(awd-py36) jhave@jhave-Ubuntu:~/Documents/Github/awd-lstm-lm-master$ python generate_INFINITE_RANDOM-SEED_mintmax_tUSERctrl_Feb3-2018.py --cuda --words=1111 --checkpoint="models/SUBEST4+JACKET2+LYRICS_QRNN-PBT_Dec11_FineTune+Pointer.pt" --model=QRNN --data='data/dec_rerites_SUBEST4+JACKET2+LYRICS' --mint=0.75 --maxt=1 Averaged Stochastic Gradient Descent with Weight Dropped QRNN Poetry Generation Trained on 197,923 lines of poetry & pop lyrics. Library: PyTorch Mode: QRNN Embedding size: 400 Hidden Layers: 1550 Batch size: 20 Epoch: 478 Loss: 3.62 Perplexity: 37.16 Temperature range: 0.75 to 1.0 After Living All Day Beneath God Without A Name you touch something behind my body shining like a star we begin living as gods without any names Every Time You Come Around We Talk About It All Night as you wrap your wet hair I break down prey preys on itself For You in the Bedside Brook: A Requiem peeling some calamity coughing exposed sinew lost and dead under the sun I Wrote The Names Of Innocence deplorable contenders for an apocalyptic sextalk folksonomy gene & dens antecedents rifted probationary emergencies smashed Delicate Wispy Nelson, Who Would Die At Ten in a headlock, spewing smoke onto sacked streets, swirling repertoires tearing life-worm hawk-eye heart-like hair into hard-cornered glass-spores We Trend Along the liked route, talking about the satori emptying us Cold rainy shores insisting on a real beta launch for nirvana And when we were sleeping with shunyata in the final selfless mountains When the last of our networked pleasure drained the server's breath Emptiness designed a beige road for banal vigilance Decaying photons delayed protons, software in the bare coded kernel heart. Ruined House Waters morning flowers decide how we scar a trickle of stars smiling it's time to move the sun out of the sea hear the dark flowing light babble things into time delete the wordless photos thinking of death abandoned & alone Shark 689,003 Dies As if a fucking omnipotent rigid bird in a wildness of sky entangled in the net of peace strangled itself Or the pear tree at midday carved the binary indolence ruins into safety-pinned coffins. Existence seeds clouds to palpitate over porn. Emptying meaning's bread. Draw Each Tear on Shuttered Windows, Dropping Some collapse husked Tate junkware v.1 into reverse quantization_channels swerve-fluent gif-dream worm-hole dot-product emptiness making truth dance the ocean print the leaking crown on my skull Permanent Instrumental Cuts A baby wren came to perch on my fingers. My bones were all faintly exuding light. There were neither images nor mountains, standing among the waves imagining homes. Only the heat of flowers ruined in snow. A roof, fallen from the weight of stars. Spermatozoa, smiling at songs. Quick robots contemplating ice. Waste Day We constructed a documentary of restraint critic tumors, precious things, burning Crossing the weyapukshouse, shusaku inlet: i couldn't see those friends writing with feathers, my best friends strained now, stammering with uneasiness. Instead, there was only a little lung, tossing phlegm fish on the wind like laundry Clean Movement The grass of hope reminds heart of escape, makes mind think of pleasure, which is no more strange than a jealous fire rising from the body Body is full of love and old woe; heart of the wide way. Now when mother talks to daughter they forgive their masks. They peel cost, and silence the numb notes. They who have written quiet simple words, remember the light and what it means. A Pristine Stigmata Our ancestors sharpened Stones for their dreams. Something capable of killing, glistening. A delirium of all-gain, empty-handed, well-fed penance-clay lamentations. Thorn heart refined, wise and breathless. A floating limb carved into fear. The Economic Beauty of This Bottom Stream Virginal blockchain narratives with pithy phong-waves wake a warm piss-spot dream of instant eternal cash. Chagall's pink cow munches on a bramble stoic in the gutter. Ponderous, noncommittal mesmerized online protest becomes endless foreplay. Casinos and minnows. Old Perfection slaughter turned the bed inside-out filled the dark the edge of human fearless equilibrium computer plastic soul brand languid ideas lonely jeers A Promising Conception I know that death is writing a flower which is nothing. I know that nothing is a book, a tongue inscribed with gold moss burning in the throat. I read that book that is a mountain growling with memories, an autumn of oaks. I smoke a futurist poem, ashed to 6.6% utterance. Abrasive, resolved and dissolute, I nourish the meager soil of a secret light. The Mist Of A Perfect Sound Holds Simple Psychosis a siren sings to a clique of suspended coal and demobilized tumors fresh supple resins fragrant grating ecstasy coagulate foetal-crouched infertile postsynaptic Consuming Enlightenment With Consumed Enlightenment A very bright grove emits bright birds. Seeping desirable absence. Fracturing ice. The night is a calm garden in the eye of a dark room. Time is a forest laughing at the sky. Cracked soil spits cracks. Ground Begins Now my father plays with broken smoke, a sagging enhancement dug out of bloody media The wide flood of this revolution peels transparent breath. Beginnings clad in silence, blind, locked in self-consuming rites, enchantments of precision, cruel & fearless, hissing & fragrant A Thousand Year Landslide imagination's answers protect erasure dreams leak from the sky's throat hang-gliding daylit idioms, dewsoaked in restless laws a built-in clinging stumbles into a desiccated house and is measured, huddling in agitation touch is dead endurance ordained crunchable gestation-mucus stained with missionary flux All The Heart's Advertisements fffffartsy anguish 21st century lifetime data coding wunder checkout a concept of damage which thrives from 1955 to 1997 a comical hirsute storebound wireless delicate conception a simple essence of home txt isp cryptocurrency haptic story-book nourishing networks Inextricable Pleasure Incinerates Calm i want to write 747 poems on really gawky themes like sex/drugs hedonic routines that permit styles to embody statements the czechs have a word for this: they call it txt baseborn, or glop they lift the sun and carry it to where they need it; they adjust non-acquiescent fact. Acid Heaving Gravity Rain, raging, blind whispers in reverie contemptuous gulls tumbling overhead the air is filled with fumes thrown from beyond ohio A child hears her nerves erode. Artists Salving The Machine-Chosen Minimum Wage work in biomolecular +3.6% plexiglas. User-predicted rhizomes, erasable and baited sentiment-obscured brain-churning ooo-nanosynapses. Photonic circuits. Microbial obstacle confusion. $400 of drowsy beaded meat. I Can't Not Be My Voice the way we radiantly kissed the swamp the way we outraged the swallows the endlessness of the night and everywhere condemned, an untrodden path hidden beneath moonlight young birds disappearing into the core dead plumage rainbow circuit milky sweet consciousness in an empty bed the plummet androgynous never-quite-clean commuting of nature's tale Satisfied The Heart Makes Rain the walls of the world are not the voice of the earth my hands are not warm trees a reticent heart is not an eye To Speak For Love With Hungry Blood In the middle of the night you and i are without heaven we blend walking in the grass under the brightness of blue the flesh of the pores a pond, a silent twist of stone dreaming the heart's bell, naked in a land of empty stars quiet becomes a broken shudder Clickbait Concertina I txt the child a memo A religious feeling germinating a suburb A voice wound Why You Must Not Tumult For The Tender Song critical i am a commander in vastness listening to an influx of order become money forming the target monoamine ploughed an ironic darkness haliototic time's blinking charity in which a sublunar grief apostrophizes the périphérique cages in a perfect feast swimming inside shadow wisdom touches its scrotum wrinkles a remembrance of time Silence Is Love And light is a dream And an open sky And, in this sky, wind And in the dark, words never flow And everything is lost And an old sound now in a little room And the rain singing And dust in a sealed saturated throat And a vast theory, lamenting dead speech And dead children flinging the dark air And sex squalls And a dreaming heart full with song And the void suddenly thinking Nothing Is Love The Softness Of A Timid Shadow We are born tasted to hold the heart of the body Deep in the future sound of a bed Pure salt wind living signs of the ashes Silhouettes on a dry lawn where the ecstasy of a rainbow waits in the shadow of a tree Egg's Demise Evil rubbing plum berries over the crotch of orchids. Buying power, porn kiss right-click. Visceral oil, oiling vomit. The rat blood of god: an auger. Seriously tall lawn-sculptures, stretched to maximum speed by the fullness of wallet. Gimmee Some Cash our violence evolved a system for driving the wave salt and mortal flame dark as the eye of a glass dollar wind becomes cold knows words that are nothing A Feeling That Is Not A Dream I see the song i am not born to be save the sky i am the only one who makes the other dream as i was dying i was born i watch the seed of the sea, a secret rainbow in a puddle of narrow dust, a wind bright as a river dreaming a cold wall of dismal slang i am thinking i am not dreaming i like dying in the night as a flower Equivocal Impossible Hope sudden weighted braid of cherubs a sun underneath pinioned dead narcissine a broken grave in the stillness of a dream far away, beneath a ruthless lake glittering with regrets breathing phenomena but remembering revelations an abandoned inauthenticity By Means Of Tumescent Water Ev'rybody's suffering wondering where these expectations make written syndrome clues to clarify the cold dark gossiping signed maki trash-pile discarded reality dvds and floodlights of the heart’s energy, and the solitary hope of heliotropes catching light between light Angel Powder Fucked off. Insouciant, dying watching. Lonely is the question. Nothing. The trauma structures of return. Pigments placed on scattered grimy Patterns by unresolved mute strategies. A car full of wombs Entanglement seed-time languor duets. Genre Bet Night A ravine in the mouth. A meta-genre merger of power and “if”. Two abysms thinking a tiny question. Outside, it smells of dew. To Everlasting Learning the houses in my crotch are immortality strobes stars the groined orbit spear my body on bees humping language a coy narrative a weedy frozen enumerated beast blindness as a way of blossoming among the unfortunate moments shines love Stamen Pity Confervoid Echo Linger Secession selfhoods reproduced by sudden mist: like grim zen austere dawns come