Saturday, October 25, 2003

do you miss your lover too? what flock swept by as we looked, engineered of trees and landscape, so we saw? do we miss approximations in the minding of rite? declarations and standard stand forth. we've tried a few words, and they were real. we spoke and left things 'there'. when an alien looks at news and numbers, adds and qualifies, we've got a button to push. aliens aren't primeval in the way we know the earth. they've floated, what a trip. a motorcycle could extrude love of land and going, but that's a picture in a song. the aliens seem like preparation, tho poetry always has a time to fulfill. today is modest compact, and the poets are expressed. if there's a career to die in, let the numerous find prime.

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some structures resist, definitive
crosses to realm of pouring,
the last rain in decency, brush with
information and telling, the screw turns
gathering, finding matter
purposed, dangling clear of last
right, moved over a term and
placed just so, squired by
dictation and
those who write the
reports, possible
mayhem as a present
tool, push league, sparse
meaning clock, lent maze,
pushed and pushed, that Idi
Amin, that Pol Pot, that
Suharto, that
function of Central
yours and mine, that
finesse and deadly
over, that cover and
preyed, that
much of the
'story', blocked
monster in script, radical
poet fronting, spurn razor
collusion, process document
sent to breach, breach means,
bastion frame, ambition
frame, constancy frame, lump
frame, the shattered giver
smokes out torpour
for a toke, length of season in
deliberation, radical
poet in power,
lop power, structure power,
rhythm power and word
function, friction matter
in digging store,
enough is possible
in lauded orb, viewed 'from
above' the place seems
belted and smothered,
tactile turn, the aliens
average the distance
already made
and finalize
another smudge of
our exact idea,
just as we

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Friday, October 24, 2003


yanked out of data for a time in space, but space grants nothing. nothing 'here', as we're informed, and too much time to prove it. when we look at the dark extreme, and see what a tussle has been lost, we register our complaint in dormant pleasantries. there is no safety upon the ridge, but electric storms and autumn's height. people go on listing their needs. a nation must protect property. further: a nation must be here, and there as well. such rot for our energy. when we're poets, we live forever, and everywhere is a place for 'our words'.

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alien interests have been mismanaged. agronomists point to economists. nothing seems properly caged. vice versa proves instructive. here's a sullen testimony from one edge of the knife: pressure in circles goes to the rim. there's a president awaiting instruction. his vice versa will be put in motion. surrey with fringe on top awaits. blasted mention of the next thing to do. expertise wants some friends in the right places. who's running the machine? perfect match. details more than the aliens can handle. your ambition awaits, sir. a weight's a fine thing, something like proof in this heavy world.

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Mr Bush spoke from a thatched roof.

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Thursday, October 23, 2003

the rockets land sullenly, with world trade centre as attention. the rockets are friendly, by means, and claim nothing within sphere of influence. all is marvelous, and dictatorship, and a slight. the rockets participate, and we enter that. there's a door, it's a policy. trains enter the earth, we drive. a music is culled from air: Coltrane lives or the lives of everyone matter. there is participation in words, everyone agrees. a forest waits to churn. forces collect forces, and we are all doggerel. remember the Philippines, for instance, or downtown anywhere. traffic equates with something that scares children, power in verse. verse itself is ages old, needs a tune up. participation claims freinds. rockets enter the atmosphere, sullen with love. rockets love in landing, just as well as sailing into every breach. contests mean heaven, or haven, when we are all particular. we pass strange comments to aliens, and the aliens judge. notice our animalistic words, fractured and tinted. the rockets stick to us, with us, in us. we participate. each donation goes 'a long way'. a clearing, or a hearing, ready for a sentence. the aliens are fresh, while we are almost constant. we gathered to read about Suharto today (the year of leaving dangerously), or just some service to the nation. the rockets need us, and we can be sentries. see? there is no fiction left. we gave all we had to the children.

