Alfred Brendel: Truth is we’re feathery.

Shorthand abstractions

like these unforgettable elements to touching and holding the moment,
surrounding it with illusions of taking off for the unknown, spinning or spun,
upset, out of control yet

that’s how we fasten the starry messenger to move around objects.
Jay stayed and worked with the new ones coming in,
who were all “Could you be a little more specific, doctor?”

(If you or I put off how ambivalent Jay is we’d miss the point.

Otherwise, I give credits for stupid generalizations as
I wouldn't know how to come down on these vital issues.)

Jay stayed and worked no further.
There’s something to mining homilies and off-color
copy, imitating, replicating for the evening drive.

We’ve now passed the second-cousin stage of wretchedness. You’re good
to take it up with the authorities before severing the vines.


Make my mind avoid our bohemia.
Recover the masterpiece for fun and rusticity.
Destroy and smooth nothing.
Imitate killing seeing
the system in theory.

Automata control is disingenuous.
Rain is fading under a glazed bough, or something
Like stars on snow on top of sleet
Adjusting to bright, vermilion bushes of mist.
What a pain...
Tow trucks!

Even seagulls catch a few sparks
Because the sun is thumping now, and pond birches sear,
Gathering momementum in shade,
A walkathon for frogs to paddle from side to side
Toward the splashes.

Or have they a surname?
G forces gathering momentum in shade
Midnight dining, rambling
like deer in bed, shiny
in smoke, how
Without jitters will vacillates
anytime in passive groans
uttered to affirm fajita in snatches —
opera and shush..

No, she didn’t. She’s indelibly here. She didn’t help but she did.
Cupid’s id? It’s a violent, smoking culture so we need straight talk.

It’s a gay culture so we need what we’ve been doing
for years delighting overseas.
Head-on war is a mistake (Diane di Prima).

We always won, until Vietnam, fair and square, violent.

Cupid’s appeal? Direct appeal even if it’s imagined stark
for mobile tastes. Here, that’s speaking practically.
There’s change with movement in many overlaps.
For a second the short answer is cohorts
you can scream open and enjoy.
I don’t know. Yes. Details collect. It’s a mad softness where
we’re going over one part, step after Santa Claus step
as mating instruction and human rights,
the amp and pan point overdue in time.
Max Planck fellows run off with radical research incentives for a frontier in unboundedness.
Disorganization in a small package, tethered particle immolation, the free speech of boson disappearances.

With little or no motive, the sky foregrounds all their styles, taking them all in.


Mr Peanut twisted once again to look up. I hadn’t expected it. On the other hand, what choice did he have? There’s a term in telephony, ‘room tone,’ ordinary silence. My heart stopped altogether as I held my breath, then he answered.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh, em…”

“No. It’s not.”

“I would.”

“Well I —”

“You know what..”


“Yeah, I think —”

What I heard while we both waited was room tone. The next five or six seconds would matter. In an hour he would walk us both down to clear our heads. He waited a moment more, then he said, “I’ve just noticed I haven’t said anything.”
A life schtick is a super concept.
And today’s laughter protocols could not be ‘more serious.’
It’s been remarkable to gauge how sneering, vaporous, obtruding personalities —
A loose term — proceed unamusingly
Or even uncivilly in opening salvos. Seems a rehearsed practice, perhaps.
By salvo — the first three or four minutes of monotone in talk, in writing.
You can’t have that yonder.
Like nowhere else in one place,
A luscious, noiseless bonding in the era or epoch of the perpetually alterable

— a smack of gasses embosses an invisible roll call gathering around neighbors’ brays.

All my neighbors are mirror bees. Music off vapor. Am I not one?

Scruples? It’s to our advantage being excommunicated
as we’re British; it’s not our nature to boast. Fortunately, we don’t have to.

We’re British.
Then King James proved Cistercians saw an arrow has feathers, flying as it works the crowd.

Later something came up. The fuzz of taking on a set matter ..

Each something raising uncomfortable indeterminacy.
It’s not brave to second-guess another’s choice of flattering blurbs, except with unambiguously forced run-ons and at least one stylistic snag. I like these pieces. — Emily Dickinson


Andante: “I promise we won’t bean you with a bag of nickels.” Waiter,

there are figments in my soup. The quartet’s on a mission; higher

 up, the wait staff’s part doodle/part association we can avoid.

The quartet’s a hoist to operate spores by hand,

stacking musical thought like refractions of gaseous tubes that meet

 over lit magnets & their disentanglements ...
The one state is jaw dropping, turning away from independent public scrutiny.
The argument, from a Darwinian datum, eye contact reinforces civility that lowers game energy controlling the sciences.
Today’s game harnesses breathless slurs to insert alterations within argument’s force and structure, redoubled in silence.

Argument is a figure of speech, already shrunk to pellets against heavier armor just before the death of death.
I confess,
game was called, rain spat.