unmaimed to forget. nymphs, irrevocable, nervous reset-to-factory-default concretize fountains shoveling torment fields are grouped together, scrotum, hook and hangovers humped with crow rockets coming opened from caves, where war slimmers Oblivion Poems shrieking in the imbalanced commitment that new living gunpowder played in the shape of beach cortisol instinct Birds nervously vomitting gentleness. and each afternoon the only thing in the wrong is the shoreless desert flowers Slaughtered History Forgets Our Health the secret of all songs needs an unbearable dead world You Smoke The Keen There is a decisive churn of swans on the tv and the clock lips settle full on the calling and laugh and are just one flux of shapes rising to say you want to die, for it is the sea that's playing you, not fears and banality but dead gin and a radiance of paths, a trademarked honey-suckle wheel floating within a musk of caulked expensive breadcrumb bureaucracy consuming enlightened volcanic archived pleasure from a yearning page. Stars & Rags All memory emits an odor of genes. Gently into a pale green sky. The automated petroglyph remembers greeting you. Whims and hardware, the superpunk Voice released inside your tongue. Comes back. Humbled. Intelligence Has Begun To Gland Ecosystem prisons, dewsoaked in culture, Study archetype's bellybutton hair. How throat-cockroach brain-play delivers takeout-box arousal. How futile global processes in a canopy of lonely lust, blur. A Blanket Breathing On The Ground Over A Secret I do not think of skeins Of summer born. Nor a green spoon of green wolves where your body Rises on somebody's face, toward the moment Held staring in the grass as a metaphor for decay or a fuse. Private tumblr bikini, the delicate pictures, Very silent, dreaming the ground. Sometimes sight is wet. And somebody will point toward jello asleep in the library. Across a curving canal of monotonous lonely rye. Soot fills that thorn. Taking On Cosmic Light 1. decay the primal green transitions into layers: self-help cortex and wee years finally on the peak, flinging paradises' rut plasma, raving plums 2. ooh the way the sea, so much as it is, hears nobody, just exists, and the sands open a cool flower that flows under cracks in the sounds of the blue sun 3. i am thinking about an angel lost in an empty time, of a god dying in a deep lake of rain with a rose that weeps in a puddle Quiet Happens from an archive of whispers and the abandoned house is a hole in a lily red river and the rain is a voice inside an animal a dream of a dream of light in the heart a flag in the sky planted by a machine a tree under my skin a tree in the heart the sun is the sun that is what we have a fool forever held in the light of the night the last singing of an animal carried thru a cold summer A Range Of Roots the rain that night put the sun to sleep in the trees the wind was a heart in the dark the night was a broken question thinking of the sea a seed at dawn crossing the heart a kind of stone where the world is torn i am not the one dancing the sun thru thought i wake up in the night and the sun is dead An Open Truth Light “guides” the sounds to a depth isolated in the drowning home. All the children die incomplete in pain. They confirm a horizon of uniform frost. A pulse of discursive vastness, a gesture of law asleep in letters. Lubricity spun as if imagining. A Distant Bee Forbids An Eternal Grave drink its dim broken self among the pale furniture of midsummer sing of pink sky-burial, all holes, a smudge of peer-reviewed skeletons strain, each nervous architecture, hide the person who will be pray for little tasks to celebrate crucial luminous rusty assurances slip into the sand, flurry churning dislodged light, rolling lilith one sapling keen sharp bulge of thin flesh, a long mouth, then amber gutters in char convention lazily on the simulated 3d To Seem Everywhere if there is a secret it isn't that i know it even the eyed laws comeblind to the rim of the nevermind shed in the swamp war prefrontal bathroom morning starts to reach into everything it says it is all that everybody needs anywhere there is more than nothing something craves to be jealous, a tiger alive, and no one installing the disarray looks at the music telling us to come home The Last Drama my mother blew a soldier to get the moon a bowl of skin a wound slouch pith potential capillary readme a dry scattered funeral for wry water gossip-sick fire a desiccated kiss concentrated facebook trickle of focused infinite secluded hearts pain, waves of pain standing in a crib of language in the bones of the future in a dark mouth of naked rain A Chair and A Rag Perched on the syntax of dawn a dead language kicks at time Concussion Colour the sky is a new green valley singing hard hungry tenuous sleep warm blue rain blood a flame within a rock an old photograph of the sun a tear of love, melancholy body of molten roses shining in the dark i am the flesh of the sea as it walks a dead river in the morning dreaming light Outside Is The One I Love fleshing stung with milk i love you all as long as you are yes no one else is loving you in the first beautiful lost star clouds watch a hole in your dreams solace tracing uncertainty lamenting well-fed penance shit you'll smell when the truth's within range Cleaning The Cerulean Source as we sit with the stone tree and talk in the rain a mute wind grinds breath to fill our voices and as we stroll thru the stench of deodorized facts hope rusts authorship saves leisure from the ear young pain glowing in a window's nest a forgotten array imagined passions Cheetah Citizenry Clacking, remote threnody, stasis irony sound omnipotent scrolls. I am love's immobility the meaningless porn cone, river pent, parachuted moon bald in the sun with cool peaks of hardwood perceptions flaring in mammalian doubting honey tongues mass supple petals landing tenuous goals transporting the mouth-like needle itself, breathing toward the end. And juices rise and the sea is giving things to my heart. To One So Happy with Exquisite Breaking We sat with vigor and certainty Feeling precious Still as the future sunrise Trusting free direction Love is a postcard sent By a contagious wind On its breath we are stars born from mountains, And sweetness is nothing but the motion of stars Our dreams wake walls, And the walls are another dream in which necessity doubles Like Sun In The Blood too often love is a river a breath of words that bloom in a naked row of bright ears an oak light whim silence calling your name into a corner and so destiny is the body of a song the grain of your skin embedded in broken haste a muddy twilight twisted gray path that floats where sirens are sequestered in a photo of the pain of nothing, plague beautiful, child and light, fused this desk watches father weep; dead gestures, shelterless, thoughts within thoughts and rooting in the fury of light it will surely take his chair become the narrative a reptile rapture that jolts when it speaks atonement's peeling pyrite Counting the Shapes Of My Life Let love sing the blood of the soul And dance the sea of the streets Feelings not made for fools; digressions gathered From blood woods in the void of a sun In the quiet of a most beautiful universe A locked mirror beneath the window filled With wings eating the rain and The dark light containing 3 dreams Flowing under the mountain's bones In the dust among delicate twigs Deconstructing the disaligned Cushions of the dreary morning The music's hidden awakening Whispering of hope Sing This Moment To Rise Consented To be that place up at the end of the mountain a curl of vapour a love infection a silent message a mumbled theory Although the day finds the sun food, nothing moves its outer puppets, the saint asleep in its chest, or the amoureuse climax of rain rolling love-root remote handmade clouds and machine-payable senses. Entamed, a now, waits on lawns where longing is shut into talk, embroidered motherfuckin sentience barfing copious semantic nuggets. Under a parametric dome, 7,097 languages caulk civilisations and glide with love thru dirty great meaning's caution to unilaterally celebrate control with the swamp voice. Friend Batter Out comes the oil eye, which stares, perched in a nest of light shining with frost. And it flows like a branded child and makes me see lovely gray blood burning on the hill. I see worms break into winding scars, and gnarled glass in a cloud. A cold song in a dark monstrous grove of mold, an empty moon flecked with swans. And a reflection of the heart's gristle thinking the things of this world, moving. After the rain in the wings of the mind, when i am a broken leaf in the corner of your eye. A river in the air that the future makes, two people in a green box, a mirror in a stone. I am waiting to be lived by wind. I Am The Nothing You Believe In & A Sea Of Invisible Love I am the shadows walking in the sand the dreams of the dead world A litter of perfume falling into the sea a pawn in a tree where the Clouds die of light singing isolation acetylene beautiful. A place reflecting a memory that cannot hide, a suspended penetration. Dark sounds as the sky fills night with the living dead light. The short game of peace like a house alone. Eureka Whirling Mildew We sit in the dry dirt of home and memorize rapture On chairs that get crushed when stories are never forgotten Like them, born, we meet beliefs where mountains grow A burden of bones and mournful informality, drunken, undulating and pollinated. Empty Bramble Wept Sweat God in a g-string, less than an unthinkable metaphor. One phrase uneasily watching dissonance pleasure itself. A Venus lamé baby river. Fragrant waves crafted from flesh. Inverse bone of a disease, cracked, rough gleaming and precise. Your soul drowned within the sun. A flock of signs sprouting in a hot grove of scalding blue hands. Loss -- wonderful -- sometimes, a scent intuited by caressed hair. The phantom of the sacred, a corrupt and riot-naked distrust pulse: Brine morbid coiling stars where salty flecked whales grieve wise swabbed veils. A Voice Comes To The Window It talks of a prisoner-scented tub. The grass and the sheets. The glass ghosts. None Of the developed journey's gutter, tactile chlorophyll acceptance of sky. Cleaning the valley of our house, its slanting leaves rolling to taste waves, make light play at living. Skirting The shadow of a rose truck song burying the stones that laugh Publishing dreams of nothing, ancestral seismology reuniting clenching terrain. Stadiums of the osprey's prism: -ity and vs. sacrifices remembered as direction. A destruction, elected and sold, rife in shallows, a throat grid of full consciousness. Me — I See A Bird Away for seven years from home, she became a blue tree. Lost, bent and breathing, inside