"this book is not for reading. this book is for discovering. what is in this book to discover? This above all, but first of all, that it is only a book..."--Edward Stachura
"okay now, let's get round" -- a voice in the distance
that certain kind of drift under control tones ending specified functions by a cloyed resultant inefficiency to attend a focal nexus
"stemming through horizons"
from the rain falls badly magnetic harps another mouth all the grand parents or grand-children's teeth before the weapon announced
youth ego roamage opacity regret tender in the cuticle for heaven downs the perfect clip painstakes the agora cuts up further minimalism cries in the unofficial version cries in the official unsure of either sincerity beyond was of the crash-landing immaculate
what great tabs you have revealed the nebulous know alone suited in themselves of inner woven over suited in such selves that negligee of broken links patching as a thoroughness of hybridity melting into dozens
from these three muscles the derivation of literature sempiternally and divide the cluster behind the ear's mirror there gently tongue what's left of it after all rightness falters three sacs or more of air grown plush
you couldn't have put the sky in a better place had you tried and wore even nevertheless out the welcome of impact sybylls rebracketed and the erosions swirling all pop and no soda in just anybody's stomach
_----_ OXYGEM __---_----
in yesterday's pizza are found the projections of ever more untoward boxes no condtion original appends to
such a record the needle broke off in the groove and that machine of memory no longer figured just as clearly our kids no coulda suppressed that vowel particular to shabby saturdays and thus this thusly the acetone flower was classed out of
you couldn't weep on the eighth without tears freeze open your eyes to the ninth summons stepdown drawer and conscience itself a kind of mastication seemingly all tagged a dog number one
you wouldn't golf with a ball so bound in patterns, why patterns, why poland, why the gulf of my arms the black gold liquid the deafened bird sunken
go on to brugges and cylindrical empire weareth out cedar and wolves dank brise offen the nacre by repetitions feel empty grace embrace the vessel of your calculations drive forthe the thicke new cloud
(if the man want's it to be "enterprise" what can we do about it?")
for each gape of the gyre the vines & pedigree tra_slucent limn their iffy wedges and air is it not for them sexual partitioning the shared hydropshere by gum oaken winch or untether
disnormal and aprized music was not going into germany that year any better than privately issued circulars of breathy achievement gave the plato of corpuscles to drink in anyone's cafe
zero by remainder shall be known that votive or grain elder mellowing so and for only this step that she came she comes through would be and having so brisques the smile and ups the rumple in any line
manfred was a lousy sort of poster, a pastie, a postie
via immobile
those who in secretion have cured thy heart and drape about towns their own unshod horse withit taking they mount for themsouls wish not ash upon them or jess up other winchesters for their rut deeply coined gone paleo to whatever next sudden miscredenza
what you are free to say when you know that no-one is listening. what you could say if you were not being bullied to say something they mean but which they are too cowardly to say themselves, inwits. awareness a kind of nearness natheless gnomeliness the train whistle far down the line suddenly encompasses and blows open.
a sensible air charged with light all the dripnight long
august 8,9, 10
with friendly fractures "in between" that make it what it is and all the difference
that roundness, is around
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