Progress opening the whole book into darkness
w/ stains, residue.. not now, what, never?
— I sat on the wall about to be torn down.
Arvo Pärt on Art Farmer,

Obsessions flattened into praxis

— tho it’s instinctive to watch who’s singing,
few points to jump off.. unless I break the law.

Just synecdoche / leaving no sharing to chance
/ sulking colors
The small of her back —
Yoga is popular everywhere like in bed. Biting existentialism comes to mind, in fancy pants.


If every frontal-ist were interrupted, we’d never get back.

This is a transparency first to seeing speech as transparent. (‘This’

“is” a great uncle of frontal oportunism.) When you’re young
nepotism is rampant in meaning maybe.
Maybe not as opaque.
Ok. I hear voices in the kitchen. My thoughts freeze in total makeover

as this recedes — putting it mockingly — heading back w/ nothing.
Eden. It’s drizzling in one panel.
I’m a folk musician perusing low interest loans. I talk thus in a low register. To effect a good commission my face sports two layers of sleep relief.

In one direction the focus is lost. I grow accustomed, so to speak.
In the other I’ll let the snakes speak with English subtitles.
Assembly required.

A ruse can be your generic object that looks transparent, emerging as sleep.
So you’re still in danger within the same maize corridors
— How do bricks
hang through the duration? (How is the easy-hard part.)
Ruses write themselves.

Belle! The steam fitters system is not brilliant.
The best go up front.
The back office is an eyesore, half the hurt.

That said, show’s over. You go ahead.

Systems execs set the controls, blast the volume up
to drones like butterflies w/ rabbit ears..
overviews regarded in their wholeness, contours
beeped forward w/ news that smarts enough.
A cubist staring in the mirror — back to her tapestry, a big girl with a pineal gland attending what’s neat in the future, and she finds me attractive!


Dennis the Menace grew up. I prospered, no guilt.
And it’s a bigger kitchen now.

There’s a stranger pulling apart shmooshing an escape hatch.
Clouds are in slacks by the fridge.
The comment box in which we’re about to speak is crowded without words.
The machine I never saw before flunked me —
A glimmer of its prolific aroma

calms me down. There’s a piece of karate with top notes to erase and something else fantastic, piquant, active against the grain. Your touch reaches a point when time management is unleashed.

But I’m just commenting.
A poem is a picture. Have a Shrek glass of water after sunset as Blossom’s arfs define bird properties degrading, shaken to a brink ..oops..
It’s a picture like hydrangea in labor (staging nightmares)
..in this one I’m emotionally shot with depth as a thespian-rapper rounding off contrasting demands of flimsy seriality and sequence. We never meet on a Ferris wheel.
This is a fugue

talk talk future talk
..I’m spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.
You may have noticed we’re on the side of open doors

abhorring a vacuum when it doesn’t matter,
vibrato and sunlight close their distance. Notice they
never saw it coming, old and new senses strung out on sectionals,
an untapped socialism of oblique pup scents and puckish

flair. Someday all this will be yours. Acres and blocks
that lean socialist purring with snappy dialog, steeped in
a plaited glow living to under-simulate amounts enclosed

..spry in my motives, underhanded
getting back to catch the slapdash in how it works.
Sleeping with you, I’m blackmailed looking for mnemonics to store in a palindrome.
In order to pass thru there’ll be at least a few minutes of interesting, then more of inter-interesting.


You may have noticed I’ve been planning in my head,
flashing a badge. Home is a test pattern across an all-species
life span — everybody under anesthetics for a mo, lunar waxing
credited to lexical whipsaw. A foot of sleet
through the window, the surf comes to mind in
reverse as if a long eyebrow, roughened

over & oh, hold it, we did this already —
this is not a test I’ve been holding out to you
for you
Your advantage expires, Floppy Bear.

The performance is renamed The Chad Deity.
Blood lust around the frozen came on remotely like a fireplace.
There’s less to gay literature now. Sixty thousand fewer jobs. Young arrivals to the city will be wandering into the new wrong play.
It’s tragic but we were in camp with surrogates.
At the time we called it puppy love.

I unbuttoned my supplies and began to think of golf.
Nixon loved China, I recall, followed by the dead end of history.
The descent to choral music stipulates a view.

Parts on the golf course look back facing the street, partly passing it... a science fiction flushed hollow years ago, bit parts looking on outside it and still walking through adhering to nothing, just passing, dead and dreaming but also taking root ornamenting impurities of the electorate.
Massively cool but no gracias. This is tomorrow.

Rescinding our directive, we constitute the Non-
Group taking part in I-hate-new-calculus speech acts ..

We win door prizes in the periphery
if we let politicians get wild

losing the meaning moving sands and forgetting about it —
Tasting shale, we met some firepower to prevent further questions.
Lilac is a favorite zest. Then it plummets into difficulty. Here we are, talking about it.


A song just so you know
we dislike a crackdown that fabricates otherwise normal project managers on the roof, smug in outfits and at the top of their game, which seems synchronized, written over from scratch.

