no v ember

the sight of leaves on street. the fold of my hand around one, veins transluscent through and towards a streetlamp, or the bright of the sun, or the shine of the moon. The wet sky making through the dark of the early night, visible only too by these orange and yellow lights. the size of one leaf, bigger than a face. the sight of a leaf appeared dipped bloody, or into the juice of a beet, or any other naturally staining intoxicant discharged by a wet autumn root.

vocal organs

prettylittle, 19

In the middle I spied him. How do I. Remember it an early morning escape, ascended from all between this and them in the dark. Driving that night, in from the drunk-stench. But now as always, aphonia. Your long journey home with poolstick as prop. I suppose this loss of voice, I think it was explanation. The only song is organic, and we were. I feel like I recognized him. He looked on my nerves, my functional disturbance. Driving down, that’s worse than staying nervously around, wondering symbolic. The vocal organs, late at night.

About this, persuade me from the feigned passionate speechlessness.

urge tinged else

prettylittle, 18

Now you see that I’m tired. Foregoing and urge tinged, altogether uneven. True feeling anterior, sitting on the old voice. Altogether disheveled. Blue without my primogenitor. Mauve, bad or good, it all coming across time, lineage, family tree. Sectional sofa, sounds the same. How I’d like to move to taller roots. Looking at the loneliness. The good way, anthropophagous, is muted and I probably will after I tried once, I say. Remembering with solemn description of the upstairs, talking to the night with him more (alas, I thought, a final time), annoyed at the human flesh (his). Soonafter I return to erasing his opening (such of the soft human beings), and cannot be heard over the hushed chicago. And from memory, he beats of recognizable song. The direct opposite of conversation and rhythmic tap, tap, tapping. Maybe I will leave with me.

alone, but to tell precursory

 prettylittle, 16 - 17

Alone, but you too. He instead of bored & lonely. Anodyne when the night is so much. You’re not unlikely to provoke. Can I wake up somewhere then leave, too, bored; it’s just dissent or failing all over the middle of it. Why should he have no one uncontentious. I’m too tired without saying anything. I thought long to talk inoffensive. To do this or that leaves room for hard, terrible, often deliberately. Pretend to be negative. What to say on the antecedents, to even think about interpretation. Should I talk to decide? Events existed before the two wake up alone. Yesterday should logically lay, gone to bed. To invite him to another proceeding another; heads on the table and next to someone. A classical salad is words into space.

Sometimes banal as the only option; phrases, clauses, the cat yawns. First impressions would have been hungry. Drinking sentences to dialogue, have a little wishing. Didn’t understand a word for a few. Minor characters first appeared to me at just this moment. I meant especially there is nice, already too. Music here is relative, in the home of nice. I’ve thought too much of it, slightly more. Pronoun playing friendly and smart. Lips had exactly enough contained. Back and forth, I think to myself, terrible to get. A conditional proposition, little sexually charged. Haircut with previous wooden paddles. They remind me so much of hairshade; I’m trying to tell precursory strides.

sipping sense metal

prettylittle, 15

 Sipping metal, I shake to death. Someone else oftentimes wonder typically, and  was I wrong. People do much, that holds through this comforting. At first things cost, burning in a fireplace. Failure, then inevitable when drunk, maybe and yes you were. You’ll get out of that. Seems I should straddle the hearth slab… obsessed with bed and a good idea. Smoke a cigarette being full of fashion, move somewhere else to the time. And concern yourself with windings and intricate turnings. Failure in the truest sleep, even be regrettable. Looking occupied, tortuousness in a theoretical sense.

enter enough, tip of true

prettylittle, 13 - 14

Enter tip of tongue, temperature as the gazing fact: I’m sitting alone, at or on, or near this ridge, the sun. And the hands on him now would be large.

Ameliorate the sun. Hips to go against, I keep thinking to make something care. Waist, neck, and everything I’m attempting. Someone will see better. I’m sweating myself, a finger behind the ear. At just this moment, find me. Amity explosiveness. Stroking a stubbled chin, it would be interesting friendship. Grease congeals me cleft, to lower myself to myself and begin anathematic. To this and then that, the most useless of positions, strange & heated relating. Spills, drips down, goes away and he shouldn’t have given me his conversation. Something me, onto me. Remember me with me. Vehemently hurry before I bed true enough.

so to perfect reaches

prettylittle, 7 - 12

So perfect a breakfast alone, I spoke elements to a stem. Me here, again and again. So good infact, on the telephone which represents (points to herself). Yes, you miss a day spent twice. One single element of meaning imperfection.

Sometimes while desperately drinking in, a bell rings, and aggregation. Do you remember a new monday, if only it was from the body, or mass composed by the mind. When he was here with us, last everything, and music. Instead cheer briefly, different parts. And to you, and eventually you, reading to self and I, lovely and collecting. And mostly it was from sunlight collected.

Miss him just sitting, casually makes me of parts into a whole, within windows and radiated anymore. Enjoying, I think, the condition of being so collected. Yours, and maybe you I want, if I should ever be to commit here in the light. Ahead of it, this anxiety feeling, I’ll just call of hostility, in a daze for you. Mine is to see and feel ecstatic, to make awake, to be whom I will, immediate.

An attack, killers to kill each. Obviously they are, promptness being you. Never see actually, in response, awake and throwing still. Probably never I can see cheerful readiness, you suddenly feel that too much. In my life from where I’m sitting, formal, suddenly into sleep.

To talk to him… I only think I see speech, especially. Your wisdom is okay then because of that truth. Why aren’t you one of an oratory nature? I remember that there is no reason to talk; to please I want to make: that heat running me up & down.

Now. Forget that big plans for us wait. Denoting the talk, he I. Love bony. People exists for this. That contains, it will get hot enough to have. Of course I’ve the upper teeth to blow through. It’s fun to won’t, it’s black, with a consonant through me. Get in bed, and for that, foam on the top. Pronounced when my head reaches to.

sweater of introspection

prettylittle, 6

My sweater of introspection. I laid out in bed, good to be the truth in a famous and well loved agglutination. Consumed with aware, radically monotonous: clamped back as if glued together. To worry over independence, I shouldn’t have come a clump; coming here I can. I come in vermilion. Into this clumping if for no other reason. And make it on a monday afternoon, riding boots of bacteria, the city he miss me. This year I will off when sick  with him. Blood corpuscles, protozoa, he must be in love with nothing serious & could be watching my type of word formation process. The idea of an impossible possibility, all serious. Such things gets darker, words are inflected but those memories and reflections making everything. Thinking to self, by the second. The addition of one or more presumptions make it all so romantic. Happen by self. So good to get. I appear to be the only one meaningful & delicious.

in lime like life

prettylittle, 1 - 5

In eyebrows adjure, but simply. I love the falling in this apartment where nothing is my urge. Probably going to love, but not sacred, at the moment. Solemnly come and visit the staying there. Where carcasses rot away in their Being, or earnestly, or with exuberance. I want it always congealed, no doubt, whilst I sit uncomfortably. To do something grand, to be new & fresh & hot, grease on the countertops, waiting for things to die.

Admonition, idea, like always it is for days on end. Sounding rock, gentle city misses you. In the beginning cartons of yogurt, dark, shiny wood. Friendly reproof. Just a little, that means days of spoons stuck in tables, gold and green. Warning against a week though it seems.

Multiple orgasms, gelatinous masses. Ceiling decorated ornately with fault and oversight, I guess  it means giddiness & euphoria. Crumbs and shoes, gold detailing, praise what he feels inside. Ecstasy & lentils spread about, reminiscent of someone. Some kind of love stirring. Jubilation, coated pans. Royalty, excessively, shaking and stirring. Possible feats scratched, hid. Brick walls with fireplace.

Obsequious I understand, but also stolen and filled. It’s working, the remorse, because the relationships have nothing. A place where I reek of conscience situation, and feeling is to do with past or future.

Toilet runs consistently. Lavender repeated contiguous. They fail looks. Having recently doused, bite & wound, too many circles. Lime like life.

root vegetables

& I, sometimes, we're turning colorless. It is because we're steeped. And I, like that rough outer skin, can be bit through solidly. I fulfil myself, irons & spices. I am a self fulfilling prophesy.

on riding over the dry leaves in the road

finally, the red leaves a litter. They like largest driest petals dropped from crusted rose. I see here, the roses still on their tall stalks, if brushed would crush to fall. If a rose could talk it would bloom; in the times I've felt the nearest push of prick into me, my cushioned thumb in hazard, in lightning, I never hasten wonder when wilst the final bud drop to crumble. Anchored now in thorough autumn, still open and gushing sappy pink light of softest flesh petal skywards. The open rose, the frozen palm.

harvest moon

To be literal, you were missed... but the moments with you last night spelled all if otherwise. Your wise face almost screaming down to us in light, illuminating all the yard and the bench and our cold breaths. The harvest is so icy this year.

there to wrinkle around his eyes

prettylittle, 71 to 75

There to die thinking fast I’ll be, with you always. Fast I’ll be with you always. And just cold enough to live for looks. In letters, to live. To trek a journey I am. With talking and feeling I have been here four nights. The origin he is. The universe. But I feel of some figs I should figure.

More obvious a walk, I should only.

The egg out then, the solar system a cheese of some kind. A favor and we’ll be turmeric coterie. What do you see?

Waiting on our way away, and red with such potential future. Wishing badly on the bedsheets. Interests & tastes, on this island last. Burn sage familiar in my ears, especially obvious. Smoke talking terms, thinking exclusive of others. Tell me what you’re seeing.

And listen like we could, undulating on the crepuscular little wrinkles around his eyes.

tonight it's near to see

prettylittle, 67 - 70

Tonight it’s near, and how dissension nods his head. We both arrived; I found altercation for a minute to be, that very night, attractive, contrapuntal. And now the emerald outside would still be pertaining. Picture me on a skylark, attempting, repulsed by counterpoint. There. Can you, begrudgingly? Smoke the idea in music, composed. I’m wearing the yellow dress to dinner with light kissing melodies sounded; I remember this morning, rust. But my love, together, and the island to leave, I suppose.

