Training_File.txt

The whole thing it is, the difficult matter: to shrink the confines down.
To signals, so that I come back to this, we are small / in the rain, open or without it, the light in delight, as with pleasure amongst not merely the word, one amongst them; but the skin over the points, of the bone.
That’s where we have it & should diminish: I am no more, than custom, which is the vital & signal, again, as if we tie into so many voices.
Wish for them: elect the principal, we must take aim.
That now is the life, which is diffused, out of how we are too surrounded, unhopeful.
The politics, therefore, is for one man, a question of skin, that he ask of his national point no more, in this instance, than brevity.
The rest follows: so long regardful of the rule, the decision as knowledge and above all, trust.
All too easy it seems with this slip into trust if it weren’t that silver is another brightness, & we know it.
I must stand off from the warm decay, invoke some Danish insistence, it doesn’t concern any of us, the risk of exception but we must each have, more than, the place defined by what we owe (in the weak sense, what we too warmly desire.
Only watch the weather as the sky does change, or the seasons in quick-slip succession, see it, as walking is a white charge in the bones we look at, constantly.
Or inconstantly, without even a shred of desire like maps at our feet.
We want too much for the others.
We must shrink / we are small with it, our pains are too earnest.
And the plain is wide: we are so far, we should conserve by election, which means at least being less than so apt & so reasonable.
Able with reason, the light isn’t there, but down, in the mines, for silver.
That’s where the state is, where we should recognise the renewed fact: William Smith or suchlike could be the founder if we needed that.
Which I suspect myself isn’t so, as we have no need of the star uppermost in anyone’s mind.
We are alive, the esteem already is there in potential.
It is a firm question, of election, the elect angels.
Signs or array, we should take this, we should really do so.
There is no other beginning on power.
Such is to elect terms, to be the ground for names.
We should come to the other thing, the influence of terminal systems, from there.
In the air, but first, before that other thing in the air.
One is each; and in succession / or by elect thus, there will be the new wandering star, in the heavens, the state of our own coherence.
These are the ligatures to revise governance, of the local disposing, the quality as firstly position.
Here is the elect, the folds of our intimate surface.
They call it peace or history.
Give it nothing: to them it is the elect, the principal, the voice.
Die A Millionaire (pronounced “diamonds in the air”) The first essential is to take knowledge back to the springs, because despite everything and especially the recent events carried under that flag, there is specific power in the idea of it that what is known can be used to pick up or more usually to hold on and develop as what for the econometrist is “profitable speculation”—the intellect on the trigger once more, as those poor seventh century Irish monks (being sentimentalists) would have believed if they could.
If there’s any need for proof & it can be kept from running to violence (to which extremity it should anyway perhaps be swooping homewards) the twist-point is “purchase”—what the mind bites on is yours the prime joy of control engineering is what they please to denote (through the quartzite window) “selfoptimising systems”, which they like to consider as a plan for the basic living unit.
And thus “accelerating the convergence of function”, we come to our maximal stance.
Imperialism was just an old, very old name for that idea, that what you want, you by historic process or just readiness to travel, also “need”—and need is of course the sacred daughter through which you improve, by becoming more extensive.
Competitive expansion: if you can designate a prime direction, as Drang nach Osten or the Western Frontier, that’s to purify the idea by recourse to History before it happens.
Envisaging the chapterhead in the historical outline as “the spirit (need) of the age”—its primary greed, shielded from ignominy by the like practice of too many others.
That of course is not expansion but acquisition (as to purchase the Suez Canal was merely a blatant example): the true expansion is probably drift, as the Scythians being nomadic anyway for the most part slipped sideways right across the Russian steppes, from China by molecular friction through to the Polish border.
Otherwise it’s purchase, of a natural course, the alteration or storage of current like dams in the river: what starts as irrigation ends up selling the megawattage across the grid.
The grid is another sign, is knowledge in appliqué-work actually strangled & latticed across the land; like the intangible consumer networks, as the market defines wants from single reckoning into a social need, graphed for instance as “contour tangent elimination”.
And the drift of that is again to divert the currency (as now in England to the northeast).
As, it was actually losing its grip on the population: real people, slipping off the face of that lovely ground, leaving the green & pleasant lands of Northumberland to be nearer the belly & catch scraps with the shit we set out so grudgingly on plates for the blind to eat in gratitude.
The grip is purchase again, and the current chic of information theory will tell you how many bits of that commodity it takes to lift one foot/lb.
of shit to a starving mouth, or not starving actually, but just rather unthinkingly hungry.
And don’t let some wise and quick-faced historical rat tell us about the industrial north and its misery, since every songbird since then (& with no honourable exception for D.
H.
Lawrence) has carolled about that beautiful black colour as if this were the great rot in the heart.
It was not and it is not.
The twist-point of this is again power by the grid, putting lives into strings of consequence into molecular chains like the pit-ponies we love to cry over.
Coal is so beautiful as I could weep over the carbon it shines with: what is scattered over those colliery towns is not soot or sulphur or coal or foaming detergent but the waste produced by mass-conversion of want (sectional) into need (social & then total).
All this by purchase on the twist-point, the system gone social to disguise the greed of ambition swimming in great seismic shocks through the beds of our condition.
All the needles are twitching frantically across their smoky paper, but society is “predictably” as we know “in a state of ferment”—as if that could ever turn to wine or raise bread, from the sad shit it is, to that crispy crunchy loaf we shall all eat only in heaven.
The fact is that right from the springs this water is no longer fit for the stones it washes: the water of life is all in bottles & ready for invoice.
To draw from that well we must put on some other garment.
Do what one can, that’s the gas-and-water talk, which is “do what we can” and we are the social strand which is already past the twist-point & into the furnace.
We don’t burn only because we are invisible to each other, our shoulders no longer so hopeless and beautiful as they meet at the spine rising up the dorsal rift: lovely and lonely, until the whole spread squints into the neck and vanishes, into the head.
And unlike Cerberus we all share the same head, our shoulders are denied by the nuptial joys of television, so that what I am is a special case of what we want, the twist-point missed exactly at the nation’s scrawny neck.
What runs back, or could be traced upstream by simply denying that conspiracy of “cause”, is the question of names & the seven tribes, which are not “predictions” and socially can be grouped only by the thinnest of generalising systems.
As these are not economically self-centring, they cannot be used as designations for targets (like the gun-sight on what “we want”).
And the back mutation is knowledge and has always been so in the richest tradition of the trust it is possible to have, to repose in the mysteries.
The perversions which thrust it forward, as a new feed into the same vicious grid of expanding prospects (profits) are let through by the weakness, now, of names.
There is no other break in the descent, since without that it’s all break anyway.
The purity is a question of names.
