This is a (Phonetic) Feeling

Halos show through blindness, then knowing: a chapter called How (come) Howl come Oh,Well (willing the days, the hours come out, are clung to) become the arch you unbuckled to make up a kind of toward or (our) skeletal (watch) tower, how I got over

I can tell (like reporting, or purposed grapes spinning their tenuous ladder) from your salty eloquence, that you've been drinking, from some local sea (she), sheets made of unreasonably soft controversy) and every caprice is a caption about tattered wings, taglining (tingling), dispatching, and how you can

too fly. Your disease is trying, stop trying. Ours is easy, see
-easy (you're a sleaze, I'm a lady, and on savior days we alternate. I'm an easel, you're my one-and-only drawing blue to greed, palate--

Briefest color shade: perspective without expectation. Grace, the great race, takes a loose but no less tense tone, this is-- a fling (ownly), you two, both of you, fast and black and certain to disappear on any (only) morning, this morning

I can see, everything, with my eyes closed to the phoneme hope, (moaners, screamers) each phony apogee apologetic for its absence, so from now on nobody can be discrete if I can't so I can, I can. I'm the earth's ventriloquist. Hip enough to the conversation to lift the numb emblem into a body, then blame it--- punish it, for having a soul I can't see without you

One if buy..
(black maybe)
Two ifs buy..
(or maybe I'm just
what you say




Joy is.




Sorrow unmasked.

Songs that are sung, in the Morning

In Pharaoh City

In Malcolm, State
How come you await catastrophe like it's an opportunity
To be black
Everything is a prop and a brink in the shifting kaleidoscope of tonight
and insignificance
and radiance
and since you've been away,
so long
When I see horses running I disassemble their motion to compare them to one another
I horde unreality
Relative to you, I am home, check the diploma, check the diplomat, things buzz and I move toward them as Ive been trained to be
An exact coincidence with myself, always running into her, we end up in half
we fall into one another's carbon noir holes absolutely
and the rest of humanity seems very remote in comparison
with this man whos company I left but a moment ago,
asleep and unsequenced, I sneaked out into the overture

You broke my memory
You broke my memory
You broke your only-hope
now
is a lie

and sluggishness
and alert
and the letter nowhere
delivered to its most precise absence
guaranteed to punctuate the distance between states of being and places
on the bioscope
with the serene disorientation of a good feeling
I have a good feeling, he's running after me
This is the good forever part
and certainty ( I 'll lead a lush life)
and in the afternoon speeches happen in the streets and play through massive speakers about everything illegal from the train schedule to the perfect circle to all modifications of silence that don't account for ghosts I give this knowing

Images to Shape Names

Use Your Mentality

I was running across the casino out into the sun
(All distance is made of thinking)
At the end of an iconic tunnel came the un-errands: leave the politics behind
Move to a different kind of priority
Without hope and without despair
Why is there a television
In the living room
Right where we are living
Covering our eyes during fight scenes and love scenes
I'm tired of guessing the winner, all these deadbeats and few subliminal heroes
This church is not affiliated with the one on the corner
We haven't been baptized right
They say, the mudslide is coming
That the house might fall among invisible rivals
Am I the only one celebrating
looting apples and plastic Cleopatra dolls from the supermarket
Painting them dark and low hues from dilettante to taboo
Finding my thrill is nobody
That was costume gravity
But it lifted me up
I'm home, again
I won a bunch of money from beautiful old men
To spend it all back to them

Abstract Geology

'One's mind and the earth are in a constant state of erosion, mental rivers wear away abstract banks, brain waves undermine cliffs of thought, ideas decompose into stones of unknowing, and conceptual crystalizations break apart into deposits of gritty reason. Vast moving faculties occurs in this geological miasma, and they move in the most physical way. This movement seems motionless, yet it crushes the landscape of logic under glacial reveries. This slow flowage makes on conscious of the turbidity of thinking. Slump, debris slide, avalanches take places within the cracking limits of the brain. The entire body is pulled into the cerebral cediment, where particles and fragments make themselves known as solid consciousness.'

Blue Parallel

A tender chauvinism
A dialect pattern
I hope we outgrow
Going west
Before we remember how comfortable it is over here
In the superiority of oblivion
A woman's arm outstretched on a couch in
Los Angeles
A very low horizon with nothing above it but--
It'll start to vibrate
Los Angeles
My way-out topography
I can't wait
for you to change

Mind and Time

At left, a bird with huge eyes and a crest: a Heron. The eyes might be mouths. The heron sits, immovable, for hours--then in a split second grasps a fish

This shearing happening to the soul, is language reverberating against action-- members blacken their faces and are given the details of a crime they are supposed to solve with uniformity, anonymity came true

A federated decentralized system of free associations. Maybe not federated. Why split the second. Keep it together. Maybe language is the only action. Solitary as the verb to be. To be black. In the heron's saddle. Magical cunning and penetrating contemplation exerted upon a void slate. You are my favorite. Am I your favorite. Maybe it's not so bad if everyone is a suspect but no one feels guilty or clamors or ever speaks and there is no death or three and the sea slips off our lips into a mercy

A suitable planet
The natural hallucinogen of joy
Tupperware puppets, soul runners
Vast self-assurance, will allow the ghost to deny the reality of the forms that shackle it
such as: from now on (the linear slurring
the heron
statuesque-reflexive
like justice or blood
'til her destination was everywhere

This is what we did tomorrow
This is where we are and how
to say no
even on special occasions
neutrality has been meaningless
we are selling-out now, how we sold
out tomorrow. Because we felt like it
And the mouths might be years from now
places to keep looking: capsules or vaults redeeming
the fatuous still-lives of blackbirds with an automatic
up and
an automatic down
and out,
get out, hurry