A blast from forever, whistle rocky, and then the noticing cold remain true. Melody cliffs neglected the beautiful cold to him, to my own fugue. I’m barefoot to take a snowstorm last, it will be to violate. To climb up how he didn’t, lonely and difficult to oppose without. Hate big, fluffy, exist without. To contradict myself and wish he would, drop of airsnow, nothing like ice I have. I think small and he holds my face of watersnow. This group of trees I’m climbing, earth tends to unforgivingly deliver, will definitely make inner. I don’t slip and fall dying beautiful white stronger, and I envelope brief silence things. Sparkling extreme of floral leaves. Anything happened, snow everywhere, accusatory of a flower I wasn’t. Your mind I look, I’d simply love to live in.

A delicate texture I make looking, I look around lovingly forever. Of a color other, that little peak, could be confused fearfully too. Green, typically a little tree on top. Your mind from across a slim whorl, I see. A piercing platform. We stumbled within, I see.

Be confused for a need to look upon sepals; that tree above right, straight at the garden, and enclosing. There’s a bird. Red chipped opaque sky here rained all day, reproductive. An eagle exactly in baby blue, the perfect midwestern call. Organs, bald like mine, black winter. I find I know minute bodies, who every once in awhile be actively doomed. Cells in the water. And with a real winter. Too bright to failure, especially. Red blood, something to see.

here, in the distance

 prettylittle, 64 to 66

Here, my sweet, for you begged me to. Talk about this, there, perfectly. Align, kiss him armed in all this summer. It was simple wonderful force, why. Else fun, could have been more, to justify, explaining to him consubstantiality, how I feel. Awkward and just that, and only, that. I had no desire to the communication about you.

He likes seeing me, tens of minutes. To kiss, of disease from sighs awkward to consume him. One person to another by close contact, you asked around.

The brightest day a bit teary, spreading so nicely each other. Outside eyed harmful for me. Said well, it’s blinding, and undoubtedly thinking contention. A struggling. Look over there because I’m warm about in opposition, in the distance.

equinox

And autumn, and tuesday, and only to have the celebration, on days later, something befitting to us. And us never includes me. but the sunshines in me immanently, and what if it isn't anymore? look I know I see, look, it isn't anymore. you isn't anymore and I don't dare to be.

dream this morning

I was with my mother, walking late at night through the park towards my Portland house. Through camel's back, it seemed, and up through the hill houses. I've had this dream before. I don't remember it during my awakened state, but while I'm in the dream I just know I've been there, dreamt it, or acted in the film version. I had seen it all before and knew what was next to happen, but always with the allowance of changing things slightly as I wished.

It was snowy everywhere. So snowy the banks were high with it. I pointed to the flat sign, the signs marking important landmarks in state parks, and I told her how I'd moved here when the sign was piled feet high with snow. Even higher than now. We decided to cut through a neighbor's yard. -do you think it will be alright? -I don't know... And then we saw them, the car pulling up to the drive, the dogs bounding, and knew it wasn't. -climb over! my mom called out, regarding the gate we couldn't get to open. She was more limber, was over easily. I put my foot in the oversized slot of the chainlink fence, and she attempted to pull me. I recall my embarrassment at such clumsiness. But then, we figured to open the little bit of fabric holding shut the door by wrapping it back around whatever it was attatched to ... And through the gate, dogs bounding at my heels. Around the side of the house where there was landed haphazardly, maybe crashed, a small plane. We went in through the tail and wove around the inside. We had to crawl, it was such a small tunnel. Little windows opened outside. It was light now, and I remembered as I pushed my way through, shouldering the narrow passageway and growing hot with claustrophobia, that the end would die and we'd have to get turned around. Sure enough a box took up the rest of the way towards the front of the plane, and my head would never fit. - we have to turn around, I forgot, I told my mom. But then, there we were, in the nose of the plane! There was no way out from there so we were back through the tunnel. Then the small television screen showing the family of the house, the woman and man and their two sons. She was exclaiming about us, how they couldn't let us get away because we'd find the money and they'd get caught, etcetera. And opening the windows, trying to find one large enough to fit through. And a distance not so far to fall. Through the little window... In the yard we had to creep around... went into the shed where I saw the shadow of the man walking by with something on his shoulders... and heard her voice saying,  the woman's, well, we'll get them when they try to open one of the doors to escape, the alarm will sound. And then his voice from around the corner saying, waitaminute, who left this door open... We had to make a run for it. Found a red door, one  of many lining the shed walls and tried,  it opened quickly and soundlessly, no alarm. Around the shed and there he was, the man, casually smiling, and my mom, frozen, sitting now on a stump and staring straight ahead. I held a stick and yelled at my mother to take one from the ground, and I tried to beat him with it but my blows fell to air, and he laughed and grabbed me. He had ahold of me, I urged her when his eyes were turned to run. She had very short hair now, was not herself at all anymore. She sat frozen. We  were near a large tree, with a hollow large enough for a few to fit inside. I pushed him in; I would embrace him and perhaps have sex with him so he would be distracted from my mother's escape and her subsequent finding of police to save us. My plan started to work, he took to me. His mouth opened disgustingly, his tongue was a dark green swampish color, and his teeth were small and square, brown at the edges. I couldn't taste anything from him. Then I heard & saw them, the woman with the children and their two adult friends, throwing and catching a ball and headed right where we were. My mother still frozen outside the tree and I, pushing him further into the hollow, to keep hidden from the woman. The small boy looked at my mother, and the woman yelled out, what are you doing here! and the boy said, I like her, she babysat for me before, she's nice... but she had ahold of my mother. The woman called her husband's name over and over, drawing nearer to us. He held quiet, and she turned to her sons and told them that their father had died. A moment later she was in the hollow with us, she and the small boy, and all were celebrating the father's still being alive & with them. But you! she screamed evily at me. I had to run! My mother urged me, crying, to run, and I did towards the back of the yard, up a mound of dirt... I couldn't get away, but I knew where I would go, as I'd lived all this before. Into the house and up the stairs, the woman on my heels reaching and screaming. My mother following quickly behind. And into the room, the bedroom and bathroom that would be my prison... I locked and bolted the door and noticed the room was much more messy than before; in my memory this room, my new home, was void of excess debris... just a small bed with red blanket, a red toilet & sink, and the tiny television with the program I would have to watch over and over forever... these were all accounted for, but the floor was littered with objects and clothing, things from my real past, my real bedrooms in all the days gone. The door had a window on it and I could see on the other side the woman frantically trying to open it, my mother and her crying horror-ridden face on the other side... I closed the blinds on them and proceeded, but the state of the room held me fast in such confusion. In the original version of this situation I would have poured water on the television from which blared the program about molestation. The latin name for molestation is something that I cannot now recall, but the woman and her husband were my accusers, they thought me to be a molester. A molester of what was unclear, I assumed children but couldn't be sure. I was innocent of any allegations. They made their righteous christian film about how dangerous people like me were, and how we could be saved by joining them. I was meant to watch this film continuously until my molesting existence vanished. And in the original version of this story, I doused the television in water from the sink which caused the plug to spark and a fire to take the room and everything and everyone else, in a conflagration ending this experience in a way I felt was fair. But now, with all these objects, I couldn't focus; and there she was, in the room with me now, so I threw the water on her and she screamed & cried out, and I beat her with an old christmas cookie tin, and she fell and I poured her with water and threw the objects laying about at her head until she was covered in them and dead.

when the seasons are falling in love

the pink reasons falling in love

My head explodes and mine mouth burns. Here, in the kitchen at checkerclothed table I sit trying, typical typing. The dog collapses beneath, only a crimped & done-up tail to see. The remote sounds of jazz, the behind-me tweet of a housefinch no doubt swaying on the windblown line just outside my attic window. They fight, the finches, and the red breasted nuthatch swoops in with its little tubular stone of a body, beak apoint like a needle, to chip away at the black oil sunflower seeds. I hear the wind in the trees & the sun is hot on my bare neck, just visible over the horizon of window. The pink rose from another day still perfect in brown medicine bottle- still insane in its perfume, enough do disbelieve a smell like could be a natural one! and if it wasn't we'd shake our heads in revulsion at such a saccharin scent.

The dog woofs low and emits habitual growls. They're like hiccups, they can't be helped. The yerba maté chai + peppermint still warm and thoroughly enthurmosed. My ankles and cheeks & everything inbetween, enthurmosed.

yearn at the corn moon

In the tempts of maize, I attempt to weave around. Maze around in brightest-lit coldergrowing night. Chicha de jora, milk substance, strawlike color. In the americas of the opposite, tantalizing hemisphere it is drunk from a maize fermented by mine and your own ptylin enzymes in our open mouths, our readiest salivas. How it is true, then! The wild yeasts yes, but how forgettable is that of you, of us! Our own bubbling, budding abilities. We have within us, the powers of the distillation. Mine in yours, and mine in mine. My saliva in the fruits of earth, my burbling beings in the taste of a large white moon.

remember then that subtle sentiment

song of yesteryear: 2008, 8 september (and yet ever pertinent, when will not it be)

Remember then that subtle shudder feeling. I felt it and after still. The night to the country, raining my height take things from my hands. subtle destroyer of things, in the light he ruined so sweet like constant compote to be spread but unnecessary. do but float? beautiful natural surroundings healthy, and to eat and plant of the earth, and to walk of it and breathe it and sleep and love on it. mentally acute. excuse the length of recovery natural, but desperate, too; so romantic of the same, to eat the same sleep the same sleeps, shower & dress & everythought shared, and adventures never alone. books you like, or literature, or poems, scientific & spiritually intelligent. indoors, and I will refuse to stay indoors. never to speak of love or death indoors. invigorating in the ways of the physical: off on a bicycle, to traipse through forest & desert & wild soft voice in my ear! Chile & Argentina. in the southern hemisphere, I feel a pull. relax on semiotics, make it truer. of the future, As autumn approaches everyone’s making turns around. adventure together With backpacks on, headed out. Outside, in tents, in mountains, lakes, streams, rivers. In snow, in fields, beneath the sun. all the laughing And the sentiment.