We are here to utter them.
This is a prayer.
I have it now between my teeth and my eyes, on my forehead.
Know the names.
It is as simple as the purity of sentiment: it is as simple as that.
Numbers in Time of Trouble Whichever time standard we’re on, the question of how fast and whether it’s worth it, we are underlaid by drift in the form of mantle, and that should at least be a start.
If the woman gets up in the morning you could say it was to be anointed, if that (in this time) weren’t so puny and obsequious.
The wrong standard makes it so, and the brutal fact is, that there’s no simple difference of opinion involved: the wrong is an entailment, and follows into the glowing tail of “history” as for example the Marxist comet burns with such lovely, flaring destruction.
That we could come off the time standard is a first (and preliminary) proposal; having nothing to do with some zeal about traverse or the synchronous double twist of a minor protein.
We could come off all that, together, into the nearest city of numbers (of which there are four, & could be five).
This is just a proposal, set on the table to move right out of range of those sickening and greasy sureties—like “back to our proper homes” (or look after the Golden Rose).
The homing instinct of a great deal else might then be cracked up: the loving magnetism by which consequence springs to attentive display in the field of roses.
That, say, and the justice of what we are said to deserve when so hopelessly we want so much more.
We do not get what we deserve, ever, since we have proper claim by the limits of hope and however far a given desire has within range.
So, we could come off that standard, and “possessive individualism” would be who we are—the first city.
Break the charter, lift the harlot’s curse, the revolted abstraction of “populism” by which the dark is so feared.
Holding hands is a disgusting trick, and is augmented by the expectation of plenty.
Which would set out our past as gained into the territory of fortune, and dispose of that lumpy yarn running back into the trees.
Again, what we recall is the choice, of our prevalence, the rich garden of the climatic terrain.
And choice is not then one from “the rest”—the élitist dream of the crown donned in the Castle of Gold—but an inclusion within that measure, of choice, the second city of this middle earth.
And the question of “exchange” is thereby also dismantled.
The dispute, over how far the values are trimmed, is strictly a consequent disturbance, since “fair price” is only the extent of our fears in the chest, of whatever sundry moth & rust we see in our age.
“Our age”—at it again, the credible is what we aptly wear in our timid & tender years.
The standard is a fear index, a measure of what (for example) “natural gas” will do to a precarious economy.
Whoever in some sheltered domain called that vapour “natural” deserves to laugh right into the desert.
These are the arid displacements beyond which lies in its state the third city, or the jewel of the air.
Further than this, up to our necks in our polluted history, the fourth city is not yet known.
Going off the standard is thus far only a proposal: the mantle is warm and in constant flow, but no man has yet crossed the plains.
No trumpets in any case for such banal folly: the modest hatred of our condition and the competition which we therefore call time.
They will not sound, as we cannot yet see the other side.
But we deserve to, and if we can see thus far, these are the few outer lights of the city, burning on the horizon.
Sketch for a Financial Theory of the Self .
The qualities as they continue are the silk under the hand; because their celestial progress, across the sky, is so hopeless & so to be hoped for.
I hope for silk, always, and the strands are not pure though the name is so.
The name is the sidereal display, it is what we know we cannot now have.
The last light is the name it carries, it is this binds us to our unbroken trust.
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So then, we should not trust the hope that is merely a name for silk, for purity untouched by any Italian hand.
The celestial routine is begging, & a nasty toy at that; the stars are names and the names are necessarily false.
We choose to believe in the flotsam, the light glance passing & innocent because unpriced.
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Which is grossly untrue, because we pay for it well enough, I have squandered so much life & good nature I could hardly guess the account.
The numbers are out there in the human sky, the pure margin which are the trust we deserve.
And we should have what the city does need, the sky, if we did not so want the need.
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The name of that is of course money, and the absurd trust in value is the pattern of bond and contract and interest—just where the names are exactly equivalent to the trust given to them.
Here then is the purity of pragmatic function: we give the name of our selves to our needs.
We want what we are.
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And not silk, except for ties, or the sky as even for exchange, the coin of the face we look up to as a vault ready for trust.
That much is trickery, but the names, do you not see, are just the tricks we trust, which we choose.
The qualities then are a name, corporately, for the hope that they will return to us.
The virtue in whose exercise we retain the fiction of air, silence, fluid round the hub of the week.
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How could this be clearer? The items are, that we are bribed and that silk is a random but by tradition a costly gift.
Quality is habit.
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What follows is where we are now, or where I am.
The old cry about chastity, that we are bound by the parts of our unnatural frames.
The median condition is the city and not the travel or the remoteness of travel, in sound.
Music, travel, habit and silence are all money; purity is a glissade into the last, most beautiful return.
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And how much we hope for it is the primacy of count.
This is the shining grudge of numbers, the name we will not lose to any possible stranger: the star & silk of my eye, that will not return.
A Gold Ring Called Reluctance As you drag your feet or simply being tired, the ground is suddenly interesting; not as metaphysic but the grave maybe, that area which claims its place like a shoe.
This idea of the end is a neat but mostly dull falsity, since the biologic collapse is violence reversed, like untying a knot.
And so slowness is interesting and the dust, in cracks between boards.
The old ones have their senses in the elegant droop they sometimes contrive, the knowing falter that makes it all like some trick.
Fluff, grit, various discarded bits & pieces: these are the genetic patrons of our so-called condition.
No resolve about places, the latch-key to our drifting lives, seems relevant without this smallest notion of dust.
How to purge the dismal objection to this, remains a question.
Not to be answered, but used, as a metabolic regulator: pulse rate, place rate, dust.
If you lie on your back the literalness of that position is a complete transfer.
Thus I dream about courage but love chiefly several friends and one woman who is the Lady of wherever we may go.
The evident shift of pronoun (what I now mean by “we”) is a clear question about place.
We eat to live.
We afford this; the genetic links are everywhere claimed, and you could say speech was the dominating discretion.
All discretion is a private matter, all changes of pace and childhood.
And as I emerge from feeling some lingering sense of beginning, that privacy (having all the time some start in view), this is another and perhaps my greatest transfer.
The public is no more than a sign on the outside of the shopping-bag; we are what it entails and we remain its precondition.
Even the most modern shops, if you work at them, will resolve into streets or thoroughfares; their potential for transfer has simply been absorbed, by trade.
The confinement of that is no option: the public assertion of “value” does not over-run the channels, seeping into our discretion.
Whom we love is a tangled issue, much shared; but at least we are neither of us worth it, though we transfer it into all other matters; that discretion is our one place.
So that the dead are a necessity to us, keeping our interest from being too much about birth.
The end is a carpet on which we walk: they are our most formal pursuit and we have our private matters by this allowance.
