The Kisses
He
doesn’t like small talk
but
what is life but small talk
and
out of small talk
great
things come.
2
He
was a boy despair hid from.
He
wasted himself on a zero amount of food.
This
will sigh of freedom on the soup.
I
don't appreciate, you, for example.
But
these commodities, they are suitable
as
the velvet streaks out of hand
you
clearly are made from images and not believing them.
In
them was a clear parcel—
the
usual complex business without attitude
and
candy bars I didn’t care if you ate.
I
was comparing them to Ed who killed himself.
He
had a lot of Irish prepared.
The
horn honks my name.
A
diet in time is a cook forever.
Is
it serious backing into
or
just a mainstream conservative
that
tramples the discourse on the river bank to bank to bank?
He
is fuller than open in the night.
The
light dial spins.
No
reason to be jealous.
This
was a day you might remember for the weather.
In
Vermont they just let it rain.
In
Germany during the winter they count sheep.
Elephants
inhabit this Germany.
Elephants
personify cartoon bubbles.
He
got sick of having nothing to eat
and
that was when he got this sonnet to do
and
sliced it.
With
humble heart and glad face
tell
me what Baba says about suicide.
For
certainly I have naught to do in this matter.
Destroying
myself is a detachable subject
that
night when a person is leaving.
Something
stayed around for a while which was the text.
I
am driven by passionate insight into the brevity of
all human things.
One,
a professional musician, overshadows
everything upon waking.
I
take Algebra and drop—society-at-large
fixes me.
I
get self-conscious with all my good and bad
ramifications—
My
hopes are far away and that's fantastic.
Experiments are not to hide
behind. I might be hiding
something good that’s
fantastic.
Slow
steps gradually move me back.
The
floor of the subway car is wood. The whole town
goes to speed-listening class.
One
cardboard ramification does not go up swinging
but determined and digging.
An
experiment is an accomplishment—since there is no
progress it has to be.
Now
what about an idea as an experiment? The book bounced
up to the ceiling.
Articulation
is an experiment in a world of values. Casper
cares only what people think.
Life
is the true experiment, the ghost looks up at me like
a kitchen sink…
a bed of earrings, a glove.
Not
being a professional musician it’s just so pretty to me.
The Day the Mets Stood Still
You've
heard about the broken book....
It's
mostly feeling.
“Feeling,”
says Pete,
“is
the eye of the needle
through
which any given
sense
might pierce
through
what momentarily
finds
itself on the river surface
bringing
it over the top, a little bit
bothered
by the noise the capacity filled
river
mails in. That Dick Van Dyke workplace
format
replaces any up-close and personal
under-the-bottom stuff.
Other
people are no longer this slightly
amorphic
myth. You play
one
more game than us but
we
start out together
before
passing through each other’s
horizon
with enough money to trigger each other’s analysis.
Our
beauty is the death of convention in its Marriott.
You
needn't spend another night on that old mattress.
2
Stripping
is a home run of so-called nature. For Emerson, nature’s
staticy
feedback of grounded moral sentiments we initially ascribe to.
Nature,
in other words, reverses our images to shake their memoirs loose.
We
might be due cash compensation and nothing after all, except for the tie,
is
really broken. It goes without saying, too,
that
I am a non-hierarchical trace hardly saying this. Who would?
3
The
can hits the floor,
a
joke, not to be taken seriously.
I
watch an explosion from a ferry but can't
see
a thing in the West River that night
except
for the low level pyrotechnics and innovative refractions,
which are really enough.
4
There
are a lot of things outside of baseball that go into your eyes—
my
resiliency in you is almost like a playoff
but
in a good way and wireless. How is your
signal?
Is it still funny? Okay, I’m listening now….
5
The
game was on the line in those days.
They
were difficult decisions that Abe
Beame,
that fucking hippy, had to make.
If
it wasn't one problem it was a million of them.
The
whole idea was that there was this firmament
from
which every discrete thing escapes
with
a string and cherry on it, as in fact it all has
seeped,
taking the firmament along with it and meeting up again
in
each other’s clothes near Andy’s place in Pittsburgh.
It goes without saying too that if, because
of this,
we
don't have our hands on the means of production, we need to conjure
somewhere
we do. And thank God for the Sparta-Athens-Persia reverse
spin
cycle. Is happiness surrender to happiness or other way around?
Well,
of course the two go hand in hand but
more
to the point, what am I to you and who are we to happiness
and
our bed to the pathos standing on it? Only the sun and the moon,
....Everything
comes out a nervous laugh...
the
space between us the funniest money I've ever seen.
We’re
in a snag but okay,
I
didn't do anything wrong.
Any thing that seems
wrong
is on the roof
where
you still can change it
before
the fact. “Fine, how far should
I
follow the tracings on this one?” You're
such
a
total genius it really doesn't matter.
You
play almost any song any time.
We're
happy just to listen—your music
an
example to live by.
FDR’s FDR, Jefferson, and the Bigger
Than Watergate Operations Against Them
Similar operations go the route
when we need money we put
ourselves through
the change
into a lifetime of stream-
lined living.
They had only one machine
to take care of
themselves,
in the house across the street
similar operations go the route
into a lifetime of stream-
lined living
I was one of your
regular customers
You knew me by my
feed
the strangest sense of
which came
afterwards
as a copy of a copy
into a lifetime of stream-
lined living
He stuck his foot out
As a big job was done
for his customer
similar operations go
the route.
Paying to play the part of a minimal
copy job for a
master charge
unstamped, unwept
similar operations go the route
into a lifetime of stream-
lined living.
Peg
Moses
enjoys
Peggy
Cyphers’
animal
acrylics,
getting
so lost in them
he
sees all he’s not
stir
Peggy’s garden
and
shade Monument Valley
with
several balancing foci.
A
void fades out of Peg’s brush.
My
name hides from me
on
a hike with several
Hudson
River paintings tagging along.
Father
knows best all over them
on
a ledge near the public library reading room.
The
innings in Cyphers’ painting
make
a circle and fire.
A
first pitch says
you’re
alive.