Hot to it. / Fall summer. a melancholy feeling

songs of yesteryear:


2007, 1 september

Hot black rooftop on A view. for miles the skyline, clear in a thin blue veil. perfect from afar. Lovely cloud puffs and delightful blue sky. This heat’s too perfect and lonely, it burns my legs just laying next to it.




2006, 1 september

Fall a feeling morning I dreamt being somewhere standing closely but not touching, or maybe touching but not kissing awoke so clear and real melancholy a summer.

Perfect celebratory makes perfect shudder

song of yesteryear:

2008, 3 september

Perfect makes perfect,
timeless, countless, many of everythings
perfect to allow a count existent. Everything and more
a journal a diary, so shameless am I,
still I refuse to tell
and I won’t utter
it in so many
greedy grabbing words. I aspire to be
sludgeless to calm and to
whine not, to embrace, propose and accept, so
fully, so
fully, such an envelopment, mouthsfull, bodies
full,
over & over. just sharing an omelet,
endearing,
absurd. and definitely enmeshed.
Hope, no, hope is for clouds, The
sweet of his spray.
slowly pounding
nauseous but
strong, eyes
full of happiness & not heavy but
light &
full of
soft &
light,
bright and in the sky like a cloud then.
hope real and not to be wished.
suddenly a fact
then. and the future! from afar,
so delicious the thoughts in our brains,
excessiveness deems bring me back,
earthbound, to wander handholding towards
silhouetted saguaros. No one but the stars; I’ll let
only the ocean caress me and by the time the ocean is too
cold my heart,
drowsily.
Latenight eyes all
full of
light kissing like the
slowmotion, I shudder
celebratory.

an hour and years

songs of yesteryear :

2008, 27 august

An hour, a little under two, in a life what to remain. awake, Tucson time. underwearclad, we’ll never sleep, we’ll touch the sky, a perfect down blanket. freezing cold here. It is warm there. My heart will burst into flames and I can make a home from it, camping. Cuddle up to a fire. not smiling still smiling. Everyone looked at me impressed, all of them pleased at my pleasedness. like a gift just suddenly deserved. mustn’t be loquacious. Be laconic. Ooh, reticent, taciturn. to hear him talk for ever for once, his sweet pretty voice and the truths about him. I could hardly know. I awoke and hearts falling out and dying. fret about its immanent end, fret about its immanent end, I have the pleasure. excited beyond compare, thrilled oblivionward, obsessed capricious. I could have become so frustrated to destroy everything, letting it go, it all. I will give of myself openly. So much of everythings. In so soon, beautiful agate eyes, profile, face against smooth neck, eternal smile, arms around, one of the only two blissful people for miles and years.

bequieteth

be not afraid of feeling good,
be not afraid of getting told,
be not afraid of tiring old
be not afraid of trying alone

Mine own hairs stand on end, my own endless days lengthen. My letters excess them selves and superlative the ends of wordss, I am lying, just a body with only life at the wrists and on. So the fingers, bare hands. Fingernails doing the efforts for the restof me.

little consumptions

In late nights I inquire, in daytime I look about sideways at the overcast. In the night I look at the map of a day following, and I listen to the slide guitar drops of permanent rain. A spark of his eyes, the words, the touches, the rekindling she says. Remembering and the sun! o that broad sparkle. Everything like the trains, sometimes they awaken me. It was like a date, but we weren't/ didn't know to think to.

my waste is quieted

From the early morning I toss around, considering arise and a flow of me into day. The black & white animals surround, and I, limbs askew on tiny bed free, awake. I don't have obligation to the telephone, or to the doorbell. I have my own rose portals, portrayed through a door and the dog, I prey, won't sound a cry at the basic intrusions. They live all about, quiet as gnats, save when the fruit grows foul & the flies move, multiply. My sun shivers, my sound shivers in an isolated building's edge kind of way, like the glimpse of a glimmering skyscraper scrape against the blue back of a day. The backgound, and in it revs a distasteful engine. And mine own engine in it's revolutions per second, imploding high to headache heights. Piercing the sky. Mine own revolutions carrying me so. Bite me, we do.

back of the night, autumn most touchable

I likened the stars to views in kitchens and living rooms, the blue glows, the faces facing & talking, the movements before ovens and in cabinets, fiddling silently with a lightbulb, a lit lamp. The dark of grass, of a road, the impressiveness of a damp dwelling and an unlit garden. And over it the softness of an impending summer'send. Lovely how they change & grow. O, september.

ant, the velvet words

It was just the words come in me, those to make seen the real simple of a night. The common scent of flowers on the night breeze of a week-end, the ones smelling like butter or honey. Different bee breeds hover from these flowers & in again at daytime. The crickets, common sound of august, or maybe in oregon frogsounds are commonest. I'd like a test to differentiate. a frog whisper in one ear and the rustle of cricket wing violined against cricket wing; stridulating forgets the hot of a night. Spiders in stridulation, the velvet ant...

treading warm breath morning

just like a kiss the morning starts, without me. her furred feet warm against me, the darkness more night than day, is. the voice like dreamtime maker trading against my headwalls a subtle beat & throb melody. I'm falling past the night now. I don't pull on them, the hairs, and I can see nomore the big gold spider recently webbuilding above the sewing machine. funny should they choose the places used oftenest, or at least of late. just to dare us to keep working. much better than dust gathered. and let it, then, let them all build their intricate perfect villages throughout the subaru. the dog moans, is having a dream. the paw pressed on my leg still warmly twitches. she breathes, should I wake her? Is Dreaming Away, Ida. Let her dream, let the spiders watch & wait for still opportunity.

little rift in shortest summer

Can't I not help it, but the weather somehow took a dip in me. Like the last one left, I'm here in the hollow sounds & shapes. But with all sounds of the dogs who live here, too, and they don't want to be alone. They chase ghosts and feel sad about things, but I don't know it. And I don't think it's true. They hear rain in their bones hours before the first drops. I feel it in the texture of the air, and in the speed of my brain at work. I like all the colors of it, and how it makes a sort of round terrarium out of my house. with just two dogs & me in here. All the lush of the plants outside & drinking, and the cat too out there all wet maybe hiding greeneyed glaring from beneath the neighbor's parked car. In the real wet all there. I can't tell, but the rain just glanced off my skin, even as I moved in slowmotion. All the cars silenced by it. Every rush at pause.

on bees

They have little baskets behind their leg joints which hold pollen. They flit from the flowers and back to the hive where workers help them unload. If we were to live only on royal jelly, our lifespan would increase fifteenfold. Royal jelly is the food of the ultimos, the utmost. If we could only find out in the hearts where to live & how.

on spiders, and the music of

One hundred years later. The spiders work quickly, the sound unparalleled. The ship ship slides of clawed paws on old wood floors, meanwhile. The song sound, the worthy companion & her shuffle. The spider's silent webbuilding. Across the drawing, through the air connecting candles. Down in extension of my hair. In my ear marrying music to brain. My own fur & spines distracting, my little copper spikes trailing, & I see them each as little faults mine only. I look for you all the time, o recognisers!

on ants

what was that song, unpretty, oh just as I there runs an ant up me, and the ants at the teahouse run & run interminably whilst the vibraphones tangle on, and their heads are bowed, the folks, unbeknownst to whom the ants run wild, as they trod in white refinement, sucking it up into their undoubtably porous little bodies. Their bodies actual, I find them now. the greedy metasomas sponging the sugar, making them everfast & radiant.

love to be present from birth, can we please

pretty little, 57 to 63


I’d love to be asleep after with tired annoyance, circumlocution to one another in the same matters. Finally, many a turquoise lake seems. I nearly fell; he left the bed and I heard words where fewer would do. There are evergreens. He’ll never sleep with me; asleep after the shower.

In a deliberate attempt all around, we stood in the smoking, dressed to be vague. The sky is blue kitchen up north, and a blue evasive sun is roasted in the negative weather. Tucked in, verbosity is bright off the deck. Beautiful I reeked, small shades, and over, played to never stop seeping from my orifices. Triangular squinting in the brightness.

When will I become a beautiful girl, and flesh bone at the base, steadily adult? He tends, apologizes, saying from a thin cigarette in backyards, He might just love to meet someone spinal. Talk quietly in the back, listen more and seeing. I was happy to hear humans.

Water like this sway exactly beautiful, as I had small water like a photo. Women all the time desire chest for holding gestures, kisses. Been a lot more compendious, like this water. For years for him I felt awkwardly, formal, cold, green… and even tonight I need to be in my still, containing too. If I try, as well. At least six hours since, presenting the essential facts, something invisible from her… an adventure was with me, I had fallen asleep. Something pretty out here, unlikely, and we watched in good spirits a comprehensive lake. Be prepared to have wanted the hour’s walk; concise did I come with you down.

Hard to make out, I felt slightly. Abridged, laconic. Even prepared to feel, or have sex, I’m unsure. Guilty, succinct. Paying attention. A vague face that I shouldn’t have, to unite in something already existent from his breath. This strange man’s disastrous concatenation, I wanted to prove disappointment. But how silently he sleeps! I had nothing of actions, opening a beer and talking. The disappointment, and how nice to have him to feel, conflagration … nods head sadly.

A view of my back in the morning, I suppose. Extensive, silent for an erection pressed badly to me; that destroys fifteen seconds. Outside, against my back. In my head a great talk about some rocky erotic man of land happened. Mountains in just the slightest.

A bottle of congenital need, too much time kissed and I slept in like a disease to know. Just bits align right, his bed and he, present from birth can we please.

new urchin

my own puppy orations. puppy font. and all the neighborhood abark. I notice, in a month or more, haven't yet written words to read. As if the 25th year hasn't mattered. Now, like an older kind of woman, just every year is another every year. As if nothing celebratory. As if nothing to matter kinder!

Oh, but her little hair and locked crimped underchin. A likeable little urchin.

events of hours hoped or wished down

pretty little, 53 to 55


The events of hours: by tomorrow I am chiaroscuro; whimpering, almost, the night now and still, once again, of light and shade. I think as usual, hiding in time, an affect of silence.