I don’t refuse the sign in whom I know, because that’s not a restriction.
Who that is concerns the question of who there is, i.e., being in place to the hopes they are met by.
The English condition is now so abstract that it sounds like an old record; the hiss and crackle suborns the music, so that the true literal has very few names.
And we too are remote within this, like the noble gases, since it’s our discretion that is affected.
Sedately torpid, we inquire into our questions, the “burning issues” that “face us on all sides”.
The private recourse that might also reclaim the transfer is our hesitancy.
Whenever we find our unwillingness a form on which to pause.
The white pills have no mark on them & the box extols three times daily, before meals.
But the meals are discretion.
We can eat slowly.
We know all about the dead ones, choosing to consider only the approach.
Have you had enough? Do have a little more? It’s very good but, no, perhaps I won’t.
What dignity we avoid, as we commit ourselves thankfully to these needs.
How definitely glad I am that greed is an alternative to hunger.
The few friends are the genetic patrons, the Lady is thankfully no lady, I don’t owe anyone that assurance.
And as the age or condition of this fact we call place grows daily more remote, the literalness thrives unchecked.
The imbalance is frightening; the splintered naming of wares creates targets for want like a glandular riot, and thus want is the most urgent condition (e.g.
not enough credit).
I am interested instead in discretion: what I love and also the spread of indifferent qualities.
Dust, objects of use broken by wear, by simply slowing too much to be retrieved as agents.
Scrap; the old ones, the dead who sit daily at the feast.
Each time I hesitate I think of them, loving what I know.
The ground on which we pass, moving our feet, less excited by travel.
DAY LIGHT SONGS.
 Inhale breathe deeply and there the mountain is there are flowers streams flow simple bright goods clutter the ravines the air is thin & heady the mountain respires, is equal to the whole So much, is just by pulse then the sky clears, again love is a term of shadow and the shade flickers here, too Since otherwise snap & a false a hope less polythene lung when so easily the town fits to the stride, we look at pots of jam we look upward And so when it does rain & will glide down our necks like glances into the soul, drop lets work their way forward the sinus is truly the scent of the earth, upraised Who shall make the sigh, of the waters, sign of rain & coming down over the ridge the entire air a nod to for tune, who else The leaves make drops, drop down the great tent of falling, the twigs are inside us, we the branches beyond which by which through which ever the entire brightness ex tends Do not deny this halo the shouts are against nothing we all stand at variance we walk slowly if it hurts we rant it is not less than true oh love I tell you so As now, a term less than misty forewarnings less ready in simple motions of cloud we breathe the same motions of habit some part of the sky is constant, that old tune, Sonny Boy Foot, how you press me to keep that old contact alive the repeated daily sentiment of pace so grim, always that untrusting silence And the hill is a figure, dust in the throat did you say that or was it merely spoken as love a thirst for this and both together the morning The whole cloud is bright & assembled now we are drawn by simple plea, over the membrane and its folded parts into the point, and touch the air streaming away VOLL VERDIENST Follow the line the same way down and pale in the sky Leave in disgrace with fortune in her face & eye You cannot know under the brow of the hill What she will say or do inclining to let ages go by.
Light in the forearm it lies in the crook you can feel it like quick silver where is she now.
I had a key upon a ring it was a pretty thing I held it in my hand lest the heart grow fond & as I watch’d it climb about my wrist in time it reach’d my heart & stopp’d dead in the vein.
Go home said the stranger to the boy’s mother he’s too weak & she cried bitterly & led him to the door.
There was a maid her name was Jim they always took her name for him.
THE WHITE STONES.
 Airport Poem: Ethics of Survival The century roar is a desert carrying too much away; the plane skids off with an easy hopeless departure.
The music, that it should leave, is far down in the mind just as if the years were part of the same sound, prolonged into the latent action of the heart.
That is more: there affection will shoot it up like a crazed pilot.
The desert is a social and undedicated expanse, since what else there is counts as merest propaganda.
The heart is a changed petromorph, making pressure a social intelligence: essential news or present fact over the whole distance back and further, away.
Or could be thus, as water is the first social fluency in any desert: the cistern comes later and is an inducement of false power.
Which makes the thinning sorrow of flight the last disjunction, of the heart: that news is the person, and love the shape of his compulsion in the musical phrase, nearly but not yet back, into the remotest past.
Of which the heart is capable and will journey over any desert and through the air, making the turn and stop undreamed of: love is, always, the flight back to where we are.
A Figure of Mercy, of Speech On the hilt of fortune: so that he asks the time and it’s grey, with almost solemn insistence.
Yes it is, so that perhaps only the smell of resin holds him to a single hopefulness.
She knows that, there is an oblique incitement, between them.
The branches dissolve upwards, into slivers of the horizon: for each, the fear of this, or too far into the side.
The rift that she loves to play, as forward, the sound of his breathing kind.
In the light, that each might, running from both in reach to the distance that is unspoken, in the eye where love is, and the sound of water, euterpe shall it be called.
They will play over the slip, making the flesh and nails on the handsome fingers, to the action of the light, will play the open palm hoping to keep to it, the fearful exaction of love: in grey light and hope in columns, by the river side.
The Stranger, Instantly The tie only: how I want so much to allow for it, the wish to know where, in that face which is an absent match, to the spirit.
So that a restless time prevails; my spine arches with the wish that’s here as itself a note a sign of who they are.
And are, sitting in all the hours of love I must translate, out back to the place where I feel it, as a local thing and want now to allow for: to manage between the hands and hope of the voice, that’s it, there must be a voice here also, lent to but not taken— since even from the edge the resting waiting inshore is travel as knowing, the quick placement of love as trust: at the source.
And so here, it is the others I most take to, like stones in the mist, in the voice.
Living In History Walk by the shore, it is a cool image, of water a bearing into certain distinctions, as the stretch, out there the temple of which way he goes; and cannot shake the haze, from a list of small flames.
He wants only the patient ebb, as following the shore: that’s not honest, but where his foot prints and marks his track in the fact of the evening the path where he grabs at motion, like a moist plant or the worth, of hearing the tide come in.
Walk on it, being a line, of rest and distinction, a hope now lived up to, a coast in awkward singular desires thigh-bone of the world On the Anvil Finely, brush the sound from your eyes: it rests in the hollow as looking in the shops at both reflections, in the glass how to move and the sun slanting over the streets: shielded from the market in the public domain, as taking the pace of movement in the hollow furnished with that tacit gleam, the cavernous heart The Holy City Come up to it, as you stand there that the wind is quite warm on the sides of the face.
That it is so, felt as a matter of practice, or not to agree.
And the span, to walk over the rough grass—all of this is that we do, quite within acceptance and not to press the warm alarm but a light surface, a day lifted from high thick roots, upwards.