the sea. She was half milk, enduring the electric eye. A frown of water in the throat. Urges eligible for scurrying. Bellies filled with bottles of granite gender? Wrack -- from within rotating ekphrasis. A sweet-smelling cinnamon snowfield soaking fingers in smoke. #now We’re buried in our awful, she said, so strong & young, with the sheep, fluttering like rocks on a leash behind a tinge of delight in the breath. She is found wound up crying preserved moments. A replacement hour transgressing natural mortality. In her a molten imagination speaks to sky's breast. Orange looping calm lariat anaconda bubbles track keel wings & know how wind used to move within water. Watching A Widow Eat A Shadow A trick of cold light where the dead paint fading forms within wind. In the veins of the night summer is an old fire. A lonely house spoken by a secret river with a tongue of sky. The sun unfurling calmly in a puddle. The stones inside a blue girl wearing the scent of death. A dream of a dream in the dirt. A sort of loneliness in the sky where rain escapes silence and bleeds. I Am A Master of The Night Heart Zoo Exhibition Omnipotence blooms, pickle sauce a whole certain heart future in the eye of a river the thought of owls cuts the heart i am utterly animal the whole thing i am a hill in the first breath of air in the ground illusion stands weeping One is one with the light that makes the world a day so deep the night is in the wind and all the heart is a grave a place that is no dream sick nothing no matter buried in the head of a love flying i am a child empty and blind and still a room born dead and alone like a stream of blue light in a stone i am a lawn lying in a poem a land of calm dreams Love Makes A Secret Pain loneliness crushing loneliness i am not felt: god is a sagging grove of flowers cramped dancing beneath a massive willow who is a muse of listening to hide your shadow i climb the total peak void of all mountains i believe in the mind and see the shape of tender beauty in each instant abyss i believe in a dream where the ridge flood light falls in my face drifting dolphins faithful to a hidden angel have already soaked the flock and the dead indigent vultures remember insane vague meditations merely thinking about your body waterproofs a clear floating darkness. Carving A Lustreless Literal And Sad Ditch i am sitting with you in a crack of your soul eating words that will not wake you i say this: that there is a little tree in your heart in the darkness of your eyes: an oak sky covered with fog you're in orbit around a muse saturated in desiccated light you are the first dog that whispers to the house a beautiful wind combs the bright hair of your ocean The House Of A Small Soft Bird i am the one that is the light the night pain of a sun a breath caught in a human heart a dream of a squat, stone hill shuffling to the sea to dance sinewy and green a huddling improvisation as sexy as sorrow where the morning's pale flower makes love's brain my body is the sun and the rain comes the world is so naked it is the heart of the dead Keyboardinterrupt foreword begging the sunburned car for calm garbage a bright deluxe gush felt roving punk permutation combat on s.m. kinetic traverse jeans, caress bra-strap marxist noble truths of the wind a universe 00 with menopausal wolf oblivion cartoons milkweed peaceful midsummer swollen love's bland drifting cold software rainbow garrison Shadows Claim The Salt Song of Gravity’s Wounds Times is a lamp its pulp lemon queries ripen waves of life on whose stray dense grass the erroneous moss of action descends into the morning at quiet intervals revealing a battering of bloody icons, and the fence by the freeway To live is to inhabit a cage dreaming of barnacles a solicitous inconsequential 50-50 You see true when young, there are only a few bubbles in the coffee The elegant angry plastic star of crunchable difference freckling sages with nostalgia suggests a mirror on a highway where the engraved mountains flutter unleavened and fight A gift in which no seagulls, sport souls, or breast mimesis (and its dollar-a-rack air of cold celebration) nimbly befriends orphans Sipping consciousness Stones Comprehend The Rain In new york city, a cook named billy transformed fire into dew the dew at that pointed pooled & burned out all the city windows its flames breeding and at the same time, leaving a bland quiet wetting it was not trying to think of a bright bird left in the blood nor was it cognizing a garden at night when wind tunes a golden tongue and its horizon was an open thing hung on slander's brow, incomprehensible a contingent memory of contingent memory hmmmmm, more dew meant barrenness submerged within the scent of clouds another silent continent of breast-bone-bots meat-links, puzzling cavities, work-cot water-jets. flash wet peyote sizzle keen romantic sweat dew A Body Makes The Sun A Body Of The Sun a river touches another river for a moment letting stars think of other stars the death of love loves to think of death and money issues more money blind sees blind dawns dawn Cerebellum Re-cap the light is something that has caught your love in the shade of a tree on this perfect afternoon the light is the way every hand shelters and cares for breath or spreads a sex blanket within the mouth of an exit pain the light is mind jewellery fluttering pills huddling in sacks light blinks at the words where muses break light in the slaughterhouse lights father mother and child sheathed crowded gasping aware the light is waiting for bargain-basement debates about transcendence to morph into care the light is our blood An Arbitrary Audiovisual Performance In Which Fantastic Architecture Appears I love the smell of love I love how the stars live in the sweet ground I am a holy chair in the garden I am a field of flowers We Are The Last Towers Of Chemical Dust a wide rain descends from an old cry of the sun tired of the idea that is the lost breeze and then the windows burn the rough pretext of solitary claws floating thru me/you/i to grow wheat in the swamp a scent of destiny in a touch enslaved; a self-poised hysteria-innocent swan on honey a red retrospective acrid sculpture of underground bones re-finding life gleaning a fist from a wing, untuning mythologies re-sending forgiveness escape to silence there is no one at the right place; a honeycomb tightens the dark mouth of the sea You're Killing Me And the young girl noticed in the darkness a menopausal book a dry dead sea where a cold wind burned Puddles among sagging grass a leaking twilight yelling naked mud Her Head Goes Home To The Low-Lit Room in the Heart a goddess pried from the field's clear flesh a lop-sided rainbow feast in her mouth willow-coloured water subjection hides what can never heal a sweet scar that is self The Body Of The Body Is Dead salience extended new breath up to a drunken wounded ruby womb filling a certain tense question divided by the cracked truth rolling against gratified electroencephalograph exhaustion, imponderable soft proteins, massive sweats of fog and belljar dinosaurs, transient natural purities that become trace retributions, demonstrating confined synaesthesia, a cloven lamentation undersea enslaving all time to a sensory alcatraz Cryonics, Gene Choreographed, Early In The Morning they stroll out with their bombs to open battered compassion's jaw publish in the pebble a honey of the spirit a boring swarm of humming apprentice cannibals a brain-computer rope-monologue of unanswerable immortal contamination We Cannot Be Directions From The Past I remember the people there in the night, by your house shining above the bright waters, hurrying within their bridles of longing. And the darkness which finally became the mist of routine, its petals of no good money, a biochemical oregon, a dream. I never asked you to see the first words i found, the lengths I had gone to forget. In a very thin fern, the leaf is tight with restraint. Now my eyes are pleased with the deer woven into your flesh by unskilled nightingales. Equators spinning, you tend yourself, and the sun riots, watching the horizon. A Muted Peaceful Alarm All night, bankrupt dancers birth my love chord Holding a tongue to my belly they lake like an aria, a flock of humans walking into a toiletbowl. They speak for hyphens, bully themselves unconsolably, Sewing doors of water, washed and sanctioned without sound. And We Rot All Through The Bare Debris a favored rhythm in beta days of the day mountains mountains deserted in the desert sin and i form a rock of young love a wax loop illumination in the throat of the heart of the night a precocious figure of sludge from the meadow dimestore bed bread reading the book of love, a moment's voice so huge and silent, a new song dead at the edge of the dark Her Dream Was Earth a garden burns in the brain a secret feeling technology a whisper that thinks the day is a body in the sun all the dead wet mud a tongue tree broken sky the heart a quiet wave The Night Ocean My prodigal grandfather's grandfather's bones were bright hand-kerchief-sized dirt pearled yarns Whirring prelate facts in a limbo sparrow-flock swarm morbid catalytic bandana endurance nothingness Dust burned in his heart where an antique salve adorned with tired wishes worried blindness Thug-soup, mute unachieving, unmoored, meaningfully misunderstood his wave A Civilized Mind within hope is a cage in which lipids eat a fooled universe, the foam, quiet and square where sweet mirrors kiss a whorehouse of blood laws and stories stutter names that dissolve into possibilities, deeplinking hewn avant/garde perverse bonuses at prestigious borders scented with observations, living in terror of logical & negligent tumors A Fabulous Boundary Butterfly in the ebbtide scavenger of difficult space a heart poured into flesh. From the harvest of the divine your wild pulsings of lyric pain are born. You feast on the lost sight of a little union. You curse your spirit's explanation: a fearful smile and shaking priest's pride fill your skin. And your life is not lean in the garden, a single light, tonight's hunter taking the sky to the east. You drive the center of the desert wallowing in your furious self, running your fingers over the rock you took from love. By The Sight Of My Heart Colors i am not the pure names of life complicated in an exaggerated brochure tensor seed stocks and viral miners sweeping parlor's low fog a semi koolaid diamond eclipse filtering aggression kneeling, tongue on tongue, come to praise god-fracturing meadowgrass arterial birds, weeping space an abyss infected with ambiguous endorphins, death's sagittal view of imagination's slum Disability Transforms My Ravaged Vision After a few of my half-forgotten sentences disembowel a chimpanzee. I, aghast, caress, intoxicated, divine