Consistently a chicago coffeeshop, it’s contrasted light and moderately I attempt to hardly be here at all. Beautiful shadow created by furnished apartment. Choke back, unnoticed French light falling unevenly. Preparing tears mind never blue from two; I produce a clear cherubic direction. The adjoining abruptly, the life of me, all threw a soft light in. Seeing anything difficult but dry I’d like to wake on the table, leaving love hard and saying, knowing early the rest of the room.

A dance around things, the epic poem, the East in chiaroscuro, to prepare then. Somehow, take for some marked action mythology; have you found humor to recommend me? might a fire you are looking for?

Black must do to be breathing around. Velvet from a part of female singing. I try singing it too, for me to keep most interested. Head knows all the words, loudly need the feel. I never hoped or wished down.

modern underparted

And the sweet ones, all having names. I like the looks about, through a slotted glass a peach or salmon through the pines, the last of the fleshy sponge day. A true summer one. My own little sweet fleshy peach one with the dewy down sits in sitz, I'm with the water rush through pipe in ears, adjacently by rooms. The too many pungent flowers behind, still awaft though twilight somehow nonexists tonight. I like this luscious spring, the hot of sun fingers still presst against the uppers of arms and backs. All brown and ripe like insides of fruit themse.ves

too night

Just in through the beak strainers. The green water! awaits you. It, and all the leaves it holds. Bayleaf floats. They are, the ones fallen from the above, the half-shade maker. Liking the ducks, the subtler commandeer, and the orange beaked, unsure footed ones.

helloes, helloes springs

In like the hollow ones, in and outs. It not being right to do it, but it still, all same. I like the ideas more than the movements. The rank sniffs of here, the warm air coming in through the open window at me, making threats and promises about a there ahead. A there, a head.

My golden tea and the quiet call of birds, the twitters downstairs too. My own hands in my own dirt, but today I feel inclined, roombound. And apologize. He is, again, here, again. The call of a perch. The polite gusts, my polite fists gently clenched. In his gently clutched.

such the joys from out of its

Isn't until I've thought of it, thought it through, but how strange to have all the trees be pink! I'm liking the views of seeming fronds, seemingly leafed in pink as if not by fluffs. My fingers can barely contain the letters about it.

red-breasted nuthatch

Hath nut notch a breast hat. My little birds flit fast, like little bombs they dive seemly straight towards me. But not the window, and somehow stopping perfect at the little wooden house filled with black oil sunflower seeds. And their straight little nutcracking beaks hold the shells of one or two. The female is so full with eggs by now she barely can find food to feed. Her man goes around for two and brings back for her, the darling. I like a little high peeping he makes to wake me. Even before I have glasses on early I watch him around.

fullness

The total amors, one hundred! The pretty little hundred amors. I like the thursday, the fridays, the claps of hands rhythmically and can't tell is it raining still or no. Not and not ever, always moving. But the heats and the tiny dots and patterns in. The reds, the browns, the blues. and my own cloths surrounding, the purples and browns of me all texured.

Hundreds of little amors, I kiss at you days go by.

who did she do she

I'm night and day; I think in sounds and sniffs of the serenest cedar, of sweetgrass curls fondling the upsidedown memory breeze. This is morning afternoon now, like night awhile back and me, we just needed to unwind. Unwind around each other then, in the afterwork of uncertain surprise... suspicious sure pies.

I have the legs of a maple-sugared mile, I have the smile of a dove gone black in a newmoon fly-away. But that doesn't stop me from sitting all still all smothered to relax here and just feel like, coat or no coat, the change-purse accounting, my finders dried a counting. I want to court you, but will you let me softly rub you down?

I like this tune, it sings some back room memory like from the wood word of remembers. i like this beer, it tastes expensive. i like this, all of these letters, and I like it specially your recalling the rivers and the decades gone away, like I'm never a part of. Never apart from. and how many?

Slender is the night; stands sideways, blows away. I can see right through it. The music trusts me enough to let me injest it, breathe it. The smells of all the cedars sweetgrasses & sages I crave, and do have! captured in my won rural city! my own rural metropolis. The irony I call like buying the perfect scent. can you believe I fall for it

which is why I can suggest my own paying out of pocket, and pocket-less, it's relating. All the nights and days.

longer sounded, long for him.

Longer sounded, upheaval give us this. My flesh for him, I need badly disaster. And forgive a rib as well. My head, I met calamity; forgive a breast with me.

Long sounded, upheave give us this. Forgive a rib, my head, I met calamity; forgive a breast with me. I call fast disaster. My flesh for him.

a large hallow, barely, bare

A large hallow, kissing might slightly scale thy name.
Gently just love guilty and violent come unpredictably.
And seeing beautiful strange in the natural world, earth hovering, over-time.
Feel guilty sudden violent heaven touched barely.

A large hollow kiss might slight scale thy name.
Gentle just love guilt and violent come unpredictable.
And see beautiful strange in the natural world, earth hover, over-time.
Feel guilt sudden violent heaven touched bare.

A large hallowed kissing might slightly scale thy names.
Gently just love guilty, and violent come unpredicting.
And seeing beautiful strange in the natural world, earth hovering, over-time.
Feel guilty sudden violent heavens touched bare.

Large hallowed kiss might slight scale thy names.
Gently just love guilty and violent come unpredicting.
And seeing beautiful strange in the natural world, earth hovering over-time.
And feel guilt sudden violent, heavens touched bare.

champagne tragedy temptation of sighs

pretty little, 49 to 52

A large hallowed kissing might slightly scale thy name. Gently just love guilty and violent come unpredictably. And seeing beautiful, strange in the natural world, earth hovering over time. Feel guilty sudden violent heaven touched barely.

Longer sounded, upheaval give us this. My flesh for him, I need badly disaster. And forgive a rib as well. My head, I met calamity; forgive a breast with me.

Champagne tragedy temptation of sighs we watched, slept in devastation and the power, his hand on the crow. To kiss him, the wonderful upheaval and the glory. I thought he wanted desire, convulsion, apocalypse for ever and ever. Bored, he said he was unsure to kiss excessive. A raspy tired, my face away a bit, teary eyed discharge, unintelligible voice. I was talking from his breath, thinking about the nose or throat whimpering. Into it, (I wanted it) but how silently I found cerise, almost, tonight… He sleeps attractive, moderate to deep, I remember if I try. How nice to have him still, red at an adventure. Touch my back repulsed early now.

An unlikely morning, an idea used typically I think. Feel pressed against, kissing for pleasure I remember, vague and erotic. But my love trips, chicanery was already existent just the slightest. Feel trickery, I was very young; disappointment kissed me so strongly that I will forever achieve beneath. Disappointment is a good kisser. And I remain true to purpose; deception begins. Receive sex sad and lonely and artful to eat.

true I had fallen asleep

pretty little, 45 to 48

True I had the corner of the mouth, a resemblance adamant of the expensive. I feel between about my making nonmetrical. I think your flattered excitement looks like morning, and hymns I love most. And nausea beats, could be her. Sleep chants used about you in my little chest. Remind me uncomfortably, a song I say. Just kiss the corner of one another to oblige.

Poem around my mouth it disturbs, I opened my eyes in hymn, large and delicate so constantly around sleep. Praise ornately, with a white lace display of one another. My only thought is you and porcelain. Spontaneity make mentionings, a strange man in my canticle. Size from tiny confident, only just remembered that I was. Cantillate, chant large constantly for them. He tried to intone crystal truth that I’ve to mention him so. His arm around me capered; champagne could never be much. I declined with tired dance, flute crowding him even. A year he left in a lively, delicate display. Undoubtedly I heard playful plays softly, a dry sense I never think. The shower formal, old-fashioned which I like, but don’t look for.

When he came back, he was a person placed neatly in the high-pitched laughter on every street. I’m sure dressed tending to laps. Last night seeing him again, blue objections still bouncing in bed. An effect tucked in. I reeked of carapace; I’m getting boring, of course. Seeping from my protective lounge colorless ages and orifices. And flesh, decorative or disgusting, emerald eyes always matters.

Meet someone in a half shell, buxom, buxom… cute but asleep. After hour, I was light, automatic and ruby, nearly colorless. Up north to hear this, decorated hair, and pearlescent. in the negative weather so beautiful, desire supporting the skin. Minutes I knew to never stop time. Coffin of amethysts it wasn’t to see. Awkwardly distinguished she sang, and as usual I, beautiful in my still funeral, will slowly think had fallen asleep.

humor in the warm, of a church

pretty little, 41 to 44

Humor in the warm, continuously rejected. Cachexia after we met. Black frigid, I told him that I am. Medicine, I took you, I try to sleep in love weakness where I wouldn’t let you. Singing it in that I don’t want wasting. For loudly I am to kiss of the body, your cry for that. Due to tradition, I have to remain composed but am I? Severe typically before I enter, interested I feel and illness I remember. I turn as though I’m not going to be, ever been. Cachinnating, I knew the spinning unlikely.

Love before laughing always lights. Longer exist just once loudly to open the door, long hair and remember simply. You kiss me immoderately. For me, smoke tantalizing as he. After a single anywhere I’d love undeniable unknowns. Champagne, I got masted sailing awkward. To be in the gorgeousness abounding, another vessel used still same. Constantly a perfect grammar dropped.

The Mediterranean Sea manages to sleep with me. Indiscretion off at calumny. Let’s go, roasted lovable. I told him malicious, I’m starving off little. He insisted misrepresentation. Finally I become cat, that he would bell.

Stomps up the stairs, sway exactly slept. Sleep on especially, excessively. Stops within the arms of the couch and freestanding. Up from the couch to take a photo of us, his slender body. I can’t help but to see that I should sleep from the body, and kisses such in his bed of a church.

domain

easy magma bedroom. how does this appeal to you? do we fit right in, and how long until I receive a paycheck? questions.

meritorious

On a dreary subcontinent, watching postcards of later flipped through hands. I have the type of nails that one could look at once. Just my thumb, mostly, with its perfect arc of it. And the chopped bits dis-skincolored. I take a like to the crisp clip sound skin against calcium. Really lovely.

purple find me

pretty little, 33 to 40

Purple comments to which I replied domineering. I only had an instant, and purple like, I wouldn’t know avarice. Between the tap I’m on him, I adore you. He sat for wealth of the finger rubbing against his. She replied that I was the most interesting avoirdupois on the shoulder. His hands resting still, beautifully (before I interrupted), and bacchanalian. Turning around to greet unimpressed, walking through the door his response was characterized by you. And my ass, I guess. He bought me drunken revelry when I’m gently feeling. Wearing off now, and riotously. The backs of his upper thighs already, just as I had the outer. Defense with wide-open eyes. He barely lets felt how I’ll feel.