Where we go is a loved side of the temple, a place for repose, a concrete path.
There’s no mystic moment involved: just that we are is how, each severally, we’re carried into the wind which makes no decision and is a tide, not taken.
I saw it and love is when, how & because we do: you could call it Ierusalem or feel it as you walk, even quite jauntily, over the grass.
How It’s Done Always who turns is more than the same, being in desire the pivot of what he would most want: or in point of fact, they say, driving through the early morning, to go to it.
And this is true, therefore, in such sense as the light will allow.
We take leave of it, in the prospect of being allowed, on as the rocks are, the folds let into the saddle, cut down to any hope, acquired.
All the rage of the heart reaches this lifted point, then: a fashion of spirit, a made thing.
For this there is no name but the event, of its leaving.
There is no lattice, we don’t sit by the traffic lights bathing the soul in the links of time.
The place rises, as a point of change.
There are rocks and trees as part of it, none in forms of evidence.
Within limits this arena is where each one is allowed to be: the movement to be found, in the distance is the sound that I too hope for, here at the rock point, of the world.
If There is a Stationmaster at Stamford S.D.
Hardly So A matter of certain essential oils volatile in the prolonged evening nor would he allow as the light stemmed back boarded up in the face of that the line ran swiftly and skimming the crests only into the hills of Vietnam With so little water the land creates a curved & muted extension the whole power is just that, fantasy of control the dispersion, in such level sky of each pulse the sliding fade-through of hills “a noble evasion of privacy” This is parkland for watered souls, the final policeman’s dream that the quanta of wish and desire, too, can be marched off to some goal so distant where in the hermitage of our last days the handcuffs would seem an entirely proper abstraction: the dry and arid gentleness, to the eye with its own confidence in the deep wells of the spirit All no more than a land in drift curled over and dry, but buried way under the ice and as spillway for these glacial waters the scented air runs easily into the night and while the public hope is as always the darkened ward the icecap will never melt again why should it In the Long Run, to be Stranded Finally it’s trade that the deep changes work with, so that the lives are heavier, less to be moved from or blunted.
The city is the language of transfer to the human account.
Here the phrases shift, the years are an acquiescence.
This isn’t a wild comment: there’s no good in the brittle effort, to snap the pace into some more sudden glitter of light: hold to this city or the slightly pale walking, to a set rhythm of the very slight hopefulness.
That is less than patience, it’s time or more clearly the sequence of years; a thickening in the words as the coins themselves wear thin and could almost balance on the quick ideal edge.
The stirring is so slight, the talk so stunned, the city warm in the air, it is a too steady shift and life as it’s called is age and the merest impulse, called the city and the deep blunting damage of hope.
That’s where it is, now as the place to be left and the last change still in return: down there in the snow, too, the loyal city of man.
The Western Gate Too far up, into the sky, so that the hills slip with the wash of the quick brightness.
What could the weather shift, by those changes of place? Manganese on the brow; the rich ore, clouds over the stars, coming inshore— all the power of our sentiment, what we do feel, wanting the inclusion, the shade.
Watch any road as it lies on the seam of the earth, with that partly turning & falling metaphysic: we believe it even despite the engineers.
The power is the wish to move, to recognise a concealed flame in the evening or dawn or whatever.
The gleam is history, desire for a night sky during the day too, since the stars circle the hills & our motives without reproach.
The formal circuit is inclusion.
The line runs inflected but the shapes are blue & shining.
It is the orbit, tides, the fluctual spread, we shiver with reason and with love: the hills are omens, & the weather how long, with the stars, we can wait.
Or, it rains and the camber of the road slips into it too—it’s all there, as the brickwork or hope for advice.
Write a letter, walk across the wet pavement, the lines are taut with strain, maybe they’ll snap soon.
The explosion is for all of us and I dedicate the results to the fish of the sea and the purity of language: the truth is sadder but who would ask me to hope only for that? Lashed to the Mast th Nov : Thus you have everything, at this moment, that I could ever command or (the quaint word) dispose; rising now in the east or wherever damn well else it’s yours but the old weather must be (must still be watched, thunder is a natural phenomenon the entire sequence is holy, inviting no sympathy: who should dare let that out, towards what there is anyway love the set, tight, the life the land lie & fall, between also the teeth, love the forgetfulness of man which is our prime notion of praise the whole need is a due thing a light, I say this in danger aboard our dauncing boat hope is a stern purpose & no play save the final lightness the needful things are a sacral convergence, the grove on a hill we know too much of— this with no name & place is us / you, I, the whole other image of man Fri no one thing to say, leaving nothing but all that smell of the sea (private & the gulls, squawking in the knowledge of time, of nothing at all, here on the rim.
Viz, the shelf out as a pillar to fortune the shoals a quick draw or longer, which is a width to be gauged by the most specific & hopeful eye Break It And again it finishes, as we should say it’s over, some completeness numbs me with the final touch we are sealed, thus and why it should be so, well, that’s life not well, you see you see or we do, we touch that, and it’s the last time or thing or some edge.
Like cliffs, the departure is overwhelming as a casual thread, leading into this, that, the gray darkness.
Call it evening the days are no shorter but ah how they do foreclose, that the tide turns and the wick burns and curls and all the acrid wavering of language, so full of convenient turns of extinction.
Phrase falls, we call it an ancient city, as we look down from the heights, hugging the only mountain for many miles.
Blessed, as we leave: that we do, how we do what there is these are the one thing: where are you I drift into what it should be or have you do you have, would you.
Would you.
Life is a gay bargain.
How could I say, where you are among the mountains of the city in their midst.
Turn to the east, the west, the torque at the waist running round the ribs, and settling there.
The end of that is a sorry thing, how much more beautiful is the city than the abrupt cliffs, the end, of that? Against Hurt Endowed with so much suffering, they should be / and that they are so—the pain in the head which applies to me and the clouds low over the horizon: soon it will be dark We love the brief night, for its quick passing, the relative ease as we slide into comfort and the trees grow and grow.
I can hear every smallest growth the expanse is grinding with it, out on the flats beyond, down by the sodium street-lights, in the head: pain, the hurt to these who are all companions.
Serenity is their slender means.
There is not much time left.
I love them all, severally and in the largest honour that there is.
Now and with the least hurt, this is for you.
Moon Poem The night is already quiet and I am bound in the rise and fall: learning to wish always for more.
This is the means, the extension to keep very steady so that the culmination will be silent too and flow with no trace of devoutness.
Since I must hold to the gradual in this, as no revolution but a slow change like the image of snow.
The challenge is not a moral excitement, but the expanse, the continuing patience dilating into forms so much more than compact.