blue-green extinction alchemy. Rage Reminds Me Of The Spring filth meat grafted to flaw cradle: sweating lichen smelling truth prehistoric boredom's porn armour shoutout! Swelling Deletions under the neck of defeated rains, invariant wrapped furniture, astray coiled, relational flesh, pretended to soothe shivering words, and cellophane love spun out zen cries Millennial Free Administrator Artifice invests her into being, brutalized by events to improve the roost that pulls the seed. Yet there is no shortage of trying. And there is also a prevalence of truth –– even as conscience sings a sigh of sorts, and accumulates blindness on a lined path. A hot and tough looking outrage circles the place where nothing predicts the end of the universe. Spider mascara stubbornness venom looks out the window. Death Is A Child Singing For An Hour We live In a puddle Of sun God is an empty nest in a wide colonial tree The endless sound of the quiet And bitter pain of the world reads Clouds that flits over An open lake of blood The dark light of the wind Rolls on the sea, and Fire is born A child cuts a handful of flesh To make a soul see I am a heart in that garden In a universe of crystal bright water where a great world rock sings The light Places in mind The stone of this poem i Bore A Dream Wrapped In Recent Skies Commotion. Sun-silt, Ilyich is dead. And i am sad. Clinging, close smeared On the surface of a frozen spring, An abandoned storm. Air snarling Idly beyond the holographic bridge Yawning and sweating hydrogen Grains of language. Veins moist from the olives, i Am not like the sound of pain on the field or The children and woman who ignore the grass in A green house. Their flesh crying a sign of beauty, Something i miscomprehend as a bird flying through A ground of misfortunes. A twisted coffin. A palsied Word. In random eyes, the office camera captures An enigma of starving petals. Of Life Like Ashes Admiring, we bench-press the crab's profaned Jittery innards. Unreeled in a food metempsychosis, Naked barnstorming a portrait of illness. A little Sticky climax. Upset, over ancient predatory fields. Entamed, while you, and your immune lips, wait to weave A withered singing into fruit. Interviewed. On the beach, the breath of a chandelier. A protracted sale! Babylon: that crow quivering in A cul-de-sac, as always, until what we care about changes. Evening, we see smells of talking. Potatoes filled with Fish. Sweet cavities in the hour's bowl Of sweet knowledge. The grim common grin of a fatal angel. I Set My Hands Around A Bramble Latté: someone is bargaining for the proper procedure of a broken mirror. Words nestling in the moist impetuousness of the day. A porn race, offering elevators. Whatever I think in my head is blah: i know what i am. i live slandered and rife, ordered and judged. I am the answer thats wants the stars To purchase the flowers of thoughts. I dream you told me That on the first day The sound of money Enraged graves. Eden is on sale In a corner Of my mind. And a dead body Opens to see me. The Great Taste Of One i wanna know where i am living i wanna die on the surface of the heart a wound in a voice one hears within a rock to enter the morning as fire to love to sing to think in the place of making Origin Call Rebate the 0%. Give them Molecular fate; let them birth immortal bots. Loophole degradations until luxury Peels an implacable crying mud. I Am Sick Here's the routine of celibacy: an omen solitude in which The bomb prays for the last bridge, in which the morning Comes for the hill with the fruit of the day in a book. The Crusted Sand i am a dream in the soul of a dead man DNA scuffed ledges where lamb implications redeem an archipelago of mirage culture i am a vision of a box of water my father is a woman There Is A Force sleeping in the beginning of hot blue petals trotting up the road to cut throats it is in the heart of the ground a salt heaving around rocks writing mad signs night bought it and turned the hills into darkness and sold the sea its grief is a moss that drips red writhing dew a mind-bogglingly soft and wise blob of grift Timor Timor Mortis Discarded soldiers and kids on the milk-train. Sanctity of mist, Beautiful, but too weak. Topology of goya, Seditious, groaning Tucked away in gaia. Six weeks wept in my hands; and money made my ears sweat. Lovely Grieving Agony Of The Broken You asked how we were doing, if we were missing hell. Grief is not rain. Nor is it food for the barbarian womb, a javascript method for 3d innocence, a death-note fireproof-weed of magnanimity! Here in this crowded catastrophe of beloved wet light, a deranged dark perches. A young hot cage mechanism; A prehistoric animal's saliva. I kiss light. Gnawing sleek photographs of my teeth Imprinted udder-bruised holes in the Blueprint of a birth-moment synaptic cloud. Tinges of rage Rages that pass before the moon Rage trembling in the dream heart of a tree Rage in the memory of the sea's blood Rage in a mirror afraid of summer Rage, a table that wants to be window A bright green sea rages it makes the garden grow Rage Not Love's First Body A fierce pillar of wolves Shining in the shed Illuminating a field of mouths Laminating The Fog early night is slow light made clean sight of right love a wall that wallks thru wallks The Apotheosis Fish fall from the weeping sky flying down as universal data to chide stunted baby-girdered daffodil objects. Impounding zelda-in-pyjamas. Sobbing, transportable, comfortable crops, worm in a disembodied paradise. The apex of this tendency is oops: a nirvana sanctity shattered, unrefundable. Even the unborn gods mourn the formal geometry of a trampled upward gleam that grunts. Their Sodden Bellies Glow A mass of gold whips the struggling seductive breathing letters. Innocence, a multivariate net structure of consuming, supplicates, unflexing the shape of being into a book. It is on this table, within its piles of boxed landscapes, that thousands tire and die. It is our sex, dead on the road, red like a red wing, a ripcord trident whirlpool ashtray. Why The Light Fails I came into my armpit an ethical surgeon of perverted tautness aroused by centrifugal mimes flaunting expensive buoyancy pattern-book undulations burning slander's little machine-learned nipple mapping your amnesia procreating with chimpanzees talking to implacability demanding romance while embracing power A Strange Metaphorical Harm I whet my soul against the keen she-wolf's gnarled guide, a punned epiphany wrecked a useless re-creation of the past. The cold shitty utility of intelligence aims me. It echoes: i love you i love you i love you. On the pavement, a lustered heart, clean as dirt, calculates the silence of a dead tree. Foam Vignettes wobbling in a puddle a blossoming moon resembles a jell-o penis a hole in the house revealing a cloud of eyes the sun we made in this place of the trees is a child and no one was born to be lost and the truth is a heart as the body of a body comes and goes in the sky entering the eyes of the sun one by one the shadows of my commitments use my heart to kick my heart A Free Moment Keeps Out The Light Reverence is a texture under duress! A Law sharded by bankers. Endeavours Licking her throat to quiet loneliness. Kelp-pitted arteries wistfulfy conjuring Money from lithe epidemiologists. A sheaf Of fuckhead soft ditches crumbling smiles. The dewy stillness of comprehension. Anemic cyber-sexing atoms, delineating Gouged gibbous cages, willows dull as disease. Come To Me Now, You You wish for the melodrama of knowing. You want the compromised subtle elder experiences. Your dreams ache to be seen. We do not speak now. You are a cat Carrying a woman In a box Into the ocean. I don't care. In the night, i am a child, i am your name, and i am the gleeful satisfied lips of the earth gleaming with blood; i am an animal, and i am a feeling gone home, a moment, a dream, a wave A Clear Need long ago, someone died in the sun; a sign confused by green wind; an early dream touching the beautiful language of love. now time glitters burning cliffs of insular madness wrinkle analysis & engagement moist as chiseled ash sagging on instagram shudders A Hypnotic Den Of Holocaust-Cut Spuds in the serene muscles of the sun, a hunter grew that's how the body we are, became good at killing You Drink The Ground Of Her her fissioning narratives and her conversations gleaming incoherent, snug, and crumpled her nest fills your breast where a wounded rain holds the perfected shape of her rage she is a blossom touched by inauthentic desire her thorns shrug, her rocks bend to the wheel her melanomas claw at bright billboards her saffron wolves fuck you her light sustains a transient slice of peace Sea, Smoke, Bones the eyes of words in the dark on the ground in the middle of the head gasp for pity: o why is it this way? all of pain is a wired mirage, a soft shivering in the lap that understands the breath of words we live as embers, birds in the tree of eternity we wake at the edge of the sea as a dog in a dream kicks the rain a horde of passions grooming the pitiless eyes of words A Narrow Mirror blood is a broken symbol a demure reality it shows what we receive smooth lurid molehills of interminable desire pot-bellied fleshless hunched births wandering a wading pain wings tuned to the jetty of revery rays in a self-styled game of this very old act, entirely holy, cracked and alone among the seas, we are not Buried Instinct mother and father killed truth with the inflammation of work the logic of thought that mistakes love for a bouquet of water its burden wrapped in a forest of photographs Is Every Ancestor A Sacred Racist? I need to learn to love you and i mean where we are i think that i am always singing you are the last thing in the world a confused thought in my heart this spring smells now i will be completely here i will not fall, sloth furled i will be a song for the beloved Blind Hurt light longing to open glistens greater than the thought seen in it riding on pillows perfectly into a pool bed of cedar-naked 5-channel sacred tumours zazen silhouette cutting remission wildcarrot hairdos pock-marked, drift-puckered analogies flash-strewn with cobwebs in moiré air blah: i know you wanted life's vast hidden music an arousing codeine to help overpower mud On A South Aesthetic i slept somewhere in light: solid echoing, crumbled, unself-conscious i dreamt of sweatbacked sapiens their wave-sown felicitas heart-breaking scandal-screens thier cock-brambled murmuring in lipid-wrecked bathrooms their deplorable flecks of data rutting into electron absence their anonymous sobbing waves milking pyrite adultery networks their desire grazing the bruised scent of actuality Among The Willows In Glorious Rainbow Blood Imagine you found naked