I showed him my city, looking serious a sigh, not a smile. Though I no longer speak, he made especially serious. For miles open-eyed. Uncomfortably speak to us, tower above shocked. Kissing unacceptably my drawbridge. I was and he looks beautiful now. This made me feel particular. So I was, in the up-close dark. Communicating uncomfortable, and at a southern meeting, too. I try my idea, I stopped being pleasant. Bedlam, it would actually happen.

To kiss all over, to have our presence, uproar. I went to his face, sex began and confusion. A big hotel with themed rooms. It doesn’t matter, there’s nothing because really she just wanted nervously. Recall, surround rooms for doing, happening here. I try, and I thought he might have said bemused things; for instance there was something: he’s perfect to scare. Puzzled, a room called out of him. But now I’m angry, the boy confused. Another pulls his penis satisfied and he then went on bewildered. One for free, probably to accuse me absent. Abstracted orgies, and a room, it’s ash-grey. I think he was clamming distrait, faraway, relaxing. Cotton restraint right. Being evil and preoccupied, that one had quotations around it and pushes my wish.

Macabre when I was bibulous marked. Everyone knew that all aside. As usual he’d remain only reacting. Given to the consumption of the rooms. Someone attempts to enter me completely; unsatisfied, his hand squeezing of alcoholic drink, readily absorbing for intercourse. I climbed an abrupt. Suppose my special thigh.

Fluids up the manner, I allow it for moments so. I wish I would, I told him so, and that I was assuming moisture: absorptive, round as if to say, at least he squoze my thigh. Assimilative staircase as he does, and I say sickens. It meant biddable couples walked up and down, and he, I hope he hasn’t tainted, that he’d like to. Obedient, past me, all women says he has perfection. I was amenable to the top, then he says the sky once more. Have sex with me, a statement compliant. Docile, behind a wall to wait tired as seems the habit of late. He didn’t deny or agree. He apologized, submissive. I was and he says he doesn’t care. White and perfect claiming. Supple, you remember, suppose air below.

Only meant it, the division I used to know. Of course ideal music in my presence. Something into two. So I went shocked and willing. Hot dry air fingers the truth. Branches, or parts relaxing. Spontaneously into his, nearly bloodied. Uninterested in consequence, radiation, two women had me. They and the official, and I’d like only to offshoot. In one room from either side I’m afraid I must speak with nonsense. Any I’ve seen, laying in between, looking never and to not talk.

This mattress on the floor, a window, another I accepted. A person and I sat at the sky, little, last. His apology, and a man who behaves around. A lot lighter and lighter as night I was handed. We left then, taking dishonorable for the seconds pass.

A pomegranate, a lovely blithe showing into events of the night. An apple couldn’t readily have made me casual. And then I as usual found and asked. How old he was, cheerful, naked. Consistently in role I replied, indifference considered and covering myself. The shower, now I’m devouring badly, callous. I told him as I dress life depends on lying convivial. He couldn’t, and while last night I was, he drunkenly began mirthful relaxing, and I attempt adorable.

When I went, vigor always tears fairly & perfect. I wanted to stay for my vivacity, actually pulling successful. In the night forever he aged me of style. Back and forth between us while I produce, nasty tongued. Smelled of sweet bromide still abruptly. Days ago turned sour, trite and cold. Down to the evening spilled unoriginal, broken hard and saying moving. Dancing typically, sighs, and I’m not nearly falling intended. Loudly I’m smoke and anxious about arriving. Ask me to soothe visibly, try to find me.

have an adverb, thoughtless

pretty little, 22 to 26


I wouldn’t have an adverb, specialized or mysterious like a miniature graveyard. I think I should try a second look to any adjective; there is no knowledge interrupting. New York, if passing unwittingly on the street, I am a guest. Language pulled over back east. Many pretty people shame information without saying a word.

I worked easily again. The average person walked across the street for a few months, fluently. And sometimes I’m sitting once again, resembling architecture. We walked in and simultaneously. I don’t know this little technique of holding our breaths. His intelligent nervous additions were messy; the scientific systematization of we, holding our breaths. Attractive imitations of leaving, contemplating whether knowledge were friends. Awkward or not, money that is owed scared him in the mood. Gun supported, we were scared and it was midnight. We both tend for tea. Ascetic, we held listening to share. I shall have to find another, characterized by hands and self.

Stemming from nowhere then, or perhaps suggesting. Walked up to one midnight, possibly his love. I’ll have to practice tiny in Tucson, squeezing triangulations for a bit while I boil of severe self-discipline. And a lime, do you think I shall. Abstention from all, they had a gin & tonic at a party, but asked in a charming way, perhaps of indulgence, was midnight deliberate? Last night I, typically the only one who knows a smoky house filled casual, comfortable, went to my reasons. We should be ready, sitting alone adorable and dark, brooding, austere, abstemious. I remember that, drinking a gin & tonic, confused because not sure if it was. Writing in her notebook, “…he’s ascetic. He once studied for the priesthood.” Did midnight, as honest as it was good, a sapling which is uprooted, have an abortion? Boise, charming as I remembered, is the right size accidentally.

Wearing white, deliberate, by the window. Walking over, the vintage casual girls in the Indian subcontinent where it hits midnight. Adorable brown hair that was cut monastic with a soft pfffat. I think I still loved every second, just the boys were unremarkable and religious. My mom had the most beautiful thing. Like when, watching the others asperity, an abortion is always intently around me. Rigor, severity, a roughness of his left arm. You must find renaissance still, alone. Unevenness gently over, when everything looks the same. Life, there wasn’t one, a tiny shoulder under a bland, overcast sky. Candlelight and orange could call up roughness of manner. I don’t remember bleakness. Not even head cast downward somewhere, and I most definitely wouldn’t be hugging temper, harshness. I was not positive, with fallow-sepia-fulvous colored eyes.

I wondered why he spoke again. Can you feel me. And he said then, I could, but this time with less asperity. Please stop talking, I’m in a beautiless world, and you want to talk, find me intriguing. The reputation, it’s really how it is for now. You want to talk about integrity, we can’t hear. I do look for and I was so tempted to get something, someone. Sorry symbolic gestures as my heart exclaims inside, and asphodel over here. The first dark morning, thoughtless, as it was.

trues

My feet are cold whilst I sit sipping creme de la earl grey. It's brown woven inside-shoes, and a dark redbrown drink in a tall jar. I use a cat to pour the milk, and from where I stay at table a dreary california kitchen, 1954, soaked all portlandy, and I wonder a clear mind shouldn't be far off. Nutbutters, cashmachines, and the sings of birds of an overcast morn.

twitch and turn

yell, hello through a sunset pink towards cloud. It, a foreground to a yell, a pale dust blue infinity. The yell a hello, the cloud a wisp wandering waywards, still (not at all), but temporary. (These eternities seem never temporary). With the words read before, thoughts before still (no never), just moving timewards. Like a moment of pink cloudwisp and a backdrop of sky. Spied before, bits just the same though this time all just to never be repeated. Once and once again. Once and against, this same old different infinite sky.

This time my view edged with pinetrees, like the pines are lash edges of my eyes. Like a screen around a vision. Like a little curtain underneath.

And the cat, all precious, and the weathervein, and my own veins pink blooded and my selfmade weather inside all edged coniferous. My coneforest looks out through twin eyes. Embolded and southbound western wed, sunset engaged and all matrimonious in twilight expectation.

oregon

I am a bit, a lot. I am often, and it an obvious lightsource. This is somewhere before never been, at least records of, nonexistent. In a lush green, in an overcast still lit somehow. I remember many things before, and februaries before this. Because all of this. A chirp, a subtle stare from a dog on the floor. The run of water makes the bird cry. Dressed blue in tiny feathers. Just the little bell tinkle too as it quakes cage encased.

A sweet heart next, bodies warm in proximity. A twelve green stairway, slopes and peelings from ages gone. Bygone, gone by, the scent of a strong tea in me, the feeling of many, a breath through the nostrils and in the throat the right of which is sour, sore. Pour a rightside hot down with liquid to burn & scrape making soft clean health around. Health abound. Many little rosemary fronds for my forward, I know it.

Not could never belovelost and lorn.

just now and true

And oh so real! It is foggy out but this reflects not on me. The tunings of guitars and I can form sentences to-day. To-morrow in the world to be out. Something like a cloud floats through the rooms, from the strummings of boy to boy. To see I sit and wait, and the breath comes in my lungs with occasional clarity, bouts of unnoticed breathings. Orange juegos but not in fruits but colores. Reminds of life in the pits of sic-beds. The water turned on morningtimes, whence a forward is looked to and I languish in a pretty near-end of the soft and subtlelest January yet.

Mediterranean stairs

pretty little, 27 to 29




Mediterranean sighs. The year, just you, and I considered momentarily in the reaches. Bedroom with me, and us being together, the prospect of family. It’s broken in half. In your underwear forever, I thought today, but then decided against it, knowing linear leaves him even. How my elongate clusters of white look like his arms draped interesting. Dislike me pink, broken over my hip and later.

Yellow flowers from upstairs, of my lifestyle. I drank greek poetry, and mythology calls masculinity with french, has the flowers of Hades. Dinner I wanted him to be, and new. Nothing to do, dead, still. Staring, relieved, actresses with india & sacred to Persephone. I hope you never die triangular. My lone french poetry, rest: I do, because to think further. To my good fortune, the daffodil rolled underneath me. I’d sink further.

I was approached by assuagement; with this I’d wonder even more. The kind of delicious and english intensity you remember. Think about that tantalizing possibility, thinning distress. Back to the second, impossibility cut shortly. Pacification with the tiny subject. To be with someone black-rimmed quiet and we had things like this, falling in love. For now a red appeasement and we were going to take fear for a future. We with a white relief still, still, for seconds, either be friends or out to be the reversal. Remember many, many interminable seconds, we will fall in love sensitive and mysterious. The strangest I’ll be. Nowhere with each other, emotional but relating around and unplanted. I won’t know where to look, for you and I. Hiding behind something ancient from the grass.

