this left over disruption thing
we want the freedom
to be disassembled
freedom to connotations
of the nearly possible
being intoned
in the contours of contours
we want 1 of any
108 times
16 hundred attentions to detail
either does or does not originate
on account of absent
or not
concerning the concerning
set forth
after too many objects
after too many objections
we want
a combination of
the impossible
dreaming substance
moving in fire
because it's a condition
in a substance
moving in fire
liquid human like
senescing the senses
recording undulations
becoming an apprentice
with perfect teeth
the rest is someplace
looking for a sunrise
able to rain down
hills and streams
inside the flesh
inside the wind
held in a dream
obedience: 10-14
gratefully though
my flashlight fails
couldn't see the forecast protagonist
but what do I know
I prefer honeycomb stupors
to strips of fried meat
euphoric gloom to lumpy clouds
yet, there's talk of occasional margins
and talk of marginal occasions
and talk of spirituality and ketchup
there is there and
there are rocks
tumbling down, tumbling down
nothing in the way
but buttresses of wasted affection
that lay in a lie
that fall apart
comes and goes
along a gendered circle of knowledge
broken before
being baptized too many times
what else
there's choice consumers in disdain
old films for reusable ethos
and I am told, there are no stupid questions
just
damaged history
bodies in motion
and featureless chairs everywhere
to flatter stability
really-
it's an uncareful world
wedged on the viaduct of proper conduct
between plastic silhouettes
and boat people in body suits
sometimes there's a name for that
but it changes, depending on the country
and proper name
given by the institute that names names
names the damned
that comes through the air we breathe
floating in an ocean - like a ocean
like a gross national product
growing in ambiguity
part stubborn wrench, part blotched appliance
history's chain gang
a side serving
in the pleasure garden of shame
fading to mass metal detectors
and inert failure
so, we miss the background
gets misplaced in a crest of delicious printed circuits
with integrated granules
dotted with pigment
we talk, we feel, we walk
this is special
a species disappears
we live in a spectrum of hatred
lost in slipped milk metaphors
it's everything again
somewhere flames are bracketed
in a moral richter scale
the congenital divide
becomes lavender starlight star-bright
with a limited number of prints
a beloved reminder
making murder
making boredom
marketing to a choking passing fancy
like they say
the other way is no way
so, someone orders a continuum
everyone longs for a contingency
plans fixate on glowing dreams of moraless utopias
quick enough for pyrotechnic feelings
becoming a spread sheet
that becomes
a body to a dress - a look to a role
a static song in a pastoral poem
a blueprint of words never taken
everywhere there is a push for
sculpture gardens and indoor plumbing
there is a push for
institutionalized unique
and nothing
an insult
more tiny bits
more nothingness amid
broken into, bound-up and gagged
counterattack plans for future determinacy
nothing and plumbing
ready to stuff the now now
into another long worded premise
another grand seizure
unchanged and filled to the brim
obedience: 41
truthfulness-by-silence
is truthfulness by the slice
which is exception of expectation
which is never
never enough
or too much
or one of 92
all powerful embraces
or/
either you're dead or
or uncounted unflinching labor
or/
either you're dead
or seeing a Rrose world
through weary glasses
with its stock answers
on an orgy of dried names
or/
a head
ahead of itself
before the self arrives
contesting the situation moon
from: obedience 60-62
suddenly discontent
suddenly a conference of anxious elation
thinking a difference
thinking oceans
folding fabric
being reasonable
ever clear and calling nothing
in the middle of a certain place
at a certain time
not being personal
in the blood splattered contours of nonexistence
nothing personal
this is ill in the blank
promoting justifiable terrible
assurances from the reasonable
with questionable umbrellas
full of read and fall of anger
this is home
a room full of sentences
utterly clear
as the edgewise kite cuts the sky
utterly full of
boundless beings bounded by borrowed gods
a mayhem of tears
with they're still there, still asking
can you spare a kidney?
can you lend a blade of grass?
can you turn your
leap to a fall or
your fall to a leap and back again
before the bottom rises to the surface?
can you beam your time to a shapeless cry
in the labyrinth at midnight?
if this is the here and now of how
then to come
and our dreams are random
born on maps of weeping figures
how will I know
if I am blinded by
the protagonist's ring of eyes
super-situated under cover of error
tossed down the annals of time
as a biblical apology?
how can I say, wait
when I want to say, soon?
when I only read the signs between us
when the phone rings
we speak
fill our plastic bottle with place
in a room filled with space
in a world undulating in deeds