folk/technique.

what is an obsession, anymore and
anyway? the scales of it are both
green with the texture of curren-
cy, and tonic as the octave of my
forgotten folio and having ending

in sight, and sigils-- formerly i
could tend and steal simultaneous
inventions that made me cold, but
becalmed: this was the femininity
bursting forth with the forces of

serene vectors and sketched pass-
ion, that would always exist, al-
though i have become more skepti-
cal as time marches on.. somewhat
blanketed with the junk of ideas;

i don't have to think, or ask my-
self questions, to wrap myself up
in the turmoil of a joke gone too
far-- we are wives' men, all most
confident lame and kings of not a

bridge or its land but the emoti-
onally safe satisfaction which is
imputed by speakers and their ar-
rays of meanings: sun rises east-
erly in order to soothe a troubl-

ed breast with the softly surreal
signals of antediluvian centuries
that barely woke before they were
carried away with mouths and this
hint of bricking seventeenliness.

cognitive/euphony.

euphemist with a cause: black no-
thingness cannot elide the gentle
scents and colours of a year gone
grand, the child's home where the
weary rest from their labours-- a

tree grows in the soil, which has
been nurtured by responsible life
and is not inured to hardship: is
not culpable of the having forgot
what it means to breathe oxygen &

cannot possibly be named in one's
own language-- this takes our god
who is everlasting and true, mak-
er of a threefold chord and ring-
ing out, it entwines us in bliss;

now that i've got my motive clear
i pledge to honour myself and the
mystical other, whether with palm
or psalmistry, because i know one
of you tends the branches of your

revealing science, and whatsoever
vow i make, i surely keep-- haven
awaiting in the kingdom of forev-
er and it subsists within, like a
breeze can blow inside this atmo-

sphere and that atmosphere is not
more or less than a vital whole i
found myself revealed to wherever
the universe is unbroken and good
precious light keeps up a record.

wind/glitz.

punk has to be somewhat literate,
or it collapses inward spiralling
like the flower of discord assum-
es a second mother tongue for the
benefit of the native assembly, a

mechanics of progressive house to
sit in and be surrounded by-- no-
thing ever arises from the depths
of nonsense to smack you in veins
that were supposed to carry blood

to discrete parts of your body, i
think, and if it did you probably
wouldn't be able to step under or
around the tanktreading immanence
of it or at least without injury;

this is ultimately private: scal-
ar legions and the rule of the a-
bandoned ritual that was formerly
the war, stand up or lie on earth
for a while, you're on the clock,

as it is & can nevertheless still
the moving pictures with this in-
nate sound.. bounce graphics into
artistry with the finesse of let-
tered, flowing people: how are we

going to get them from one nation
to the next? i hid in my admonit-
ions and rediscovered an automat-
ic ascendancy, which was platinum
& weaponised, but i don't use it.

dutiful/syncretism.

the responsible allayed the needy
impulse for rotation, and illust-
rated an example of trance-induc-
ing architecture, the city centre
exploding like the ambulance--and

its fireworks--within the picture
of a young blonde woman who'd got
impressionist with the ichor of a
nightly circle, erudite as you'll
please and full of opera that had

been sewn to her ribs with a silk
network also comprising holy lit-
erature and the desire to experi-
ence something outside of the wit
of incendiaries & a billingsgate;

it's not what i've stopped and in
point of fact, it's not what i've
started: the rabelaisian and that
obscure moraliser met with merely
approximate wingspan, and was any

one reviled? announcing the mult-
ivarious reasons that nest inside
each other like a matryoshka doll
mise en abyme, all correspondence
contraband in the old dark age of

filial, historian intertext-- the
nodal lines of the vibration mode
are interrogated and have been u-
surped for the empire's survival:
come with me if you want to live.

icicle/mesh.

grand plan of returnal autumns, a
chance throw of tiles and skipped
reminder of glacial velocity that
moves at the speed of light which
is diffused through that very ice

and expressionist coined verbiage
that is honestly a lot more along
the lines of foliage: fewer steel
songs sung in the age of ramparts
and loving oneself whatever comes

of it.. i'm finding myself trying
to impress with wit, but instead,
tending to interisolate, the mem-
ory of which inspires me to plat-
itudes and loose ballet: to play;

i've gotten quite a bit too sharp
for my own persistence of memory,
having written about absence with
presence staring me starryeyed in
the face, like jarry, or leonora:

this is not a poetics of failure,
although we're more than conquer-
ors through him who loved us, re-
placing the space with smoke, and
confessionals underscored with my

own endemic irony, oh, this could
drag me into an early grave, if i
let it, but as honest as i can be
is the man i've been made and for
sure it's a marvelous denouement.

chalk/smithwork.

observances, and absorptions, our
intuited entrée: ever so maximum,
and the remonstrated remembrances
that coil tightly in time's fists
as it beats you over the head-- a

compleat obligation to reverse in
midways, the bulletin-point with-
drawal that's undeniably a state-
ment.. this is what i'd hand into
my editor if i wanted her to com-

mit me to an asylum-- otherwisely
duplex characterisation of stars'
own peace: first the nodding, be-
calmed strum, and lately the well
poised turn of phrase, delivered;

warm and enveloping, like a comb-
filtered chatterbox, listening to
itself grow into a real boy, or a
real girl.. an insouciant present
that lags a little behind him/her

in dismantling the legactical in-
fluence punching us in the muscle
and expecting you to flinch-- you
know, if there isn't anything mu-
sical to sing about, and if there

isn't anything literary enough to
write about, it's okay: it's okay
to fall prey to the womb's subtle
wisdom, though it's a bit riskier
than i'd attempt to stay forever.

arrayed/signifies.

careen around the fountain, metal
skipping rope imagist with all of
our pretense and torque.. isn't a
walk in the surf, boy, the event-
ual decline? surely intent, chess

for the twittering mass, catholic
and fretting upon the footwork a-
while with needled mentasm & that
concurrent species of aggravation
which spiralling, rings out, inv-

iting applause for: both the girl
and her governess, the scientific
applications of revealed religion
vis a vis heading home for sleep,
and counting sheep, with pillows;

there exists a vast, nagualist a-
vocation that's subsumed by warm,
round sound that anyway pinpricks
like a dose of medicine with even
a spoonful of sugar: contretemps,

covalent investiture towards life
everlasting and immanentised with
the teleological inversion of the
physics of mathematics.. i really
don't know how to make it anymore

plain-- evidence taken pleasurab-
ly and coagulated to make arabian
scaled belletristic liquor out of
a relentless, allusive literature
that amounts to lived experience.