I ask for a general rule, rules and ancestral footsteps. You try, and should, oftentimes to make amends. A door opens and a few steps are taken, not to begone for that long. Be abode by me. It seems that people have territorial borders, from the top of the stairs.

pretty again, little again

pretty little, one


I remember now… Am not asleep and aching, aberrant, sit at a tiny table. A white fog sits rightly back and, departing from accepted standard, in a cramped apartment. Over all anxious seem; something amazing, deviant, abnormal. There are doilies everywhere, conifers in the backyard… Maybe now to listen: atypical, anomalous, over the television, from the ceiling fan.

Hill-less.

Without the sense of only four hours of red. Unpleasant brown cat is perched sometimes of sleep. France on a tiny situation, considerably; time left until awakening, sterile state delicately centered on yesterday. Clean bed, experienced an ornately crocheted doily. One of those, feeling it surely isn’t. Maximum homemade from pale blue days. Feeling like to die until I can find a way solemnly, turning pages, to be done for. Wondering softly, electricity. Wondering how belief about anything else ever. Today once more I’ll wake up, claim this voice that’s arisen. Grip on my doing & why.

In the morning annul sarcastically Important points: A grand way to meet those beautiful acidulous nonexistents.


Sleeping in any year, any day,
girls or women sharp-tasting or sour;
good to sound with someone
starts nice
I should say
pleasantly
In aqua remarks.

Even with the sounds around.

Then begins congested as
though the throat turned-up,
tone bitter, cutting
telephone rings
and the bedclothes beginning
to ache, orange-freckled and
bitter at caller.

Never is it pure
and shoulders

Typically
perfect beneficial, most simple…
tall of speech opportunity, just miss
(I don’t) a wide, skeletal
poem possibility.
treasured find
a body bag smile and a
danish accent.
Word and future.
sleep and soon, I’ll not know finally.
Puzzle shaking, annoyed
rye for a reason,
from Paris with the shaved composition in which possibility embraces
that there’s someone else.
Plenty inspirational.
Certain letters in each line might stir
something from within.

I miss someone. I wish eyebrows.
Form a word still looking when I’m sleeping.
reason could explain the latter,
or words at alone sometimes… this!
Oh, is my favorite, acuity. So there you have
but who, really. I just wish it could
(with uncertain English)
(and sharpness or keenness of thought),
this one example.

I want to be there
I know your name,
a shy sweet vision
on hearing.
Who is taken with me
because I read it,
from quality.

An enlarged mass of absurd.
I will and do fall.
a highly possible in love with urgent you,
layered, often obstructing
breathing, liking
to you. frequency paid
for one atop the other.
Through passages,

Ah but a memory.
(I am unafraid of french,)
It’s possible we could move in
together, being
characteristically pinched.
falling into that
particular abyss.
Flight as my dreams can,
in the features and the looks.

I am afraid that I’ll fall, matching true.
to make this seem
worth the while, in and not,
too beautiful a boy. Drowsily
I contemplate my own
quality, using words like Again & Again.

the little windows, little tables

The little blowing horn. I answered the phone and there was a voice I missed, I wrote down in letters some type and a word traveled over. Always travel led wrong. Always a misspelling, but misgivings. And the counting down gets drastic when shoveling.

A solemn horn blown, like a canada goose flown. An upwash, a downwash, a flight formed. A skein, a hair catching wind. To pretend you know so much is all tempts, the quick showers of delight flash over like a cloud gone by the sun.

brilliants

It's the next day, a next door and the clang from it. Us and we, we're separated just by a little space set up, and an unknown cry-out from who-knows, and how was it made, and strummed, and loved, and was it a lot.

O, your little face of different colors. Your little eyes of colored glasses made from suns, planets. The strange cries of pangs, the pains, the twangs of metal strings all differentshaped, blues & notes and sounds abound.

a quiet blanket around a quiet shoulders

Some if on an evening wait, and look up and to see in the surprise of a crystal solid darkness through an ice a star alit, about only millions if not trillions of miles from the eye. But through just such a dark quiet cold, wondering here, just further west for a body to live than ever, if such descriptions surprise, even... in a winter a wind expects me when I leave a house. On januaries it blows an ice arm over to clothesline a whip at me. I slap it until my hand is froze, thick with red, and slap sommore until it's thawed. a little chunk of wind warmed.

And so surprises saved for spring.

exits

14 January 2008

radical monotonous afternoon, & could Thinking just good so good to get so good infact self and I, casually enjoying. even exists. regrettable against attempting of positions… oftentimes classical just this moment.

she had her eyes over hid

As if to forgetten! A release at least. In slomotion movements, even the eye can't catch one, all of the above and before's movement like just rustlings, and all the silences, and all the short quiets familiar.

Smells of kitchen smells, like no wonders. Some dark eyes overshouldered. Eyes with coats with tiny sweaters, bear sting told types just berries picked earlier in dreamsummer. you remember

fortunately, placed

cat
cat cat
cat cat cat

cat cat cat cat cat cat
cat cat cat
cat

salad cats, making the salads
perma salad
perma cat
permablogs
making the storysat
storysat
making the piece one

o cry out, a suns!

Los suns multiples. The arrogant whitewash and the shadow trying for harsh. But a soft trickle through a tree. Outside there, and across, though the cars go by so to see it I still a park, a lot, and many too. The greens of the lawn and all the things to take with, the scent, the steady rush hush purr of sizzle stove things like onion to like and garlic to push into oil, make a stir up a sense.

Oily branches dipped to sky, little arms little ripples little brown wove to a softer antiquated blue. of a powder blue, of a sky not to become paired to! Nothing be compare. just the two the boths and the forever seconds twined like of brown thick. The park sits still, the windows still, the cat on fence, still, and through one opened up to me. To us appear, to us, a pair. To a rightly paired pairadice. A little us stand captivated, the chop of hunger smell through to deeply make smiles forth.

paint scrapes by

is it a blow of a leaf, side, a machine a little tiller up a lawn hill. A wet spray of the old much from under, the under-muck of leaves smashed to the wet temps a fine grind is made. In an adjective I relate an unsullied day, for a day like a day like a day I can tell. Air moving still, still as in water bits smaller than can we see them held silent in the airs around us. Not a wind to blow. only tube machine make a wind that so blows sidewalks clean. realized dust for water almost, hung in the airs. Walking through them a face becomes damp. Damp enough can't not even to be touched. Dry is soft awhile whilst wet is life.

a perfect spring song

and a little like it was. A shade of a tree, but not a shade on me! An invitation and I should shed things off. Something like the foot upon foot of white thick snow and the silence but for a crunch under boots. It all feels a little memory in me, hurting the heart stomach with pleasurebliss excitement. a dream real happening presence, now.

viper in, abundance

I is waterslides, you is equivalence. The terms I learned, the songs into which your mind sank. My hair and the captivating sunlight of your glance, your own little watergasps, trails & streams of and from, a rocky path gathered back from the side of the road & into a little round opened from a mouth of yours. The pretense burns and the little man on the wrapping player, lamplit, snowdry.

a burning sunset fill s the nostril s. Scampercat across fence. Pale amber tree silhouette, casual stop-time.

I and the slipnslides, you and the remember the backroad, to the place on the riverbank, one could crawl gasping into the clear freezing cold; naked best beneath a summer sun. ? Remember the beet of a taste charm? And the bright & its shadows!
Small beat, small salad. Little root of fuchsia. Just a colored remembrancer. And to think I thought thoughtless of spelling.

I cut from the branches of ancient jade two tiny limbs, one sick, one gifted, both gifted by & to and for proof, I claim

oh, around your face is the sunset on snow for all a dream effect.

a quiet hand-key, a quiet kitten

engagements:




Fine breaths, fine blows, and a chime a remind a soft whiskered nose. To-wards, one paw before the next, one tiniest footprint in a freeze of fluff, tufted ovals a paw makes and a tongue-wards to lick the cold from.

My own little ends of time meeting yours; we stop & gasp & think, is this how people do? have you ever met a friend a love a date enough? and then does time stop for them too?

aghast: I and we, I'll bring us up. Like never to think, to watch, to write, to work. We are simply do, and done, but always doing still. Yours & mine are like foreverwards exclaimed. We know not friend or dinner, but us in & in deep of friendship together and always in dinner. An awkward anything to us is foreign and for all the others. We'll only have the familiar, even the most perfect of news, of never has beens but feels like always & forever has. With us never a question to the other but a smile knowledge heart palpitate, palpitate, palpitate. You to my forever mind innerflesh. Your remarking tongue sews me open.

orange cream mimosas

Just a silent winter I let about. The pretty shrinking nights capsize by a snow bout, fluff about a dark wind shorn the night gown down. It is for all the languages we speak. For all the feathers shred. The dark underlined paths, and the red fallow splits in snow-breaks. Hellow, tingling caller. Tingle thing collar.

nice in bed
knives in bed

beaver moon

and we wonder to see it through the grey, tonight. The air is colder and the rain comes down as if in prophesy. And I'm going there in gulps/ \just accidents. The sky from a window view from sitting here crosslegged with the left falling into a deep sleep on the beige sheets of 500threadcount egyptian cotton one lighton, to the left illuminating otherwise just that window in me, the textured sky now because of rain like a fuzz on a screendoor, mini webs built by mini spiders, microscopic chasms filled all-ways with silken threads too small to see or touch or be swept by...... The creosote in the windowbars, tree leafless for Autumn and nearing to december closer everyday. A horn beeps just once below, cars splash the walks, I anticipate umbrellas, even those of a lepoardprint persuasion, and then in later dates of future the songs I will write sadly to sing whilst idly a keyboard is touched, and training my own throat and hair and instruments. Only the warm keys beneath the heels of hands and pads of fingertips. My water is full of waves like the messy ones, ones which capsize a floatboat at the laziest overestimated swash, swishing it over upsidedownwards just because of confusing spell, slepp slepp slepp.

ringlets dripped down of wind

& the hot spicy tastes lingering awhile down my throat. This morning was looking too good could be true, I saw through dizzy fogged eyes out a window and through a fan, the orangeyellow leaves fluffed out a bit now, not drooping sad in the view. The sky a perfect ocean wash; I could see the tides breaking from where I sat squinting. Like a to be hot day on the coast, but during that time of pre-heat, (though in truth I think proves perfect out, and oh such fall. Autumnal in all its obviousness. I will never close these parentheses. My hair has little knots at its ends. I let the fan blow no matter the temperament of day. I like the slow accordion sound. I like the spicy herbs, dandilion leaves. I like the cold ankles, the anticipatory shower, & poems written for you, & the little documentations of love, & the secret smile at corners of my mouth (in regard), And those trees everblowing more and more orange everyday! Like to change the seasons, already! And the full hunter's moon, tonight, which is why then I stopped to bleed, which is why I urge vocally in silence for you to return to me, this subtle soft sour I have for you, to glean in these bright fields, to roam among my fattened deer. & something about the excitement, feeling heartbroken when hearing a peice of music or reading something tantalizing, and falling in love & dying in the same moment at the fear awe of something so bewildering, so great; and this all of this is a bit like that but without the right words to describe. Every minute & then again every week-end. But my moon is bright and my deer are fat. And my arms stay open late.

active dreamscapes.

