grotesques of grace: where
they have been subsisting they've
been insubstantiated and substit-
utions for what you really do not

mean, what doesn't float on zeph-
yrs and what doesn't emanate bud-
dhist from your breath (with even
burning, as insists, even) and my
heart can't burn my hand anyways;

i have to colour my eyes, frankly
bespoke in order to combat all of
the sick acquiescence which falls
our lot in any given generation--
there is a room in our house that

one can fall into if one wouldn't
take care, slurrism and the smoke
of pastoral freedoms i recommend-
ed to you and you to me-- tremolo
and vectoral vibration, vestalist

and your vestiges which shouldn't
bore me (and doesn't, and will we
ever reunite?) all the people are
rising up like the jazz of tonics
and saloons are the same as spas.


love is a power: flowing rich and
siloed from the century and thou-
sand of blocky, bursting datums..
forgiveness dreams of me which we
blend infrared for the manifold &

exceptional purposes of crippling
ability and the resplendent shame
of knighthood and all of the sev-
enteen shapes of subjectivity-- i
was a fountain, eventually and so

embarrassed became two-tissued to
the ringing taste of milk and the
spidered spindle-legged salvador-
ean crush, musk, and masque which
will lead us homeward glorifying;

beauty is an event: resolutional,
resulting from artism and clever-
ness and let yourself feel that i
know your truth-- reanniversaries
and annie proulx's shipping news:

carried, built upon a shimmering,
which glisters and bulletins this
sleeping fortress.. of loosening,
loss, and the intrareversed image
which fills our hearts with honey

that was not pollen, list of made
things that are magic but haven't
disappeared in the new glown age,
and yes finally the impetus to've
stricken ourselves yet confessed.