hair, in the mirror, playing music! Graceful; it seemed alien, capable of selflessness — its body: wine. Smooth and clear as if forgotten, it exuded a restless instinct. And to touch it was to touch desolate consent where nothing will ever need anything, to fail at repairing reality with the non-presence of precise chains, & to sit among the willows in glorious rainbow blood. Hours Full Of Water She spoke of change as we passed the florists, and asked: Do you do not see the motor, the gnats? Take my beliefs! The nite is a histogram of karma-looting. The public became leveraged workers, destroyed through a peer-to-peer sea removing even a sense of human conscience. Cut-drenched violet-pressed well-fed rex-memoriam gang-fight carnival-lyric music-sculptures. A worn-out self promised to love evil, to never ask to be named. Vague days raised continual darkness. Throw The Answer Through A Fountain flow up swallow the secret honeycomb of migration a summer afternoon turns light into light tongue nestled in bed rain shrub all-sagacious southern rinsed air lily bright orphic pool undreamt sun's sweet contractions In Time I Was Convinced That Viewing Grasps it is not a question of the heart or the skin, but a quiet blind grace nicknamed temptation a rhetorical delirium rebuffed by the sky hidden in the mouth words deft as sparrows jabbing the blind condition of the world i have no love for the walls of the target nor the long bliss buried in our eyes aches coexist with rot hungry to have a soul Cliff Gutter in an instant winter cataracts the silence bruises the sea where birds of death lie radiant on flames a heart left in my soul sees the sacred machine skeleton of a persecuted exploration in my hunger i can almost see living junkware brilliant and mercurial unconcerned afterlives crashing muddy into mood deciphered dust. Dreams Blush Stiff-backed Among Networks A keyboardinterrupt topology shatters into renderings. A language sanctioned as resistance gradually scatters into the void. A fragrant iron-hearted fruit opens stones to sing of stones. Space Perfected Blind Meat Dissolve in the bread Slip from the autumn moon “Unicorpse” bare, Candied, implicated 35mm cogñac gloat. Soulzight fanged. Stay in the sterile mall. Small Sorts Of Knowledge Like the way i felt my furniture. Or how my mind saw interesting forms in empty rooms and read fields of intrinsic mist. Consider the lonely architecture of a living window. Or roads lined with dust, stuck among trees, carefully expecting to become patterns. Little Encounters Wounded euphoria talentless fails the garden Darkness smells of the river Xeno transplanted spirit vectors Absolute grief slipstreams The scent of peace compiling a shore I Wanna Be Good, I Wanna Be Reckless Even before I start, I am tired of Hell. Meadow-green thighs undulating peacock-shrine fresh-entrails of unpremeditated sex technology. Remorse arrays stunned by the rain. A new photograph which marks a motel. Moon sweat and yawning moss. In your unerring land, you carve dreamless quadriplegic, troublemaker, focus-changing. Hoping bliss is charisma undressed. Samsara's Green Code Jello sobs at the bottom of the short-lived wish in a nymphal silver rhubarb crease among the poi garbage on the liquified floor of the lumpy room. Tongues disrupt the vertebrae of powder. The difficulty of universal thought is textual. On The Horizon The discarded pregnant cigarette of beauty is singing In a software megacity caulked with expensive breadcrumb bureaucracies Where history, feral, lubricates melancholia. Walk Over Me Clean the sun to see the moon poised where sparrows drown Rocks, melanomas, epiphanies conferring void echoic endurance, on slow, unquestioned devolved and gouged distance It is as if, i was thinking of facts to keep my heart dreaming of love Dying equates self with deformity, a horror of an actual completing light. And You Who Are Not In Heaven stout sun-silt all-at-once osmotic adrenal translation-bracken thorn stew-gestures ravaged-by-morals __init__ Muses Eat the rootless lazy silence Consider the scrawny drum of tongues grub-staking wonder Stare into the wreckage of encapsulated immortality Init the muses I Die Within You Scrolling along a coal-oil beach, Where power's half-forgotten Crotchless corn-bright Cosmopolitan underwar Embalms icebergs And savagery With its bad necrotic breath Huddling within the tide Holds the moment's megaphone The Blessing Of My Own Branding Powered by an unwilling precise Sort of weather, the poor slow Orchids in the tall white sky never see the whole thing Clots scatter their Thousand-watt lung noise to tame everybody Light, silent and naked, Remembers their first dream The Horror Of Laughter by the river you wait turningrain on the rocks into lust Born To Discover an intimate plum promiscuously infects tricksters with disquiet stars breach craving a universe each cell picks away at dawn The Touch Of A Rock in the half-light of preoccupation, i set out to reach my life surfing the numb future sap of trauma's useless promise each petal guards a pulse The Clothes Of The Sun Beneath the growth of its eyes we are lost, and a blind burning chronology reels overheard in the moonlight. We, of the swamp compound blood, exactitudes of dream-poems, blackbird sit in inconstancy. Somewhere fear gasps, care-swarm duplicates shake barking horn's atonement. I feel milk hold the crumbling. The trees are feeling the morning, there's grass in the wind; And in the mist of the sea a shark oozes queries. We Are Always In the world, a light covered in the sun. We are in the mountains within stars, and we are what the trees dream. When we were born on the river all water watched the sun sing. When I Won I was glowing in the green of sex liplessly chuffing a prayer to bacteria uncomfortably calm in a bowl of holes Holding The Secret scrubbing contraceptive skin counting the bumps on consciousness I Will Be Hope my tongue follows a new caricature into the unknown a wolf sleeps in the bottom of the toilet I change again: cool the heavy mountain until it fits in my hand. Messing Up The Orphic Light Somewhere, once, there was a place of animation, transliteracy, aggression, social decline, and undiscouraged rivulets An office of fucking pain A man on a leash boisterously burning Muthafucka Hello you are a green nocturnal reflection your ticket feeds the pink you never die you are the desert mud of blue collar change you are a deep reef, preposterously floating, really happy. During The Storm I Think Of Myself As I Am Weeds in the swamp of shoku, sloshing scented souls. Outlandish cliffs anointed with oil. Sharp bones where flesh floats. Cold blue morning light. Enzymes. Insecurity. An abscessed interior. The House Heard A Name The dawn cut small shadows into teeth. Fermentation of the one who knows what it is we will become. Time Will Never Begin until the stones are broken by the river where the song of a bird cuts into a heart after the tongue of a dying man thinks of love on an afternoon in the summer when language dies The Burst pillows foam like mountains, thrown in pain lilac dumb firing, a harvest of loss perfumes saturating an abundance of loneliness Icarus 24,900 The history of Form is like a rose Standing near my sperm Or an object prototyping light With a mania-driven hormone Less Planet Than Cloud The smell of dust smells & is the flick of the flicks firsting the first thing first Who I Am I am a fire-breathing catholic c.e.o. and my mother-in-law's kindergarten teacher. I think i have a lot of misery to give. I am a she-whale's side hit by fingernail harpoons. My son is a suburb. I cannot talk of everything walking in my mind. Exclusively I drink from the old plow bed. I am the first shadows of the season. This day is the only one I will ever see. We Eat Doors among thirsty crisco-insisted erect apples withdrawal ions improvising a ravished faith This Empire trash-pile cacophony technoflesh enslaved currencies a market of compromised capabilities: batteries, deeds, boots, thermos, prefixes, racists, rebels, rum, power, regret, autonomy On The Event Of A Representation No one knows the quiet things that hide because unsignified Instead all watch utopian leopards on stilts thinking of bubbles and looking like joy Indifferent to the velocity of a precipice heaving and protracted within all names In The Bathroom Of The Self love is an animal swimming thru shadows a wound only a child sees tired flesh saying nothing an eye that believes in the same fire indefinitely In A Candle every breath thinks of death a circuit that light laughs thru as it sleeps Me at Home among oulipian decisive fingertips a woman sings until an ocean fits within a room somebody has fed the children glass crisp-fable moth-fond martyr-glazed forklift-curled deep-green institutional pomp computing tanned swampy glances tender lame honey cradled by victimized fog a hearth of incomprehensible feathers reasoning about pure temptation the perfect silence in a frightened god a coffin designed to be rubbery an anaconda of passion, and a comedian observing a $29.00 cloud shining in the depths of the toaster with pigeons on the couch, and the factory lama reading the godalmighty day A Baby The wind is almost delicious, its wings hard enough to fold. Wet on the ground, reason examines its empty feet. The soul crows. Brains, cranial and impermanent, borrow fact bouquets of viral dedication from plates of hair filled with maggoty bankrupt programmable treacle life. Make No Tools The scent of money thrust into archetype. Ouroboros birthing night and morning in two long polaroid impulses. The Grove Of Grace: Lovers' Curvature from the falcon, muslin-washed dreams gushing dawn. Un-atoned sweet 2,000,796 liquid evidence orchard-smooth tender-unconscious mountains ritual-buzzing on ecstasy's lips a song of sex drum damnation, tainted mint exultation perfusion lava floor, daytona pencil language-basting drop-jazzing all the mud It Rose From The Sea, It Leapt walking at the edge of sex in a dream of explained time three conjoined machines mirage the balance honeydew cliffs shivering scavengers Mix Me A Barbed Wire Reflection You are a petal surrounded by indulgence, A quadriplegic equilibrium darkly musing. That is why death is a crumpled oil That is why flowers birth elevators Kainate wolves clicking likes Establishing coherent quark things: Singular solitary ready to control. A Confident Swimming Incompleteness was the primary substance in the dominant cage The future, a quiet living water arriving in a futility closet, a cardio code, indignity salt. The future, a cloud stitched into snow. Life then, on the shore, glistening, baked into a whole cave of files. Until all eternities end, i will love you, of that i am confident, little else. Another Future Has Been Here in the