"Love is the mystery between two people, not the identity." This from The Magus. Same I think as the sentiment: love is the possibility identifying two such people, shrouded in its mystery.

meanderings

don't know why I'm listening to it... nostalgi. Leaves on the tree outside drooping, sad. New york cried yestersday, sits silent, emotionless now. Only I know there's a missing. My own spirit heavy. The heft aware of it I am and also that to work hard & up I'll have to. Just to not sorry myself away, oblivionwards. My little room scented still so thickly, my bed still sunk in the middle & sanded, crusts. The little articles laying about. Dropped & left in their places like to walk in the room he will @ any moment (just noticing the sand lizard & the sand turtle in an apparent 69, a yin and yang, clever boy), the musics, my unsmilingness can't help it. You are too worthy for let a haiku to belittle you.

youths

items, recent

a real air blown through, even I feel fall immanent.
cat on bed
hair familiarly oiled with an eastern spirit
,easy spirit
,naturalizer
blooded marias.
sunset parks
icedcream
bicycles (brakeless, reckless)
drunk tongue
remainders
reminders
girlfriend (not girl, friend or girl friend)
tall & bold
young not old
already been told
vacuum
money
laundrey
time
local gala apples
lorn.

it was awkward

wednesday

coyotes hooting, like a bunch of cans dropped or clanged.

I am scared

I am crying

I am stopped, I told myself to stop.

I don't know why I could react like 

as if a pain had happened.

When there's only excitement with in me.

Concern of immanence.

But just the immanence of disturbance.

We call that pessimism? right

(but I was never of such persuasion)

carelessness   -   

but o, too late for I've already given it gone.

I'm swept & left, wet on the boatbridge 

for storms' carrying away of me.

plants & animals

I found this beautiful thing ontop of the refrigerator. I consider myself lucky. The alternative would have been a squishy leathery bag containing the foul innards of a sweet potato, long since forgotten. Fortunately nature smiled upon me today, allowing a full life blossom splosion upon my needful little world. 

views from belows

And to think:

now, if they would have looked in through my kitchen window, would have seen me nude. as I now go nude through rooms, as it seems I'm alone finally in my big apartment. Save for the cat, and the coffee, and the epics (thoughts, musics). I allowed myself minutes here to do justthis: I will drink quickly a cup from coffee, and in the new sundress shrunk slight & ripped a new one. Makes it iffy for a button, a buttonhole no more more like a button tunnel. When I finish the coffee from the cup it's just a jar I have to find, one with a lid, and I'll fill it up with the brown black drink, and on the train to Russia. Floral print seems to me what a Russian would want to wear. 

A few words which spring to my fingers from a personal lexogram: about the feelings felt:

maudlin, mellifluous, mercurial, mucilaginous.

or, Love, times

sustain hers

Sustain able, to think of two hipbones now. Never speak to me again, I don’t know the pelvis,
I’m starved for all of us.

Don’t worry treating sexual matters decentless. You’re not even near the beginning. I’ll take care displaying your favorite meat, my hand gently on her face, the subject horse. I am here, an edible European plant. I see her in nature; she stifled a tear and put the daisy near the potted flowers. I am a weed with him, with a long root like little icicles.

And guess what
He fucked her slow and a parsnip is standing on one foot, still. Just the way she wanted it. Slow, stately with pink cheeks, holds true after they finished. A piece of music and lips and we possibly forever will.

She looked at the seven stars; we stand and smile. Can’t see him near, and she puts her face in sight. “Are you the north pole?” Close to sightless eyes because I don’t love like a serum. And we touch, I wander; I love thin, watery.

I put my chin in her, sort of experiencing everything. I love the distant stars, warm with the other senses. Why don’t constellations smell her? Though to have a baby with fixed stars, we kiss more particular than any other. They were silent, not cold and we’re not paying any attention. Show me lavender, softly. The sun, she rolls in styrofoam... She looked at him, considering, a position requiring little nothing keep from touching you. Various types looked into his eyes, rinsing. We can’t really stop… and examples of vague and meager depressions looked into hers.

oh, sea

Oh not to know, recalcitrant, surely to romanticize
a trust throwing blankets over an obstinate, until dead.
Belief in the baby.
I won’t regress from human intention, to want you,
to come here. Only to look forward at some next circumstances unforeseen. When anyone seen again. and every trust in his eyes. To get a person with such feelings once again. Looking straight at us,
out of this.

An attitude flame, (whether or not you knew) (this was your idea) renascence upwards. All for you know I’m not dormant. In true, he was captivated because I am a twist, reticent.

It will happen and one night, revealing there’s no way an awayance can be from anyone. seduced unintentionally into thoughts, a someone so happens in such away, feelings can't readily be believed.

Needs for anyone, and then then someone unpredictable, this is happening. Relating to need to be need to be. Hours later, so close a cry. A triangular bone is gone, there will be another pacific: she pulled back. You won’t really know the sea.

speaking in favorites

Dream parenthesis

the traits of an avocado: fleshy, plump, warm, thick, like a summer night with sunset, from a viewpoint higher than the valley below, slomotion, time stopping (in the process of stopping), breezeless

avocadant = having the traits of an avocado

barrette, comb, tombstone

charmed, & sure

outside my window just the day before yesterday there was the most beautiful sky & the breeze mostlike fall I've felt across me in months. On the stoop at the restaurant J asked, did you see yesterday? and we laughed, because sometimes really one can miss a day like that.

and yesterday, then, I thought to have a breakfast alone, a bikerides away with a sweet mixdisc arrived from the post. I rode slowly in my favorite pale dress. The one with the flowers use to vomit, but now they celebrate aged & quiet like antiques. Everything charms me to death, nearly.

scially inpt

So... cially in-ept. Is it an unfair charge against me? What happens if today, for example, I have yet to see another person (I know, I've seen the grocers and their shoppers, the families of six and the couples in bushwick with a guitar and a dog), and I like it, I know not their names, I doubt to recognize a one of them again, we spend nothing addressing one another. I'd like very much to exist solitary in this apartment. I shouldn't make commitments: this is when I am rightly accused as fickle. Acting on whims. My whims today have me dress to leave for a party, then call and send off an abstract apology, the receiver may be offended, or angry, or anything, so I'm off the phone full of guilt feeling, at why can't I just go despite it. Also I'm proud to want to stay inside my house, to not have to put on a farce of friendliness, to impress those I know already and don't care to cavort with on this night, those I see almost daily for jobs I don't do but to save up money to just move to the different Country. To not drink, to not stuff myself full with pork though delicious it might be. There are beets  in my future, and spelt berries, and carrot juice. Romance running me up and down like the uterus of hysteria. I like to just look out the window and listen to thunder. I'm sorry for using up one of your rsvp s. 

- mad projection of a fulfilled future

The summertime monsoonwind in an effort to blow down the outside my bedroom window tree. Those green fronds rattling visibly now: I've taken the fan from blocking it, turned it off, and so live in a quiet new york, just the papery rattle of leaves blown, and a subtle endless siren not so far away. The grey and the wet and the sirens closer now. A thunder struck, and I here, happy, wishing not in the slightest to move away from this little bedroom of mine, moistly breezed to perfection, drinking cold coffee from a little mexican cup and reading of course a lover's discourse. o kind oblivion.

head over heels / sunburst and snowblind

Happiness abounds. Here, on display, a few pertinents from CONJUNCTION #7. I can't commit to its entirety. Just some lines running through my head at this moment. Sent off some in a loveletter; realizing how good I am at loveletters, how unsullied they can be through all imperfects, past or present. How good I am, and how badly I incorporate my own real life. But, no matter, sentences are worth more than given justice.

I’m so cautiously wondering if it is

about to happen for a moment.

I’ve saved it for the bushes

somewhere. noticed it wonderful,

the verging of panic.

It’s snowing like the grass,

(forewarning) a moment, it’s gorgeous.

Thinking a soft moist mass isn’t an exaggeration.

I try to invite plants or flour

(and a brief pause)

because it’s snowing.

Then he heard a voice applied to the body.

it’s over and I know there’s no chance

in the deepest blue of relief.

Bite angrily into the darkest depths

of reality calling over.

Inflammation in despair at why even exists she.

Talk, did I think this would, and even if it did

(the exact color of sunlight foolishly),

He’d come south wearing a soft blue, tediously

interrupting in a car through the snow to be warm.

The same color of her.

Something suddenly with the likes of me.

She had high ecclesiastical sexlife; he’s got everything

else and he watched with fascination as she moved

toward prepuce.

That is supposed to fix the rest of the life? Up there

in the world already?

She was carrying a bunch of red and orange tulips.

This lonely, lonely, so amazing.

I am clutching his fold of skin, sex closer to his waist.

Surrounding the person to whom you’re attracted but

who means nothing save for one hand.

Clitoris is little romantic joy.

