Touring (two rings)

The striking difference between intimacy and gossip

is that they are the same by this time, (off minor fairy tales of the uninterpretable)

I get the phoenix/The phoenix gets me. People start to find out and deserve an excuse to whisper. No need, (for) devouring

Both of us are asking for just the bright parts, Where nothing finally happens

The scandal bloc blank and no warmer than journalism, no more determined to warn, or yearn

And tambourines. And hands so close to orbit metal showcasing how the earth goes, to itself, for advice and starts to tremble which solves the conversation

Just enough pressure to make the reed vibrate, then none, the sunniest most matte stillness, transcendent obstruction

and a single human in the lucky rays saved from lynching by a fearlessness of heights

Imperial. Souless Eden, lethal perfection, restorative error, and I saw it, I watched it begin to hymn in him

I can't decide if what's left is an accusation, or a promise. Calm shame or


Confederal and joyful.

All we have established is that both offer a sense of belonging but one leaves time out of it and one drags itself out of time, palms first,

and the first thing it's touching is the matter(nothing), or in the matted air between our hushed voices there is a shrill scream we cannot access, drilling our perception for the left-out elements-- not fire, not fear, not the light, not the lie, not the lie again, not the lie. Why is your anxiety so lazy and mine so absently looking for repatriation, unamerican, some pledges we plagiarized while holding hands on the way backwards away from the ledge, are echoing, Fugitives, living in two-times, two-times, one for the body one for the mind one for the mend me, don't mention me, mend my soul, be kind to the men who told the the truth by accident,be that kind, be cruel to the one's who told it on purpose, be that cool

A Gentleman's Agreement/Alphaville

He was looking for his valet on a paranoid rooftop when the wind bucked and he fell flat as a muse into the chubby coop of night where he found you for whom he had been looking found but by that time his mouth was a parachute you grabbed and used for your own, just so you could tell yourself, I love you, take me home

We accept these deteriorations as the whim of the Machine (I am so happy, something must be wrong, I am happening so much that I am stalling, breaking my pact with

simulations of the futures where mules keep thirstiest in their lazy lunge of a carriage, and the generous mistakes their bodies make to protect us from depending on them are so perfect you either have to forget or yearn. Forgetting and longing become the same thing like when you listen... Act like you know what's next, act like it's nothing. That's how you learn, by forgetting

Who sold us on the orchard, hold on, who gave us the weightless and imponderable bloom of either/or, who stays in the orchestra to play us silence, with no riddles, with nothing left to get rid of. Only a perfect gentleman, the kind with plenty of mules and one woman somewhere off in the distance criss/crossing her hands to divert his answer into a target which he will charge and miss on purpose and charge again. It's too perfect, you either have to look away or go blind toward it

Forgetting, anyone at all
who doesn’t chose you
is a quitter

Notice the flat affect it takes him to be hip shook me onto this hypocrisy and I almost dropped with it

You are a sensualist and a rebel

Why won't you come inside from their neglect

Inventory (for) They Invented Elvis Presley