It is smaller than a picture It is a black bird. The star In orange, characterized By beaks and legs — Kyurukuru — and warmth To spare. Walks with a saw In a bright place such as a lawn Or field while he grasps The efforts of mirrors and insects In the evening from winter To late summer he bears A big group and gathers the spring — Gyeen — one year of birds The hole of a tree, like the sea We make nests and breed a lot.
in his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses he can’t smell her boots expensive watches arrange purple chrysanthemums in the dark it’s nobody’s job
in time antoni sneaks off around lungs monteverde vecchio even when he’s locked away the value of a dollar
even when he locked away the dark it’s nobody’s job
girlfriend arranging purple
it’s nobody’s job to arrange these boots and expensive watches purple chrysanthemums
the time sneaks off in his long black hair he is dead
sergio buys handmade leaf smoke voiding his boys
he presumes he can’t smell her roses in the dark it’s nobody’s job to see his girlfriend he presumes he can’t smell her roses so he presumes he can’t smell her beauty even when he’s locked in the dark it’s nobody’s job
chaos and delay
evident against mounting
protest inquiry to insulate
insulate against mounting
protest seeks to halt hours on wednesday
staging against mounting against
suite where impeachment yet pressure office suite where impeachment investigators conduct private campaign to leave stridents behavior — and refuse to smear his political rivals storm interviews refuse to enlist
committees on the committee which is leading let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in! let us in!
the gunpowder if it ever exists dries ready full-mouthed and mush his
mission soon ends with no criteria sì, quella spiga— what athletic
power passed the hum of squirrely / selfish putsch down— if darkly uplift
the self gets righteous right to the bottom— quick, much is transparent
and not raised against the real polemic fear yr inbox as good as yr last
intesa inteso— i feel hiss intestines / push out against— the night
sufficient still bent between hiss pinching stamen & inject the sniff pop of
cloves to me finish the beginning
not first in air i have a special mixture
my exclusive time requires drips
i've made up my nose: first mind the drips
die then do no such thing required of me
since air is not so casually soaked
in ragged strips of exclusivity
time persuades one of their nothingness
nor am i briefly special of whisper bone
admixture of exclusive strips mine
i require a sort of flayed time
special time burrowed in special thought
slowly and continuously introduced
die then no such thought will be
thought in the air which afaik isn't true
i am all these pine-soar things
but what of rosewater soaked linen
i've had such wonderful lovers
in the beginning though not at first
beginnings slowly and continuously rise
and pinecone through the lawn
studded with drippings wrapped in earth
what a glorious exclusive time in strip
mines exclusive time dripping among air
however briefly but trimmed
into reddening strips
Il mio corpo sta facendo cose che non ho chiesto al mio corpo di fare. I am a simple man — gosh — and I have received the impression your poem isn’t about the Terrible President. You’re trying to tell us something sage we can’t hear simply. Stop with the gosh. Pick up a beer bottle slake of gasoline. There are many ways to say Mary. Here is my password: Say rogue. Say scoundrel. I am dying. Pethaíno. Douse. Sto morendo. Match. My body does things I don’t ask it to do. My ears bleed pixels of chlorine of ferric oxide of pine. The kitchen light never comes on, Mary, you know what I mean? There are the ants. They migrate from the dry sandy soil into my possessed things. Things I kill for. Things I inherit. La barca si schianta attraverso la diga. Mio la barca si schianta contro una ventola. I know what you’re thinking: You’re wrong and you’re wonderful. North star of burning hotel. Star burning.
understand ennobling forsaken;
struck down, despair; perplexed, in all.
you angels chase wilderness of blood
the rest hard-press to understand thee.
earnest of blood inters irrelevance.
i bet you can see everything you search for
the wall the well the lakes of bit blood the low aftness
crushed; perplexed, in all.
you’re not the death mirrors the holocaust, naked child running from work unexpected understanding, the truth you are the death mirrors singing and ennobling you can see everything the hard-pressed red herring.
a bit of instant low afternoon sun hides behind a pig farmer with sophisticated emotional truth now the watermelon sun hides behind a pig farmer naked running from blood fixative the wall the low afternoon crushed; perplexed.
inaudacious despair; perplexed, is all.
you search for the low afternoon sun hiding behind a pig farmer
with sophisticated understated military threat of it—both ways—the wall
melts into a blanket of dead fish.
the hardness crushed; perplexed in despair; perplexed, in front of a red house beautiful the hard-press truth of god wildernet—the next good the next good the hardness crushed, perplexed, in all.
you rarely find a pig farmer with this level of sophistication
today in pictures of literary devices it was not deep necessarily
the hardness of it was death which is ennobling for some
the poplar tree.
god, hard-pressed hung on the wall with a bit of blood, they got threatened
the second they stepped foot on our tarmac it was a literary
development alongside the confident wall the hardness of it all.
you angels chase wilderness: the perfect poplar tree, tallest god, the true holocaust, the most nude pig farmer running from fields of labor, the men too deep on too much information, the movies ennobling el partido de la porra prove you search for the dead on purifying force el partido you need too many angels
What is your name? Never know. Hunched, picked off a pair’a you—neither crow nor winch. A thing god backlit in neon after blessing us with neon. And I know what it means as a poet to carry this heavy basket—faint mason, invisible stevedore, passage of time, neither good nor right.
I am fearful for firm and misunderstood things— the spume, smiling inside the gargoyle, cultural forb— they’re no different as carrion ghouls. Time has done miserable things with light—he waves no staff nor hauls no sack of turquoise shards. Quick!
He’s about to make a break for it. He’s about to windlass Into the clouds, that one’s fancy. The crocodile climbs many painted ladders. No weighted, pretty purple halos ringing the eyes of these wordy wraiths—embrace not knowing your name. I struggle to pull down the old crucifix.
windows shout prepare managers
at multiple facilities clothes were released
notes to their cells senior management told us they arrived without cells constipated of detainment
at some point detainees wet-wiped religious providence
required their cells detained in this diet detainees
observed detainees for a time
was prepared to escape
while security prepared toilets with mylar detainees
who had vitals moved from our visits
notes to their cells during immedical clogging because force is necessary addition unable to be religious providence gestures bangs wears risk to their time bomb moreover crowded bathos sandwiches some facilities raise notes to their cells