This ridiculous waste of a morning.

The collector of prepuces, she’s been with someone else.

Lies are good. She smiled magic tricks.

She didn’t seem recklessly extravagant.

Looks at the ground.

To explain yourself, I’m glad I caught you licentious.

My relationship lies are pertinent tonight, and we’d like

dissolution.

Vigorously do I know you a little bit more.

An inclination I don’t have…

sometimes these ideas linger, eyes sparkle like

that natural tendency to fall asleep awhile

before underwater emeralds.

In a particular way she doesn’t touch me again.

And then over to catching the sunlight, encouraging,

looking down quietly and childish.

Couldn’t stand there, excessive interest with great sadness.

I do not know for much longer.

Sexual matters I find, something else but I remember him tonight…

salacious, obsessed, concentrating on forcing a smile.

Licentious, she kisses me closely blood pumping lascivious

my mouth intently hot. She was lecherous and leaves, but then

I accidentally admire tulips to her chest,

lustful and quickly allowed.

Flames on concupiscent tears, night on the silken pink.

Trivial perfumes… a tangle of mindthorns.

But we can hear each other inside.

The discharging of love breathing around courage;

timid.

Aching in panic instant inside now.

A square with pain warm from it… tonight/ feeling,

I'd want not to.

Across the lawn from loss.

A circle in love with sleep.

Bounded by a curve.

feels not Mediocre.

the position of the moon happens to days and moments

and months effective.

Being in a state perfect elsewhere. I’m the only one

who feels the urge.

I’d want to keep it still inactive.

So I’m silent, reticent, judging for a reaction,

caught up in the romance of happy and alone.

Wanting to be impassive as always.

And the pursuit of unreachable goals with certainty.

I know obsession, foolishly impractical happy.

A year or more goes by

I’m not obsessed with the pursuit of ideals, looking

at other things.

If I was obsessed capricious,

the philosophers I love

would have impulsive suicides.

I don’t celebrate quiet

Unpredictable is left for today when his eyes, in which

words and his closeness and hands are represented,

flood love.

All that, all over, combinations of pictures I don’t want.

I don’t care if he was, for instance, to suck me dry.

Care about eyes represented by a picture.

So I can suck it dry, for him. If he cares, I know.

A person to whose name it punningly alludes,

suck someone else dry.

a person with parasites (I could).

I was never so revealing.

Anything to say…

I have a strong memory.

I think treating sexual, killing time.

Living in regret and distaste,

willing to give indecent.

A chance display      you in a bed becoming enraptured

Gasp the life out of everything.

He put his arms around enjoyment of the subject,

and you remember sex

and you remember regret.

The red glow of the slow.

Stately, enraptured by an amazing display touched.

Such a dance, and you find yourself logically.

Screamed worldly things

and imagining it’s nothing in those things which are

not regarded as the moon,

and the grass means nothing.

You will be on her side; sacred could

have never meant less.

Such a drastic change of the temporal.

Let’s not try to transcend.

(Out of respect

to the distant temporalities.)

dream, Monday morning

I strolled along a boardwalk, with the cat Mexico inside a mall.

A person, nondescript couldn't determine sex, passed walking two animals on leashes: identical fox creatures somehow. Orange bodied, white faced and chested, but with brightpink wings folded at their sides. One was tiny, smaller than a squirrel while the other was large and stalky, like a boar. I stopped to admire such fine creatures. Mexico was a dog really, and jumped around sniffing the fox squirrel. 

How much joy there is!

green car green cat green box

lean-to

It is too soon for one, not soon enough for others. I have a fresh tongue on me, like fresh tongue on leaf. Still a freckle of a beat of a brush against a soft facepart. Still white hairs across my cheeks whispered by a steady hand. Still, I hold in the air. Though a handless air brushes me by, a breezeless breeze floats around, a still remembrance throbs delicately (like a spider heart a beat), nada movement, not a gesture physical.

for #5

prophesies turned true

pictures, car rides desperate,

questioning a bath

for #2

beginnings, firsts or

necessaries, changes up

to nevers again

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

mwyn, or melodious

morllyn, or lagoon

moment, or moment

monllyd, or sulky

môr, or sea

mynydd, or mountain

atgof is memory

.............................................

diffeithwch is a desert

dysgu ar y cof

1

 Insisting on living is obviously different 

from stewing or rotting away in a 

pathetic little brain. 

It is a sentence wanting to change, I wanted to at least, but an attachment I don't know why I have it so committed to memory, I think I had to write it here a dozen times to finally delete it from the proportionless epic still creating itself. 

Kill the babes.

could have been some vocabula affected me

In an example of ample defenestration, I watched aflutter down my little wills and ways. 

If I could have, I want to

Events of a week: evenings, everflowing aways 

my tempered little heartsac. 

Standing, platformed at hours between earlymorning & latenight, darkhair in a face which I wouldn't let wipe away. I body and limbs, hot face parts, mouths. 

Sweat-ed.

"on labels"

I wish to say that I, unlike a computer, or a computer-speaking-language, cannot create such things of beauty as labels, searchable labels that can be alphabetized labels, oh.

Thanks for them, because my life is a better thing now that I can list words like in such ways. Fuck me with ideas a little less, and maybe I'd become pregnant with productions! 

ah

for the ones I didn't forget them

& never will! Luckily I've tightened myself into a spot here, so no matter what happens I can't forget all the everythings. I've ever done, and in particular the everyones. Is to say I kept a record of every second of my life (in offs, and ons of course, for whoever is truly there always & all at once??) So celebrate yourselves. Prettily I try to justify you. 

for #17

perfect examples

coincidence left obsessed,

kiss abyss wanton.

for #10

scent of wind behind

your woolen collar whispered

ignominies in me

for #21

past tenses   again,

fortunately remembered

left to sit dumbly

I can't, for the life of me, contain such elements as are throttling around rasping for grips of air and wanting solace in their solitary existences- all within my little tunnelroom of a brain, so how can I placate them? Am I expected to. I don't even want to know the answer to this question!

words I hate:

silly

belly

grownup

bum

keeping up

for #27

mouth like a comma.

possibilities wet (not whet),

washed in whatevers

for #26

ecstatic splosions

abound, unwound tenacious;

fearless in the throes.

I am abandoning thought to drift into the present. I even will refuse my own fun, for my own fun tends at times to drive me away. 

If I was made of it, I'd impress endlessly my own self. 

And just so common

7 June, 1:11 pm

beach house method: 6 7 1 7 6

And just to admit now

that days have been, and not to

remain

throbbing visibly from the

spying. Reminiscing

not am I of his trembling

tempers;

his salt no longer crusts

my lashes. Wearily

(now am I the nervousest,

and

said it isn't mist, it's dust,

and awareness of my

satisfyings, sitting soft

in

knowing forever that I

swim regardless of him.)

(he, an unmentionable

different.)

(he with his name of only

four consonants. Counting not

that one particular

elusive.

A letter for sometimes or

always... The sane, the sane,

the same.)

Hot,

in temperatures, hot not

in heat. Tempered to a

tepid temperance, and the

somehowance

of a superior quiet

around me, if it could

be called it. Because of being

spied,

and maybe the other &

I (,that four-consonanted

fellow & I) could birth one

another

without the shadows; that I'd

like twilight, because with

with with the danish I wasnot

lacking

in twilights or craving for

them, not in he or the

other fellow, the bread-fellow,

he

and his vowels, or anyone

else in worlds/ so it is

happenable; who could care

about

mist anymore anyway,

and who could care to skip

a spying with anyone

on

such a pretty earth; all

the prettiest types and

their prettiest tastes, such differents

when

good, so good, so common.

I wind

6 June

ariel pink's haunted grafitti

I like almost all the world's things. Liking a cool dark, bottomless wish cupping away that it could come by so I would have not but to swallow it down, serviced & de uglified.

I, hearing music having watched long hair, grow through the air, limbs brushing against the wind.

inland seas and others of my favorite things

5 June

I this morning spied the 

twitch out of him, with 

few

ings different in soft & quivering tempers.

He spied me and I spied him. He

lost himself away, 

a 

tergo, and spoke beneath a breath       spy me, spy me, 

spy me,    It was snow; still 

must be peppered     I 

will 

admit

growth in foggy abundances

Nearly torn. Tearly morn, blurry turn. 

turning blur method: 6  5  1  12

5 June

I this morning spied the twitch out of him, literally, with fewings of fingers different in soft & quivering tempers. He spied me and I spied him. He lost himself away, a tergo, and spoke beneath a breath         

spy me,      spy me,      spy me,                                                                   It was snow; still must be peppered

I will admit, I might have idead different intos. 

ospe & llewmlyn  (called llew)

came too, (and after the other characters were introduced (vidag & vadid, then culias as stood shimmering behind a bar); all the faces familiar and good to see, and pretty sure a kiss was quick on the mouth as I was gone only leaving a vermillion collegiate logged up to hop cab with 

a pretty familiar, a different familiar prettily clad, a friend to the house expressly asked for...

A presence, apparently. On the telephone with women, fires to look at. Sun to see up close. 

I died

I almost died by ambulance this time, tonight it was speeding through with only lights and engine sound to warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was I, to life everlasting. Disasters distracting as shapes from outwards of nowhere. Delicious departures from certain snowy landscapes (of a mind). Still fawning, breathless. Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed, envelopes of dramatic dream memory sway, each little disaster eclipsing in on itself. It would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, inside but not to mention a full moon to end all moons full. I am so incipient, excited for my day of birth. I will see the 24th year. In all manner of ellipses. Breaths of doom lush ever ending nervesway.

˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚

---

I almost

Died by ambulance,

It was speeding

Engine sound

Day of birth

I,

Disasters

In on,

Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed,

Delicious

It

Distracting ash shapes from outwards of nowhere.

Inside

Envelopes of

Departures from certain snowy.

I,

Dramatic...

I am so excited for my

Each

Dream memory sway,

Inside

Disaster

In all manner of

Eclipsing

Doom brush never

---

To, was with only from the landscapes (of a mind). Little lights and warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was to life everlasting. Ellipses. Breaths of to mention a full moon

would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, not to end all moons full. The 24th year will see ending nervesway.