I would probably not even choose to inhabit the wish as delay: it really is dark and the knowledge of the unseen is a warmth which spreads into the level ceremony of diffusion.
The quiet suggests that the act taken extends so much further, there is this insurgence of form: we are more pliant than the mercantile notion of choice will determine—we go in this way on and on and the unceasing image of hope is our place in the world.
We live there and now at night I recognise the signs of this, the calm is a modesty about conduct in the most ethical sense.
We disperse into the ether as waves, we slant down into a precluded notion of choice which becomes the unlearned habit of wish: where we live, as we more often are than we know.
If we expand into this wide personal vacancy we could become the extent of all the wishes that are now too far beyond us.
A community of wish, as the steppe on which the extension would sprinkle out the ethic density, the compact modern home.
The consequence of this pastoral desire is prolonged as our condition, but I know there is more than the mere wish to wander at large, since the wish itself diffuses beyond this and will never end: these are songs in the night under no affliction, knowing that the wish is gift to the spirit, is where we may dwell as we would go over and over within the life of the heart and the grace which is open to both east and west.
These are psalms for the harp and the shining stone: the negligence and still passion of night.
Love in the Air We are easily disloyal, again, and the light touch is so quickly for us, it does permit what each one would give in the royal use of that term.
Given, settled and broken, under the day’s sun: that’s the purpose of the gleam from my eyes, cloud from the base of the spine.
Whose silent watching was all spent, all foregone— the silver and wastage could have told you and allowed the touch to pass.
Over the brow, over the lifting feature of how slant in the night.
That’s how we are disloyal, without constancy to the little play and hurt in the soul.
Being less than strict in our gaze; the day flickers and thins and contracts, oh yes and thus does get smaller, and smaller: the northern winter is an age for us and the owl of my right hand is ready for flight.
I have already seen its beating search in the sky, hateful, I will not look.
By our lights we stand to the sudden pleasure of how the colour is skimmed to the world, and our life does lie as a fallen and slanted thing.
If he gives, the even tenor of his open hands, this is display, the way and through to a life of soft invasion.
Is constancy such a disloyal thing.
With the hurt wish torn by sentiment and how very gross our threshold for pain has become.
And the green tufted sight that we pass, to and from, trees or the grass and so much, still permitted by how much we ask.
I ask for all of it, being ready to break every constant thing.
We are bound and we break, we let loose what we nakedly hold thus, he turns she watches, the hills slip, time changes hands.
I ask for it all, and the press is the sea running back up all the conduits, each door fronting on to the street.
What you can afford is nothing: the sediment on which we stand was too much, and unasked for.
Who is the light linked to the forearm, in which play and raised, up off the ground.
I carry you forward, the motion is not constant but may in this once have been so, loyalty is regret spread into time, the hurt of how steadily and where it goes.
She feels the glimpse over the skin.
She is honest: she loves the steady fear.
The durable fire.
And what you own, in this erotic furtherance, is nothing to do with response or that times do change: the matter is not to go across, ever, making the royal deceit de nos jours.
As each one slips and descends, you could call it coming down to the streets and the seedy broken outskirts of the town.
Bronze : Fish We are at the edge of all that and can reach back to another matter, only it’s not back but down rather, or in some involved sense of further off.
The virtues of prudence, the rich arable soil: but why should ever the whole mercantile harvest run to form again? The social cohesion of towns is our newer ligature, and the binding, you must see, is the rule for connection, where we are licensed to expect.
That’s the human city, & we are now at the edge of it.
Which way are we facing.
Burn the great sphere: count them, days of the week.
For a Quiet Day There are some men that focus on the true intentness, as I know and wouldn’t argue with: it is violent, the harp—I will not do it though, and the time is so gentle, in the shadow that any youth might sleep.
But I will not do it, with the gilded harp and of all things, its pedals, for the nice touch.
As the curves too are sometimes gentle, where we shall be in the succession of light, hope, the evening distracts: and it is always too fine, too hopeless and will not let the gentle course—by the chance rise of a voice.
And if the intentness is the more true, then I want the gentler course, where the evening is more of what we are: or the day as well—moist, casual, broken by inflictions of touch.
This is the resting-place, out in the street.
That we are so, and for the other thing I will not do it, will not; this is a quiet day.
Just So How long they ask, we ask, it is the question.
So much time to travel or stop and yet the heart is so slow & reluctant leave it, that’s one way—there, on the ground: I love you so, here but how long again, the history of what we allow, are permitted to have.
A life for this branch, dividing in the headlights waiting, the beam in prism, play or the sound in a great arc for the world, it is an open fire, a hearth stone for the condition of trust.
Don’t ever wait for that.
Twist it out, in ply and then run, for the door: we must have the divine sense, of entrance.
The way in as what it is, not which then, or how long as the question.
Such things are, the world is that fire, it burns along all the horizons.
It is the heart, where we are.
I love you, so much.
As this, as this, which is for even more than I could tell.
The night flickers and the day comes; has, will come.
That’s the question, the mark strapped to the hands; not the eyes.
Trust them, the fire of the mind, lust of the pure citizen, on every path of the earth.
The soil, tarmac, grass, remorse, the sea, love in the air we breathe.
Fire on the hearth.
The life in what I now have and listen to, just so long, as we are.
Mouth Open To set a name to it, hold them down and ask merely are they shouting, with both feet planted and leaning towards me the note forming no consequence, they gulp the landscape before them Alert, to the name of an occasion which is theirs as I take it from them, the offered gift met by the purest sound I cannot hold this it is a name: shouting or leaning, on the single earth which is below them, each one From End to End Length is now quite another thing; that is, waiting or coming right up slap into the sun, spreading into the land to cross, the smell of diesel oil on the road.
The friends there are, as if residing in what instantly goes with it, as if longer than the infinite desire, longer and across into some other thing.
Keeping the line, running back up into the mountains, denied.
And so, in the actual moment dishonest, actually refusing the breakage, and your instinct for the whole purpose again shows how gently it is all broken and how lightly, as you would say, to come in.
All the milky quartz of that sky, pink and retained, into the sun.
See such a thing climb out of the haze, making the bridge straight down into the face—which way, this way, length beyond this, crossed.
The dawn thing suddenly isn’t tenuous, and the reach back to the strand is now some odd kind of debris: how strange to say this, which abandons of course all the joy of not quite going, so far.
I would not have recognised it if the sun hadn’t unexpectedly snapped the usual ride, and with you a real ironist, your length run off out into some other place.
Not the mountains, nothing to do with the sacred child.
The continued quality I know is turned down, pointed into the earth: love is a tremor, in this respect, this for the world without length.
Desire is the turn to a virtue, of extent without length.