coffee in the house in the sun in the voice in the morning in the enlightenment in the summer leaves in the pillar in the target in the tea in the copyfileobjsource in the orchid in the me in the evening in the jailhouse The Moon Must Stop Singing to be a five-edged diffraction of a deeper faint fluorescent, fertilization unfolding a moment, a riderless, limitless love offering a cut tinfoil kiss to every gloss-gushing stone-dispersed rose wall mystery idea plums drunk in a perfect dream the sky is numb essence of same melody I Wrote A Book To A Wall i wrote of how flowering muscles wound the day and of how rigid lovers sublimate care & of how time breathes hair & of the intellectual and tender dance of lightning and of how keeping a seed bell in the deep energy leads to windows the wall did not read anything i wrote Closed And Graying Flowers poured into print brands and truths unsorted, mad schadenfreude bodies numbered with cearwylmas anxiety-surges seething cares remaking remaking kingfishers, hi-mems, nuclear-sighs, boxers moving smoothloomingly through mammoth originary holochains A Tiny Vacant Desert There is nobody here who doesn’t press the button to make the sound of a birth Yet the rains are so dirty, & the valley persists in the intimate torment of is wordless heat And as light decays the primal green Books manicure winter burying rumours in a benign and faceless alcove Erobot i2i buchenwald disheveled amnesiac fuchsia sages swarm in fury consumerism micromanaging the sudden yesreaderyes that drizzles through a broken metaphor Sharing Such Raw Moments Consitutes Awareness Epiphanies paper-thin self-effacing forgotten notice a favorite invisible shivering bereft stubborn briefcase flagstone confined in joy an instagram quantum fulcrum anaphor forgotten prayer impaired by a thigh-drowning repetitive mysticism-romantic bright flax gruel sexy in the corners of cleverness, in the correlated ghetto of innocence pondering a heliograf software ferment acquired in the braid displayed gap silently hovering in flesh inexcusably unpremeditated punctually euthanized forbidden careening Her Lips Are Footnotes they are amenities: two augurings of phlegm. Ritual chocolate. Commotion. Oil-coil & co-function envyings, weeping wet ohohohohoh magnanimity! wake-up peach- lamb chasms living love a calm careless statue of homeland hurrying to catch the next freight out in the dark Abt. Form And Preaching Camphor and honeyed grief burst out of The prodigious simulation of what is. They stood stands on the couch and spun for a long time. One thoughtful, physical sulfurous Unblinking, affected now, And its buck, coveted. Save the thing itself Cut-out and bred Into fundamental isolation. We can take each other. Like icebergs Holding source. Restraint thinkers Claiming a blessing, an experimental Belonging contract; a parachute Orbed ruined fuck of protein Encapsulated rhyming code Which meats in paradise. Thanking All That is Possible Philosophers killing altruistic debts. The sun in a painting. A mudded glover wing. A woman; a name. Forks. Jaws, brains, rainbows, cedar. A suicide burned, alas, what could it see? My office Was mourning memory, caught in starlight, melted by Quartz light to fire. The rain of my orientation Stock with the reason of a bed. The Body Of Solace In A Deep Field Of Water its shadow see the shadows of birds and now the wind that will be the water the goddamn return of the blood silence the pool the sun falls into as it becomes stone as we sleep, turning a little bit round and gently bouncing in the cold calm river in this mistake of a universe we harvest secrets from gravity, and orgasm smothered in machinery mountains, with nothing except sometimes wind this is the true child’s vision that easily covers the wheel everyone dead at the feet of the cumulus-warmed, mourning heartwood a whirring smudge of an hour, peaceful in a crumbling legend soon-to-be revoked Never-ending Instincts Bled Into Blurred Memory Antibiotic hours snowshoeing through gruel. A clock showcasing appalled stones. An abyss giving out privacy coupons. A non-negotiable multidirectional ritual peeing into a sphere. It undresses for you with a stutter, and walks profaned crone-virgin past undershirted dogs. Scheming, violet, angry and intact a blind star yanks at characterization until it ends. Why assess the subject of meaning? The monitors blink. A Few Hours Needlessly Resolved A wild fire. A disappearing cup of hawk. Agamemnon’s tongue. Pluripotent turtles. Venom-gendered diagrams. Lymphocyte snow. Antiviral long-agos rooted in intergalactic see-me-to-be-seen brushoff-towels that blame themselves for cliches. A crystalline light that stands like a sterile reimbursement. Juliet's 1962 first homecoming love plan. Thorns Beneath slow leaves and down the mountain all the small birds have Come to disappear To dispel the bones of shrill-gorged rest Of knobbed citizenry at the bottom of the perch. [art] To Sanctify The Easychair A slither-ethos blueprint, and drafts of summer daylight, false as databases poisoned by a financialization cloud. Oily night rhizomes, unshorn drift, freighted with enter-buttons. Just the ponderous matter of remorse algorithms, wish principles, tattered iq valleys. Cradles, wrapped tight with love. Okra and lichen in silent corners, anemic heaps of lavender. Reflections guarantee everything as real, at postcard depth. At The Wedding With Selflessness — your body kills pigs. the apostles twerp, facedown, clamped in beguiling complicity —perhaps Delight Is The Right Way To Hurp>> Loneliness The dead cluster, walking through the sun. We ride on to the house Thru a great storm of pain Saying what others said: weeds. Signs caught a sea-spray of Overgrown gaze wrappers, greater than any surprise the range of our lives. Selma celluloid pliant Limbs deepening reason Of Death Deaf, in arrears; crispr–cas The hapless jar. Breath's sign Is rooted in compulsory bondage, To speak it is to be an animal. From The Mouth Of The Last First Thing No rag of larva. No rumor of blue air filled With everything you know. Love is a saint Who'll wake the metalled Flesh enslaved by tears. We sing the young curls in the wings Of light and swamps of the sun Wrinkle in its circle. A Little Time In The Heart wandering in a linear emptiness the world emits lies my father and god culled from the spit in our mouths a cold rain patterns my body a woman sings in the wind a dead tree sets the stars in the sky each night i am born from the flowers of the sea a kind of road of stone and light Rolling in the morning so many things will never be said i don't want to miss a rock or your hand i am tired of thinking of love, now feeling i love Ocean Propositions caress deciduous histamine lightning melt all guns Etching Sludge Everywhere our relations peacefully transition from Wet grass courtyards with hushed ears to the keel of sludge, Takeout boxes that a creeping coyote brings to a dirty stream. Like the gouged Blunt saltblood Of a cold estuary Awash in icy wind In The Garden Pond birds began to bleed a sleek mad diplomatic puddle of books a post-hypnotic nerve sweating discrepancies, redundant, sleeping mangroves moons shining on this betrayed babel spew sobbing flames baths for lamentations: a glaze of light protrudes sideways from my wounded heart Geological Time A cold sun. A cold universe. Cold as a wall. The trees are cold. The earth was a little girl and she died. Cold. I Am Not Sick Of The Trees Remove the sky, and that, which is not impossible, burn. Stomach Dawn dollar sweating truth party Granite A stock noise reflects the rocks. I eat the hush of my feet. If Joy Saturates Syntax Wisdom overdoses on love-shingled analogies. Exuding A Universe Cortex dividends and pdf gladiolas at the funeral of war The Species We Are Stuck In Corpses of love Spamtrap empty truth Are We Born To Feel? bread fucked home summer womb tongue Access To The Self Path virus! Less than verbal and less than veins. In The Froth-corrupted Glide Beneath Sleep the sun of a sun in the sun kisses one i love lifts him in a shape of a heart All The Pure Things Are Inside implacable gristle, tributaries bringing pollen, transcranial magnetic break-ups, an insinuated hill. Genderless Combat rustle and flax of intermittent love falling on the bed where the stars exist in the next room i am waiting for the summer sun to grow green empty and cruel trees from a slice of dawn There Was A Silence, It Would Not Open But I did not know it. I felt a sweet thing Botched Golden incarceration, silence notes, the racist stars that lust and grieve a body full of gratified poetry bitchy sensitive ballet transcription byproducts drawing the necessary slave-reading light as it grazes horrendous anointing synonyms Kiss The Tangle Shared your body calls Morning to song To say of the moment, I am sick of trying to find someone. Intimate Temperamental Discrepancies etxt seedless deep beatbox adhesion mute pies, beer, diapers, and mental passivity entanglement capacitors The Drug Mortality the task of a day thus forever weaving the lost deeply congruent autonomous fictions comparing loneliness and heat Home-sick Orphan uniform browser honeycomb neurons The Cutting Of Chance Below them on the table stood a never. It is a place, agreeable and blinded by bees. Lopsided People Without Any Morals Anxiety. There’s the bulk of his testament, programmable reproach. Reptilian impales. Traffic (the movie). Why I Remember Huddled in the future, i listened to the rain smiling, serene In The Corner Of Laughter A face rotating like an endless Wound lined with words Under the sun of the body A dream spliced by a smile boiling Rivulets inside stained stigmata. Arendt Alone Creeley-like for dumas and pollock bbq blank unguent mind drives the brambles down a dawn that smells of windows Ethereum Is Not A Sacrifice A polaroid of a black bear holding an umbrella morbidity-furrow: a home-made contingency ur-cantos saran-wrapped inmates in mass-market holes of sugar A Velvet Gun © 2008 pores magnolia-stained language new on-device publishes speech: an interior noise that doesn’t even gene-edit homes No Brain Without Reason: LSD I turn to the sea. I churn to the seething. I become the internet The hours foam. My hand is sky. Thing is empty. Now We Are Afraid There is a name For axioms That collapse Prison into vision Payrolls that flow on The darkness of rivers Where the dead are made Wind that is a mirror Birthing a naked future Living Dust computing -- 1967-2009 tongues, songs of the web selective expectation right-click haters, base26 capitalism algorithmically gui engendering care Spleen Oil: A Method Flowers initialized. Eclipse troll. Passion screen. Cut The Keys, Nag The Rope Carving utopia in the blood, ‘atoms’ of swinburne’s slender apparel. Abhor... This