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surely affordable 

a final blanking
tenderly, quest ocean
officiates, rounded
Bach proves somewhat
or a ghost
guessing, previous
indeed, there is a
cleric march
in the rhythm ward, words
strain panning, visited
sites crawl
with capacity and
someone dies
in minute and telling, but
ashes give off cigarettes
and cinders make
once there was a
house, once a land and
once a might of nations
pronged on something,
then the dead
march, which tells us
and the end of the
week, tomorrow
is an effort
sometimes, the weird
vagaries that trouble or
doubt so that
ambition makes
or the parting
question, is this
poetry for a
world and more?
the rattling
of breath or of
sabres resonates
cleanly, we're all
spanking new,
whatever that might
at least there's
a start
in the calendar

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marvin's march 

the step winces on the terrible ground of given. the step is long ago. narrative told a maze or trope as membership buying, and loss fragments among every word. throws go wide. seasons risk shed and lax, all the pain of letting on. there are pipers in the breeze, hardened in wet snow and the grey posing as possible. are we full of mention or hear a word or two? thru the misted vibrancy of something something, loss of something. dead is cotton industry history, or some magnaminous mill by a river, failing exactly, so that you could say. saying seems enough, just as Thomas writes Common Sense, just as Emily flies with two butterflies, just as the green ridges remain. there isn't dirt enough to bury the dead, or there's love enough, or there's time enough, in all that intricate bending. the slate is 'clean'. history writes of ambition. rugged aliens of preached space/time exhaust hover in crowds of losing it. one trains to be lost in it, in the verifiable and verse, in heed and season, in deference and cling, in loud and varying, in jetpack and lurch, in semblance and love. flight entails process, the vestiture of verbs.

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the space for details remains as forage. time spent in the space is foraging. everyday supplies witness, a whippet of concern that fumbles about with vocabulary requirements until gradations arise obviously and doubt heals another trip up. language is foreign enough.

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Wednesday, October 22, 2003

insult my saltarello 

idle framework, take me to the beginning, says a person in the desert. lecturing the cold and spiking night with potential upbringing, the person milks the moment. the aliens laud the energy to find such a fit. there are minutes in every hour! someone loudly discovers. further chatter controls mayhem slightly, the Red Sox are 'fitting in'. news from coasts arrive 'in time'. someone confuses a child, ladling great emphases upon the least mineral requirements. the world costs a bundle, some mom or dad advises. you can be a gift to the nation, the parent adds. will your gumption change meaning? my gumption arrived from the farm yesterday. I'm the middle name you hated: that's how alien I am. I'm in the middle of drum, in this rough noise called Omaha. when I am thoughtless, I speak to many, says an expert in the spurt. aren't we all engaged in the seminal tragedy? someone asks with a degree. can moments realize toads? is a further question. units of difference add up. someone is grander than ever, and more better than perfecting an idol could take. see the rampage moisten each stamp and delicately affix it to the tender envelope. see the framework of explanation flatten curiosity into a well-schooled bundle. each hour springs into existence with a new collection of minutes, says a youngster who notices the clock. mean aliens use snotty rayguns to compel arguments. why not just badger opponents? asks a child rearing exo-skeleton. we're all damp in this truck, opines someone who has tried to tie the discussion down. no cacophony wins the jetpack that will make distance a thing of the past, adds a monstrance new to the party. hangman, hangman, wait a little while...

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name one more 

now the aliens are like freshness, the ardent trope of laundry soap discussed in dire radicals and producing eminent lines. the aliens are frantic breaches, and fare well when savouring. we've got control problems and wet language. they've brought the test to us. we read between the lines, sure that lines exist. they've gotten into the trees and just sit there. we realize function. they've gotten tired of our nameplates, and we look askance to think so. the clock ticks, obviously taking sides. someone brings assiduity to the table, what the hell is assiduity? poets freshen in teapots, aromatic land traps begging our pardon. aliens strive for quiet places, gruesome deserts, for instance, where life's a bit desperate. they handle the plug of insistence in their own stylish way. we lose words. the aliens speed somewhere. we take that as a cue.

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alas the mountains are alien too, says some burnished elbow room wishing to be known. others who can hear trump the colloquy with bouncing radiations and sentiment farmed from sentence. such politics grows stumbling blocks of clear cities, spacious indices as can humanize even the most arcane of word choices. what is left is a deliberate canyon, far from the hills of West Virginia, far from the distrait convention of lives in green, far from the blur that blue gives making. the city slump brings indications. aliens veer towards express, as damage reports fester in the papers. the war was something cooling in our genes, now raises a fresh question, to the tallest heights of the best building ever. there we see such as can be made factual, and the grip of life in termination: the city as it beats and beats, tho the engine survives in rhythm tested on all. the green hills reach rugged naming, bouncing acrostic saviour in the time of meaning. the crush plays upon children made of tin, which was mined in deliberation. language jolts in showdown. modest clumps of grass remain. the aliens determine valence with modest supremacy, for which we are much obliged.