How I feel is still along this path, down the cancelled line and even in the dawn as almost a last evening, coming back the day before.
Where they all live, and to say such a thing is as you say it, promptly no clouds but the sun.
How else, in the face of so much prudence, as the total staff of life; as the friends, glittering (who would ever have been ready for that? The sun, the red shift; your hair is at the moment copper, a bronze mark, and the absurd gift is just some allowance, a generous move.
How would that ever have been so, the length taken down and my nervous rental displayed.
Not just holding or drawing the part.
You are too ready, since I know you still want what we’ve now lost, into the sun.
Without either, the mark of our light and the shade as you walk without touching the ground.
Lost it, by our joint throw, and the pleasure, the breakage is no longer, no more length in which we quickly say good-bye, each to each at the meridian.
As now each to each good-bye I love you so.
The Wound, Day and Night Age by default: in some way this must be solved.
The covenants that bind into the rock, each to the other are for this, for the argon dating by song as echo of the world.
O it runs sweetly by, and prints over the heart; I am supremely happy, the whole order set in this, the proper guise, of a song.
You can hear the strains from so far off: withdrawn from every haunted place in its graveness, the responsive shift into the millions of years.
I am born back there, the plaintive chanting under the Atlantic and the unison of forms.
It may all flow again if we suppress the breaks, as I long to do, at the far end of that distance and tidings of the land; if we dissolve the bars to it and let run the hopes, that preserve the holy fruit on the tree, casting the moist honey, curing the poppy of sleep.
“And in variety of aspects the sum remains the same, one family”— that it be too much with us, again as beyond that enfeebled history: that we be born at long last into the image of love The Glacial Question, Unsolved In the matter of ice, the invasions were partial, so that the frost was a beautiful head the sky cloudy and the day packed into the crystal as the thrust slowed and we come to a stand, along the coast of Norfolk.
That is a relative point, and since the relation was part to part, the gliding was cursive; a retreat, followed by advance, right to north London.
The moraine runs axial to the Finchley Road including hippopotamus, which isn’t a joke any more than the present fringe of intellectual habit.
They did live as the evidence is ready, for the successive drift.
Hunstanton to Wells is the clear margin, from which hills rise into the “interior”; the stages broken through by the lobe bent south-west into the Wash and that sudden warmth which took birch trees up into Scotland.
As the ° isotherm retreats there is that secular weather laid down in pollen and the separable advances on Cromer (easterly) and on Gipping (mostly to the south).
The striations are part of the heart’s desire, the parkland of what is coast inwards from which, rather than the reverse.
And as the caps melted, the eustatic rise in the sea-level curls round the clay, the basal rise, what we hope to call “land”.
And the curving spine of the cretaceous ridge, masked as it is by the drift, is wedged up to the thrust: the ice fronting the earlier marine, so that the sentiment of “cliffs” is the weathered stump of a feeling into the worst climate of all.
Or if that’s too violent, then it’s the closest balance that holds the tilt: land/sea to icecap from parkland, not more than °–° F.
The oscillation must have been so delicate, almost each contour on the rock spine is a weather limit the ice smoothing the humps off, filling the hollows with sandy clay as the litter of “surface”.
As the roads run dripping across this, the rhythm is the declension of history, the facts in succession, they are succession, and the limits are not time but ridges and thermal delays, plus or minus whatever carbon dates we have.
We are rocked in this hollow, in the ladle by which the sky, less cloudy now, rests on our foreheads.
Our climate is maritime, and “it is questionable whether there has yet been sufficient change in the marine faunas to justify a claim that the Pleistocene Epoch itself has come to an end.” We live in that question, it is a condition of fact: as we move it adjusts the horizon: belts of forest, the Chilterns, up into the Wolds of Yorkshire.
The falling movement, the light cloud blowing in from the ice of Norfolk thrust.
As the dew recedes from the grass towards noon the line of recession slips back.
We know where the north is, the ice is an evening whiteness.
We know this, we are what it leaves: the Pleistocene is our current sense, and what in sentiment we are, we are, the coast, a line or sequence, the cut back down, to the shore.
Still there is much to be done, on the way into the city, and the sky as yet only partly written over; we take all our time and the road is lined with apple trees.
That’s where we go, then, and if this sounds too obviously prolonged, remember that the ice was our prime matter.
Flame is only just invisible in sunlight and the smoke goes wavering into the atmosphere with all the uncertainty of numbers.
And so we can’t continue with things like this, we can’t simply go on.
In this way through the forest, we lose too much and too quickly: we have too much to lose.
How can anyone hope, to accomplish what he wants so much not finally to part with.
We even pick up the fallen fruit on the road frightened by the layout of so much fallen, the chances we know strewn on the warm gravel.
Knowing that warmth is not a permanence, ah we count on what is still to be done and the keen little joys of leaves & fruit still hanging up on their trees.
Whereas I wish that it would all drop, or hang in some other way suspended; that we should not be so bribed, by incompletion.
The ransom is never worth it and we never get it anyway.
No one can eat so many apples, or remember so much ice.
I wish instead that the whole federate agency would turn out into and across the land.
With any circling motion it could be so easily for them, theirs as a form of knowledge, and we would rest in it: the knowledge that nothing remains to be done.
What we bring off is ours by a slip of excitement: the sky is our eternal city and the whole beautiful & luminous trance of it is the smoke spreading across into the upper air.
First Notes on Daylight Patience is truly my device, as we wait for the past to happen, which is to come into the open.
As I expect it to, daily & the question is really what size we’re in, how much of it is the measure, at one time.
Patience is the sum of my inertia, by which the base-line lays itself out to the touch like the flower in heaven, each pebble graded in ochre.
How to extend, anyway to decline the rhetoric of occasion, by which the sequence back from some end is clearly predictive.
We owe that in theory to the history of person as an entire condition of landscape—that kind of extension, for a start.
The open fields we cross, we carry ourselves by ritual observance, even sleeping in the library.
The laggard, that is, whose patience is the protective shield, of the true limit to size.
“The ceremonial use of the things described”, the cinar trees or the white-metal mirror, forms of patience, oh yes, and each time I even move, the strophic muscular pattern is use, in no other sense.
The common world, how far we go, the practical limits of daylight.
And as I even think of the base-line the vibration is strong, the whole sequence of person as his own history is no more than ceremonial, the concentration of intersect: discovery back to the way over, the entire crossing an open fabric, which we wear stand on or carry in the hand.
That this could really be so & of use is my present politics, burning like smoke, before the setting of fire.
Frost and Snow, Falling That is, a quality of man and his becoming, beautiful, or the decoration of some light and fixed decision, no less fluent than the river which guards its name.
The preservative of advice, keeping to some kind of order, within the divine family of ends.