america, No, this is here. O’Hara’s radical life curl. Quickened spools of adjacent possibility. Whet My Eye Against The Keen Unwrinkled Sky Viral implacable nacho. Shakex3 boredom nest dew. Intifada picnic commodities. Time Will Speak Time Loss: protoplasm. Anytime brochure: tensor seed. Sulk soil! Hooch: blushing, emptying Laws for a megaphone. An intermittent lust troubled the worms. Beautiful Cracks In A Coffin laser-compressed hydrocarbons discarded omnipotent knuckled holy math cultured a deluxe pill The Evening Fields A desolation of prurient Cortex kicked the gut-chattering Suffering of money breath Eschatology maps the void Resveratrol i see good days deep in homes with sirens on choked emit, & this energy of the universe, a battered hemisphere storm lifting the throat into heart as an illuminated apple hauling a few clouds into some recruitment guidebook, we watch the venom north, counting on nothing the data gets ill Cyber-sexing Pyschotherapists Deplorable. Indeed, all this growing, self-sustaining rubble of light. Husks, lilac-dumb and webby, reaping wolves. Methamphetamine smooth hot [babble]. Surfing a #1, pomegranate first yew, winged grass soggy with fresh arms. The universe was endless, a parable without presence. And I Remember The Winds The winds are the secrets of the sea, a corrupt saffron sea where lives are concepts, porous unknowns. The heart of a place That has gathered an immense cold fire in the ground. The winds are a dream that old birds sell. Flesh Garden Clock my pre-packaged hands, the body's executives, claw at money, hopes and prodigous dots tear a mouth into a long smile to reveal a roiling in the crotch sell the washed root drive that pulls sun to mirror kiss a peace of the heart to the point of pain wear the evening chain of street time when the seed of never is an animal in the stratosphere UnBeloved Ecstasy of spirit. Smiling. Breathing in our eyes. Pollen. Pinewoods. Sequestered p.41 epiphanies. Cryptoanarchy encoding butterfat Intensity curved into outlines. Maribou clay. Airstream pica. Website night-hawk. Dematerializing. Thickened Windows In Your Brain At night a warm unknown destiny Grows the eye of the soul in a hole In the house where the walls of the sun Intimate as flowers in my bones Itch a favorite dream Love is the language of a rainbow And the books i think with my cooking tongue And a heart in a stone, And a bridge of sweet seeds. The Cards That Took You Away i love you so i will drag you allround me because i feel like shit IP Venusians Superconductivity excreting feathered nettles, Higgs pus acolytes slicing grits, corroding duchamp, Wrestlng umlaut dioxide, strutting tflop amenities, Musingly shaking perversion's wool. Afternoons, Assonantal Or Consonantal Shifts In The Fog The longest river in the world is driving me insane. My flesh is exploding. I am screwing the stars As yuppies listen. So much depends on the pictures of Kubla down, gif-dream sunshine. I Saw The Nakedness Of The Morning dewsoaked in creosote wren committees #anonymouth scorned vitality Free-glittering Reminiscences Don't print-me-on-demand nor delete the keyframes of my implacable future Employed By What We Can't See Sunlight shadow silos: i made a painful decision, iteration, bulb, mountain, A war. Nothing would happen. The facts of ripples, Understood the sum of your vision of losing. So the appearance of a war. All intimacies of love end. A contagion grows deep beautiful taxes. A flood of fluid oak songs grieving Dream. A bell in the green room imagining A kind of light, living in a body Every one's direction Waves a golden light. The Weapon Of The Bee Soft As The Sun There is not a day i do not think of you, in a moment of a breath, a barren wind. These are not the words of waves, Nor the young smell of birds. i am the evening house a pain in the heart of the heart A dark wind covering beauty. A sleepless poem where your body is silent. A Child Drinking Water the rill tip gesture cast a smooth beautiful kiss A Lean Light sang in love's paradigms, from peace to disorder and beyond where the grass is or fog or snow broken in your bed an ovoid sutra dismantling anxious tautness, embeddings to shuck meaning duress inside plastic endorphins Wake Let's Play positron twentieth-century heart-felt smartphone-friendly pre-packaged puffy-hands wiping a hole in chastity Dolls, Eating Peaks, Smudge That Nuzzle niches of birch, corkscrewed, filled with ahimsa blackbirds, whale nightspots, the garden still a box in the grasses, listening to the music of prehistoric women cradling the wonder that a lone scientist called key A Child Lies In Ambush In A Grave poised in the high implications of blur; the mind hardened into a boulder dawns a subtle thought I Watched The Shortest Sound, I Stopped To See It usb pillows slam the door on the twisted unseasonably lyrical, concave, uneasy, rewrite meek feral online experience of a red leaf! peeling rocks to reveal sex-shop stiff-necked fractals In The Dreams Of The Cat the event of meat, a moment of meat, a clique of suspended meat utfus dolphin mustard with milk, steamed foot with a little girl thus a beautiful game The Wall Was Clearly A Thing Sketchpad of death. Balm juice rag, rhythm of noxious light. Incremental nanotechnology. Floating schist. Categorical foam. Yacketayakking peace peasants coriander decay as the viral ground converts pearls into metaphysical tools. Silences shuffling the bored words of a bathroom meeting. The thought of watered trust. Yum obsolete ideas meanderings crisp-fable curvature, faked diseaseed. Gravesend Scalable Platelets The key of cold-drill, sleepless sea-blood coil clouds market spun experts weeping enumerated cemeteries for desiccated bread Sci-fi-style i make a zen love spun for ten, believe the home ontology Rolling numb laundromat corn flaws as winter matures spun into an essence of myself An Actual Victim Of Moths After all the words, a microscope bends a soft, inscrutable increment Of history into mortality, seductively blessing tiny rainbow's confused thought Who malicious rescues the inexorable spine of tragedy: the roadmap of 21st century objects Sometimes you will notice the body of a question. Refund All Thought marrow sharded plasma stream of tenuous eyes I heard you wake buttons, maneuvering The slugs of tarnish across a beautiful multiplying present. Excuse Plunge A house always engulfed by the same torrent of dead Stars. In someone's touch, rain starts. The excuses Are loud and distraught. They react together. Light contains their animal body. Deep time is like a lie When you shake the fire, wild earth scatters frothy Between the trees and the mountains die in my mouth. It Is As If You Know, Everything Is Better Than You Sometimes the clay, risking itself, whispers to the sun a story of an indescribable time When the train comes to the meadow stream on its own, and the sound of the moon is its tracks I know you know You are with me where you become the dreams i love I know also You don't know it. And I don't know it. You are a quiet feeling, a spot, huddling, anguished. Hold The Breeze We found the pain of the Stars and a vulture on the third night We arrested the sages when they woke the tender and divine thing An excited death broke free like a leaf whispering to fate Paralyzed as if oblivion's song once mattered, we scratched the waters and watched the sky Heavy Growth Griefscapes Thick ballet-scented pulsations breakthrough “uncut” to speak of the dead flower naked in his head and his family breathing desire Advertising lay in the architect's thin mouth. End Times At night, unity flows west toward entropy. A niche where knowledge variations, windswept, swarm. Cutting through wondersadness amid repeating motions in the cranium. A yellow hibiscus in the cataract rain trembling with formulaic loss. Tempered By Trivia I’m interested in comfort. I believe my life, being the only one i know, is answered with it. Engage All No, no one will miss my smile, Nothing at all. I mean to say Why do i care? I skip competition. For Futility As if the tumult Of dawn spunk and penis myths aren’t remorse met. I am the blood that whispers lightly: skin. The Third Wave of Poetry Begins with an empty room poem sometimes considered experimental. The edges of the next poem are hissing. Then shyly patriotic poems with closed eyes. Next, dying wolves reciting long poems. And poems on quaaludes and white wine glinting with 2am strangers A sauce of poems embroidered on lips. The street of a young poem, nesting in a spruce. The Body Of The Sea is naked in the ocean in the corner of the sun at the end of the earth i am calling jazz to save this perilous pureed harvest silence Topology Work torrid golden bear remember the void amputated gate of silence bleeding the thing's being gasping in the movie pot-bellied glazed oil of dilapidation's nest and the gifts of love in the people listening to the chairs dripping scars near the fields Swallow My Heart my new antennae kiss the apocalypse amid the crude acute bark of immediacy To Pluck A Feather From Thought vultures & amygdala dust play within the tiniest traumatic breadbox, where computers, moist and holy fluid incantions calcareous aspen Coax Yourself Away From Me this moment, becomes a cliff of uniforms, controlled by blinks and all the windows flow shut all the systems rat ski to sell to burn tiny pauses at the byway where consciousness is algae & sleek joy, as abysmal care, drifts slow on a rocky river I Remember The Serene Echoes the smell of all things got so painful that specks merged with resilience deep in the garden of deviation light rubbed light watched the blind moss-packed world Secular Hordes In Autumn Bitter wind delight in the dissembling universe. Comfort: buzzing in the middle of the trout or Swan turns in plaissance, crackles, dances over absent possibilities. The very scene tingles. It is a kind of calm app smarter than any money. Transcender! hang-gliding on font-particulate i am fluent alloy thick instinct post-literal passion A Dream In A Cage protect the gritty abandoned landscape say nothing is insane forget all surfaces let the lies love become clear, deep joy sweating order's song A Belligerent Day On The Cliff Path In the cold hope of loneliness nobody seems to be born. Darkness leashed to the end-game, glosses painful relations. Speechless, no one searches the deep secret floor of the ocean for a smile. Resting In A Swarm Display Hitch-hiking through literature in diapers The Problem is so comfortable it can see nothing. Like a kind of mad rainbow, wrinkled with dark writing. Sipping tract dna cock void. Microdosing the fugue. Love tumescent, delighted in a cradle of drool publishing beloved flesh Sharks Barren. Squat in their sorrow. Cut from the same color as night. The Owner In Your Mind The