Whilst you and I are born to achieve a breather,

on the third gulp you really had us and were all over us. You didn't have to what the aitch? We told you we agreed a little but not a lot. I forget now you need to repeat how you sound.
Sensory predicates are pointless but you really care.

The prospect ices.

All the lapses are angly in winter, no lie.
One thing is the climate’s performance yesterday and the morning before that. After you wash off, you understand when to pause and leave it there in the reeds.
Right Wing Tomboy — a date movie with Milo peopled by self-helper types, a few cavities. Switching phones, I look up to the crazy intern waiting to take me out.
Silence is oversexed-enormous but I practice it.

I’m sick of nice things.

Not running, walking rapidly, I cross the hall, the long one with the heat transfer ....

... come out the complex, take the duck walk ....
...go through a dedicated lot ....
... and into Q7 in one STEADICAM SHOT.
I’m a dental monitor, not a dentist.
Perfect color is an egg-hatching moment, kairos, and from there you can move forward back to detect undertones that encompass your naïve expertise.

Yours and mine.
There are no nasty hues in their nesting place. There’s a flywheel effect turning conversation over to science and greed. A private-public wholesaling of prototypes that mess up the visual cortex — pasted-in blind spots crammed with luxuries that bind. The flip side — tooth and nail radiance powers of color broker for enduring benefits.
Define sex come of age, pleasure long-
stood. Helium released. Populations drenched.
A circus repatriated.


The plan is set in stone, according to Hoyle.

End. Wa? a lip-synched koan?
To continue there’ll be at least a minute of morsels to review.
No outlines? There’s an overload.
You can put it away, our brainchild had shown
Overloading is forgivable only in sleep. Even more so without a bed.
That’s how dogma wins.
I threw together more self portraits today.
Some have kind eyeholes,
a measure of gamblers’ intelligence, along w/ their eyes
of course, pieces of the tea puzzle

in the background — and to sweeten the brew (attention)
young bodies keep moving bets on everything.
the milk rallies across the Atlantic, abundant, compulsive, redemptive and busy with slivers of disruption, some rousing start to en plein beauty.
It’s a trap, why were we going?
It’s easier to French-kiss over Europe, more natural to pose
— here we repeatedly set it up — a painting in asterisks.
A Kremlin of lips. A Cyrillic vowel.

A Workers’ harmony. A song might leak

out when silence is the acoustic remedy,

but how can we escape by foot an occupation of wings?

— Anne Boyer, 2008
Then it’s said repetitive motion has gone too far
and some at all levels got enclosed, not spoken of,
climbing into casual spectacle, ritually putting
our lives together & keeping nothing.
[Trained] S[s]taff encourages sampling
sharpened by a moral duty.

That was the life of the party speaking. Highly attentive,
morally camouflaged. Way
none of the above.
So you get it now about dualism, you make 4 walls the rendezvous, hang a roof, lounge in queue for the motorcade. The ride will be a brief —


Stanzas are replicas for what’s

On the island of afternoon aliens.

A colonel-general. What a night. No problem

Erasing the narrative and

The ordinary structure and storied specs

That were. 

Waking up, hay-feverish, stuffed-up nothing seen

Standing far off across
 your just dreaming it up.
Wha.. sorry. I was wondering if you’d care to show us around..

Last night or the last few nights taking the wrong bus.
Dropped off in a maze.
No, no food use. That’s a warning.

‘Normal’ locals with misleading directions for the way out.

A rooming house. Inside, every room named canonically after a poetics. Defence of Ryme, Habits of Empire, Preface to Sordello, Being and Event, Thick in the Field, Prepositions, Camera Lucida ... the kitchen Untitled.
To wield a conceptual brush is to terrorize, even if your motivating injunctions steer clear of violence or unregulated emotion. Terror here is poetry’s swift, certain, nontrivial insertion through a hole and/or through self-negation in certitude and flatulent controversy, such as with Basho’s disproving human sound unable to transform animal to mineral, or with Duchamp’s counter-ploy to the rule, men’s room accoutrements are never foreground. 

Controversy, like injunction, comes to us commonly or frequently as back-formation, a provisional ethos after the conceptual stroke. We were constrained by the profound assumption, for example, that a play requires the tone and stage be set in more than five words. We were tacitly sure of this, marginalized more from different affects until we read Beckett’s new direction: A country road. A tree.

We’re in charge, we’ll stay here. And while anyone can stumble and a few of us slip into reduced circumstances, the failure to consummate a redeeming relationship is no problem. Repeat deferment is strategic, and there’s a sequel. We keep the sweetest for now, that is, we’ll keep the best of what life offers, the youngest males and females, unperched, close to our pulse, and poke them tenderly like endangered kittens. And — sure — there’s still an itch — we can’t sublimate — needing cougar flesh, dog fluids, and more infusions of cash. Savings, inheritance and loans that paid for all this look more ghoulish under the froth of rulership, the new austerity in mirrors.
Nobody’s a bystander.
Ice is a mineral, undead in the water. There is no guarantee, however.
Plan and organize.