The snow level is where it fell and the limit thus of a long cadence, the steppe whitening in the distance and the winter climate.
The fall of snow, as of man in the ice block and its great cracking roar, is a courtesy; we don’t require the black spiral, being gentle and of our own kind.
We run deeper, cancel the flood, take to the road or what was before known as champaign.
We stand off the shore even when turning to our best and most serious portions of time.
I judge that, as a snow level but equally in seasonal pasture, pleasure or as the rival comes, with clay on his shoes.
How far have you come and how long was your journey? Such persons are hungry; the rival ventures his life in deep water, the reddish gold glints in the shadows of our lustful solitude.
So that when the snow falls again the earth becomes lighter and lighter.
The surface conspires with us, we are its first-born.
Even in this modern age we leave tracks, as we go.
And as we go, walk, stride or climb out of it, we leave that behind, our own level contemplation of the world.
The monk Dicuil records that at the summer solstice in Iceland a man could see right through the night, as of course he could.
That too is a quality, some generous lightness which we give to the rival when he comes in.
The tracks are beaten off, all the other things underground.
On th May they set out on the return journey.
“We travelled throughout the winter, often sleeping in the desert on the snow except when we were able to clear a place with our feet.
When there were no trees but only open country we found ourselves many a time completely covered with snow driven by the wind.” That sounds to me a rare privilege, watching the descent down over the rim.
Each man has his own corner, that question which he turns.
It’s his nature, the quality he extends into the world, just as his stature is his “royal dignity”.
And yet Gregory did not believe in the pilgrimage of place: Jerusalem, he says, is too full of rapine and lust to be a direction of the spirit.
The rest is some kind of flame, the pilgrim is again quality, and his extension is the way he goes across the crust that will bear him.
The wanderer with his thick staff: who cares whether he’s an illiterate scrounger—he is our only rival.
Without this the divine family is a simple mockery, the whole pleistocene exchange will come to melt like the snow, driven into the ground.
For This, For This The next stave we come to is the mansion or house, wondering about the roof and the set, as it were, back into the silence which is the social division, split into quietness.
Why are we so tensed as we prepare to make some side step, into the house and thus, you would say, out of the world.
Off the planet even, while the amber glow of Mercury shines from the flashing shield? Oh no it’s not this, any more than we deny the sound its direction, choosing to “hear” the splinter and splash of some ordinary thing.
I will not listen, or claim to, that ignoble worship of the wrong road.
They are too clean, always, they fall in part to part, this knife will go straight into the fire if that’s the heart.
And êerto when êou seest êat alle soche werkes in êeire use mow be boêe good & iuel, I preie êee leue hem boêe, for êat is êe most ese for êee for to doo if êou wilt be meek.
Watch the colour run up the blade; watch the house held off, we live so much in this way.
How does he know when to “speak his mind” and come back in through some pattern of misery? Buying his way in through this price making the doorway, and now even current coin is frozen in the banks; some weird puritan stringency that believes cold to be bracing.
All the quick motions as we nip upstairs, turn to steps we take: leading to the moral exits which we see enjoined.
Some idea of completeness; protection is wretched and what we pay for.
And leue êe corious beholdyng & seching in êi wittes to loke whe êer is betir.
Yet some soft stirring to speak is in the air, the casual motion flirts with us.
We are less sombre now, slipping out at the door and into some silent affair through which we hear everything.
All of that, without name, not with regret, as a musical turn.
The importance is complete, the sequence is urban, needful; she comes like some obvious choice, picking her way.
I see this, you see the world in her wide sails, the knife is not playful or an agent of just device.
It comes from the kitchen, I’m not going to tell you that; you know how outside the door too we are ready in one.
Bot do êou êus: sette êe tone on êe to honde and êe toêer on êe toêer, and chese êee a êing êe whiche is hid bitwix hem, êe whiche êing when it is had, õeueê êee leue, in fredom of spirite, to beginne and to seese in holding any of êe oêer at êin owne ful list, wiêouten any blame.
In Cimmerian Darkness When the faint star does take us into the deeper parts of the night there is that sudden dip and we swing across into some other version of this present age, where any curving trust is set into the nature of man, the green raw and fabulous love of it, where every star that shines, as he said, exists in love, the brother dipping into the equal limit, help as the ready art, condition of the normal since no more simple presence will fade, as the dawn does, over water, the colonies of feeling like stacks of banknotes waiting to be counted.
Anyone waits, the brother is a section of the waiting art, whereby and through which agency the whole cosmic vibrations disport their limbs, their hopes, the distant repose.
We dip into the ready world which waits for us: the name of it is our brother and we must protect what we want of it, as we need more than I personally can ever admit.
Or now do so admit, the title to this going into the sky is the trust of the lighted brother in the first sense, the standard.
Stand there, I implore you, the trust is an agency of surrender, I give it all up, the star is yielded.
No part of this dipping coil shall be withheld; no light further than the figure of some complete fortune, making and made weak by affection and the promise of it.
Led to the star, trusting to rotten planks, the equal limit, we must have it, I ask only in sequence, in this parity of art ready with its own motion.
It swings out and we are quickly cruel, the brother reforms his wish to roam the streets, he should refuse as much as he can.
Nor is the divine in any sense full, the vacancy stretches away to the standard out on the plain; the cups of our radio telescopes stand openly braced to catch the recoil.
Focus, the hearth is again warm, again the human patch waits, glows in the slight wind.
And we are ready for this, the array is there in the figure we name brother, the fortune we wish for, devoutly, as the dip turns us to the face we have so long ignored; so fervently refused.
Song in Sight of the World In sight of the world they are heavy with this, the sea thrown up, the shore and all the lamps out on the road— but where are they, will they go to: why do not love and instruction come swiftly to the places where they stand? Who are the muses in this windblown instalment—as if there is much uncertainty about that.
We are a land hammered by restraint, into a too cycladic past.
It is the battle of Maldon binds our feet: we tread only with that weight & the empire of love, in the mist.
The name of this land, unknown, is that.
Heavy with sweat we long for the green hills, pleasant with waters running to the sea but no greater love.
The politics of this will bear inspection.
They are the loss of our each motion, to history.
Which is where the several lost stand at their various distance from the shore on gneiss or the bones of a chemical plan for the world’s end.
This is it, Thule, the glyptic note that we carry with every unacted desire felt in the continent of Europe.
Lot’s wife, the foreshore of the world.
And the weight? Still with us, the hold is a knowing one.
The night is beautiful with stars: we do not consider the end which is a myth so powerful, as to throw flames down every railway line from London to the furthest tip cape and foreland left by the axe.
Apollo it is that I love, that shall be swallowed by the great wolf and be reborn as a butterfly in the hair of a goddess.