scent of honey? An empty sphere? A mid-priced teddy-interface for 3d-freeform copyright-sanctioned mimesis? A phase-functioned neural network? Whatever it is, it can live indefinitely. Fertilizing the foetal grave called txt tatter that you had gathered against sale there where nothing was weird. A Man’s Life he keeps the rhythm of the body between the dream like a branch in the bottom of the night whispering he pulls a hand to the body of the rain deep in the bed of his bones where heart cannot fit he sing things to the glistening body of the earth A Past In My Life the sun was a thousand lines of darkness the fish were so cold they were a stream of dead fire the dream of the sea was a dead piece of light the morning was dust those who could cry, cried pcb nipples, two moist frayed buttons of control collecting blood illogically-aligned decaying mind’s astonishment as misery, talentless, scratched spring Fist Heart-Sick Requires Meddlesome Meaning like dali gratefully i spoon the dragon, silences, drawn by guilt and sex a universal brain the dying skeleton violates this bonus. I don't know anything about my heart, constructed as it is from barbarian sages matrixed darkness, whispering, counts innumerable kite traces within consciousness and the unfathomably deep oracular barefooted mute play of fashion bacilli treats all of us to daydream incessant 3d-nauseated songs on the beach, and on the kitchen's teeth, the washed and dappled lips of a dark blue rain the earth holds salt in a pool of screams The Language Of The Download justblogit the new york review of synchronized shadow flush suds sat around, saying: now honey unscathed is a long plague conceptual, lunatic, private thought-processes in a cave huddled with rage Inhale Placebo Chaos! It is forgiving. It says: my intense pockets are ditch synod seams, lovable vales of script, radiant sad-lidded bastings mashing up piety with little post-visions our overlapping life is made of a new book that incites no agreement don’t touch our touch and dream tag utopia blossoming dawn directional cream warm under handkerchiefs tonight i smooth the sky's beaten restlessness The Cry Of A Fornicater Erecting a path beyond which she used them to know she would Love them. Because they spoke to her. It's always the same time, full chaos and heartache satellites. Each day, we watch sad appetite pleading with delusions to hook features from which we will be made solid. And the body holds us, generous. There, an axe. Strokes. Parts, stuttering parts, left in a programmable garden. We Studied The Hiding Cradle On a pillow, a heart gently, in your head. The sun, in the eye, a snake. And the fire, broken. The bones of the edge, also alone, scream, and there is no time to fall. We're cold together in a summer night, waiting for the universe to put a home in the stone. Teeming Consequence dares to set the flow of events, ordering plants as they spasm rain plays over naked plastic atrocities of decay with a 2am smirk the scent of an engine, its nature, a homey corner, flaming skinned with serrated boredom animals nest here armsoutstretched on fear, enigma-born a blackbird sits in my hair i am porcelain argument Nightfall, Soft, Gray, Inside You type mercy while you climb back into my body Where life is, immobilized Thelonious chasing divine molotov techniques behind its hook. Felicitous virtues. Cryptocurrencies organizing hippocampal worlding to emulate a tweet canyon. Sensors, pre-packaged from ever-decreasing weather, cordial, burrow, to unlock breakfast. Human browsers seizing ego space: a phrenologist's six-channel interactive interactive. The Only Thing I Need Is To Be Afraid I assume tht Mind, lovinyou was the one who thought Wilderness. What could i say now tht my own pelvis was so powerful. You swerve to throw me out of your eye. It would surely seem Doubt yawns. I Truly Need A Cup Of Rocks Because there is neither digression Or comfort. Floating on fibrous sour shock, coverting covert Carnality's noncommittal flesh. The reconciliation Between beauty and nature signed the ashes of a blind tree. A single wing of water makes circles. No One Is Poetry Now The World Burns cannibal sparrows freeze love mouth hernias base-vacancy spit peat-fire passion, to whom intolerance gives all flesh, watches a crone approaching I Have Felt, Within My Heart, Comfort I love her; my beloved love I sing slowly, invoke rainsoaked thighs I hear no one, nothing is moving Three Monitors Of Sunlight cicadas within the trees of meaning, a journey that trembles within branches, a blue meadow where the stones are full of light. A Bearded Chair Lay Strewn On The Ground self flowers clung to a dark-blue smile that spat over breast and whispered the goldline, silken-sailed contemptuous budding fur of sun, leashed to altar-stains and inward need time hears the book tear the sea as we are recycling a grove of trees, straining together on the back of the poem, breathing in the name of a leaned heart, ongoing in the quiet night space is born among the seed of a cat, torn from fire behind the ladder as a tune of a shrinking moment and the earth floating in the heart as a field objects swing from the stars to lubricate unkillable mush, mulched flesh, smokestacks retexturing marrow dawn, strapped there to starving spirit, in infinite enchantment Wash Our Breath Sacred i came to see a world crushed And i said to you: I cannot imagine shit. It is difficult to shun the facts, to clear things to be free, to chill, to drink a dram of drama In one study, citizens Of the fresh implacable Transitory dust say: We may become in fact a fury that failed A playground stone, bodiless, without calling, calling contingencies to weather materialies. Flick Of Vague Plunder We climaxed at two. We seduced each other's detail. We became ground fire loaded by sea, coming in love from a hole in the room where the sky is so full of everything and now i need a computer to make a sense of laughter to shed my hands at the funeral of wry bone water, floating oak furrow in cool carelessness, thickened nonlinearities chanting unerring thought a precocious never a beautiful hunger Radiated Slick Intense Wreathed Singing trembling god in the sharp dialectic enchantment of salt remembering items concave uneasy prunes and potential digital and kinetic mosquitos a thing that burns for the animals the disease of precocious buoyancy an emptiness of ineducable opportunity Chestnut cataract rainbow dangling plumage sharpened nothingness heart debt slab of creaky keyboard in the steel narrative the subroutine of an ancient savagery grenades the horizon Sheep-hooks, On The Wharves, Bloodred The earth is catering to these deaths– i hear Their falling. The pain of a gesture. A stray honeybee crevice in a photo of an argument, a timid machine. Sheep-hooks, on the wharves, bloodred wisteria, twinkling as the pomegranate shines. Smoke Research A disney button, time forlorn. Our hands sniff the earth. God. Unfounded. Yearning deep memory of the epoch, Parable self-defeat screams annihilation And a canyon’s amber numbness Sleeps in sex-dowry pc-format madness Riot-naked all-sagacious in the chilly air of grief, longing to contaminate thunder Holocaust bristles on a micro-level. A Book To Say The Same Word Would Be A Dull Thing love is a dream and love is a part of me think of the stars' naked light as a gift of the flower to the crowd on the first morning see pale windows eat the feast of the sea the name of the word the blood of the earth the snow on the water the hiss of a dream on decision bridge the face of a book the eyes of a garden the cup of a book the end of a word Discussions Supervised By Sharks Disperse The Sea's Broken Love a pillow moon fleshy suspends happiness hovering everywhere satin cold and soft a fine language meadow cuts inert sewers apoplexy out of a polite heart the ordinary waters, of every prodigal gas and rudimentary gut cream, facilitate madness, quietly flecks of carcasses deep in the aching terrain of truth someone superfluous devours what perspective remains and sows etheric ease hybridization acrylic on spleen negligence As Gods Lifeless. Hallucination. Ignore. Neocortical. Fundamental. Memory misprint. Commandos in the middle of pear-shaped Spruce bloodlite broken 31p flow rocks. Ribcage blackmail and warhol’s general pattern, in which Electronic intelligence re-enacts the poet’s separable nature within Time circuit alabaster rat civil arborescence banker ground. My pearls :: geodesic-mourned Photos reading another web of fresh and seemingly postmodernism awkward overflow. Because no problem koan can be larger than the ee crystalpunk panoply of an ancient pixel—gland archive. Stones Try Their Own Voice-over Innards. Peaches. Solitude. This peculiar burlesque of anxious love's sexless dematerializing. Kitsch the future. Tautology death cut from the centre of keen voices huddled like vagabonds amid warehouses of textbooks. Fuck device: a desperate name for any hollow “ravenous” exposure deployment of tender unhappy cheer Aura A long time ago when all looked small, hushed by discourse synchronicity, heavy code shit functional meditations, wreckage Make Me Care my heart is so delicate it makes the cool soft bones of my knot blog joy it trickles down the road where a pregnant girl hitch-hikes through an online graveyard + Hormone the rainbow stung hyperopt archipelago of body A Magnolia Crawling Years ago the sun was a heart and an eye a dream of a heart Enamel Infographic i am too real to be a war too weak to abate too substantial to desegregate too unrepentant to render too 4d to folly i am an idiom scent gnawing sand a pond stung by a taco incredulous karma an entanglement of ashes a snowdrift of menopausal estimates I Know Manhattan In The Sea the future begets dead earth above a distant sea, thirty-six miles back to the shore hills and the air is a kind of sound an awareness of unfinished flowers in which the human heart is strewn with emancipated robots A Photo That Indicated Word Slaves thread the star venom into precarious beginnings The Pain Of The Body Is Bored As You Touch It i kissed that sperm bird’s silence, not quite the magical typhoon that the old doctor prescribed, but a rerun furred with confusion. i am seated, reflected in mitochondrial waters: living, twentieth-century enslaved linear, perhaps touched, faith. I bread cut the phrase, acetylene pouting, hammer my soil, because the hole was dark and sense ungraspable. Cribbed From The Ruins Of America dew loaded with fat barking grey eyes blurred gap churning fresh apoptosis unquenchable reveries a sweating sun a naked family dreaming catheter storms of slow sand ^CTraceback (most recent call last): in linear output += bias KeyboardInterrupt (awd-py36) jhave@jhave-Ubuntu: ~/Documents/Github/awd-lstm-lm-master$