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Tuesday, October 21, 2003

mood lump your choice 

chuck driven into the river, it's a possible hack contributing long sentences to longer paragraphs and what are we here for? arise betimes with flowers or mirth, flood the gantry with something well-fueled, power up the glide fiction and try at for moistened flutter of visual deed, people this and that as far as bunting can survive, and the nodding demographics says hey! smudging difference nicely but still yelling, we're climate-controlled here, say the people in their vast undertaking (again), the political storm softens to a mulling destitute of parking seizures, the folks are blamed of tired but this doesn't excuse Idi Amin or any other tributary, rivers are mighty out west not here, and the candidness of ambition doesn't dilute its slot, we've called the aliens in for consultation and nifty biscuits, quit-rent stands in the distance, as also embargo, the toy of children when the grownups play mean, aliens sit in trees and take notes, a person hands over the keys, science says flight is 'possible', are you a feature of this too? let's explain saucers to someone underground, and time will pass

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the tenderness that came to was rich, popped a question with rune and strength, and everybody toughed out the new world, making change and making but also a composite of what we've 'learned', pulsing beat of that heavy metal Elton, until tone dims over the husky horizon and the cat chasing 'something', this is a better view than across the street

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Monday, October 20, 2003

trade definition idea for various, the aliens subsume. indications rash fall into the creek, with bluer means after greener once, then the column of blasting merge. that is exquisite in site and sentence, and which will be detail, fresh for alien encounter. of course, all these hair-raising intentions work with alien betterment and niggling, the thrusters pulse such science that we knew, as children, great details. now the violence is a train, can be trained, and a plane into a horizon chosen from none possible. it's all war and feeling bad for children. a colour lark puts on trade station, which is motion in the world. nothing of love seems in this sentence, but we are still working on conclusions. perhaps working too hard. sentiment finds sentence, and a willing vocabulary. lines continue to lead, like narrative. the aliens are a response.

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consecutive and idol like your snout, your class action embolism thru sheets of terrific mention in the cryptic, your fence moves mellow barnacles on the diode, clearing the math for more of you and yours, and the nation that invents Vietnam eats dry station, picks pulverized as a constant irritant, tricks leather with long howls of 'protest', meanwhile the blasters engage resolute posses, among which are huge fans of granted, but when their time is up, they move into the cave, within which, as sentences go, so goes this one, oh, it is just jealous destiny, you've written that before, and later, as the day stutters into the latter sentence (an illusion, of course), districts grope for explanation, heralds rush in, these had 'the word'. others scout out the new territory, so very human in odd but satisfying ways. we all belong in the toolbox, someone shouts with a burst of assertive behaviour to prove the gods wrong. well, the aliens liked that, sure enough.

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irrelevant cage irrelevant in the
trumpeting and backspace and
needingspace and
definition plus and searing
lop and cooled faction
and straggle genes and
gaining ploy and all
the urgent written
in the tense

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the sole test breaks Bao Dai enter the imperial palace posture relevant to position in wind up claim amongst battered objectives the subjective wallops the sentence but parametres hold being boundaries of ideas made raiment or pasture upon which hopes seep into earth and moment of the graph while alien look on look on the note sounded something beginning in blue smudge light something ending hand over a hand over to another hand picture that picture that

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Sunday, October 19, 2003

it pains stupid trace
mineral breath
consistent with
panic in the dark
exactitude while embedding
more informational
pointers at the
thrust of given sense
while sturdy human
countries receive
many patents and
clumps of grass
lay in the gutter
to become
transmogrified as the next
nation or situational
politics that gladdens the dim
field of play

runners take to the ridge and seize
green billows of air then stand to proclaim
that this hunk of sweat cares
and gives a shit and reaches
a high climax of present
and accounted for

it's only a model
but the aliens see
in its design

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