We are poor in this, but I love and will persist in it, the equity of longing.
The same is not true but desired: I desire it and shall encircle the need with bands of iron, this is the wedge of my great hope.
All the shores are a single peak.
All the sea a great road, the shore a land in the mist.
The tears of the world are spread over it, and into the night you can hear how the trees burn with foreknowledge.
As before, I am the great lover and do honour to Don Juan, & sharpen his knife on the flat of my foot.
The forest, of stars.
The roads, some grey people walking towards the restaurant.
The headlights, as a lantern; now they are in the restaurant.
See, we shall eat them.
The light will do all this, to love is the last resort, you must know, I will tell you, this, love, is the world.
Quality in that Case as Pressure Presence in this condition is quality which can be transformed & is subject even to paroxysm—but it is not lapse: that is the chief point.
As I move with my weight there is collusion, with the sight of how we would rise or fall or on the level.
How much we see is how far we desire change, which is transformation from the ridge and foreland inverted—with all the clouds over the shore.
The sun lies on the matching of the ridge, & passing is what you cannot have, it is the force, where else to see how in, this is, the oblique turned into a great torque which is pleasure as a name for each part: no nearer than the ridge, or side slope end time so much but not how much.
My own satisfaction in this mild weather is violent; I am moved by the condition of knowledge, as the dispersion of form.
Even, tenuous, gorged in the transgressions of folding the orogeny of passion the invasion of ancient seas the neutral condition of that the heart/heartland, prize of the person who can be seen to stumble & who falls with joy, unhurt.
Or who hurries, on some pavement, the sublate crystal locked for each step.
They aim their faces but also bear them and have cloth next to most of their skin.
They are the children of proof.
The proof is a feature, how the spine is set.
The invasion of fluid, where the action of money is at least temporarily displaced.
By seepage or transgression, the mineral salts “found their way” into the Zechstein Sea.
The reciprocation of fault and inversion, poverty the condition, of which I am so clearly guilty I can touch the pleasure involved.
For such guilt is the agency of ethical fact: we feel shame at the mild weather too and when the National Plan settles comfortably like a Grail in some sculpted precinct I am transported with angelic nonchalance.
The quantities of demand are the measure of want—of lack or even (as we are told) sheer grinding starvation.
How much to eat is the city in ethical frenzy the allowances set against tax the deductions in respect of unearned income the wholly sensuous & mercantile matter of count.
As I move through the bright bones of their hands & faces shattered by the exact brimming of love & pleasure, the force is a condition released in the presence that this is the chosen remnant, of a plan now turned on its axis, east-west into the wind.
I am bound to it, by an aggressive honour, and in this the peace of the city does now reside.
Oil In the year; intact in the cycle of days passing over him like the damp air he is back on the first level, some floating completeness has assailed him.
He is perfect.
In the sight of his eye the wind dripping with rain has come so far, round over the crests and fields, the cornea moist the lymph draining and curled down to rest.
This level sequence of history is his total and our total also, is the certain angular sustenance of the world.
So I walk over the top of the steady and beating level of his eye; he has so much to bestow, he is generous.
What he has is our shout, the sound of the pathway, going down into the breathing touch of the air, the rain which soaks into our clothes.
At last we are wet, wet through with what we have in his eye, in our time, in the ribs inflated with it, the last few days of the year Shadow Songs The glorious dead, walking barefoot on the earth.
Treat them with all you have: on the black marble and let Nightingale come down from the hills.
Only the procession is halted as this spills down into the current of the river: their glorious death, if such on earth were found.
And if the dead know this, coming down into the dark, why should they be stopped? We are too gentle for the blind to see or be heard.
All the force of the spirit lies open in the day, praise in the clock face or age: the years, with their most lovely harm.
Leading the gentle out into the wilds, you know they are children, the blind ones, and the dead know this, too.
Concerning Quality, Again So that I could mark it; the continuance of quality could in some way be that, the time of accord.
For us, as beneath the falling water we draw breath, look at the sky.
Talking to the man hitching a lift back from the hospital, I was incautious in sympathy: will she be back soon I was wishing to encourage his will to suppose.
I can hardly expect her back he said and the water fell again, there was this sheet, as the time lag yawned, and quality became the name you have, like some anthem to the absent forces of nature.
Ethnic loyalty, breathe as you like we in fact draw it out differently, our breath is gas in the mind.
That awful image of choking.
We have no mark for our dependence, I would not want to add a little red spot to the wrist of the man in the newsreel, the car passing the lights.
I draw blood whenever I open my stupid mouth, and the mark is on my hand, I can hardly even feel the brass wire nailed down into the head.
Paranoid, like the influencing machines; but who they are, while their needs shine out like flares, that quality is their presence outward to the night sky: they do ask for that casual aid.
The recognition is accident, is an intolerable fall like water.
We whizz on towards the blatant home and the armies of open practice.
His affairs are electric; they cancel the quality of the air; the names are a blankness as there are no marks but the wounds.
Even the accord, the current back (for him as for me outward) has an electric tangent.
He could have flown off just there as he was.
Simply moved sideways, in his sitting posture, across the next hedge and into a field I know but could not recognise.
The mark is Abel’s price, the breath is blood in the ears as I even dare to think of those instruments.
The sky is out there with the quality of its pathic glow, there is a bright thread of colour across the dashboard; the accord is that cheap and we live with sounds in the ear which we shall never know.
On the Matter of Thermal Packing In the days of time now what I have is the meltwater constantly round my feet and ankles.
There the ice is glory to the past and the eloquence, the gentility of the world’s being; I have known this as a competence for so long that the start is buried in light usual as the warm grass and shrubbery which should have been ancestral or still but was, then, bound like crystal into the last war.
There was a low drywall, formal steps down I now see to the frozen water, with whitened streaks and bands in it; the same which, in New England, caused a total passion for skating, and how still it all was the gentility of a shell, so fragile, so beautifully shallow in the past; I hardly remember the case hardened but brittle constant to the eighteenth century or the strictly English localism of moral candour, disposed in the copses of those fields which bespoke easily that same vague lightness, that any motion could be so much borne over the top, skimming not knowing the flicker that joins I too never knew who had lived there.
It was then a school of sorts, we were out of the bombs I now do, I think, know that.
But the flow so eloquently stopped, walking by the Golden Fleece and the bus time-table (“It is difficult to say precisely what constitutes a habitable country”—A Theory of the Earth the days a nuclear part gently holding the skull or head, the skin porous to the eloquence of where this was so far! so ice-encased like resin that whiteness seemed no more, than cloudy at that time.
The water-pattern is highly asymmetric, bonding hardly as proof against wealth, stability, the much-loved ice.
Which I did love, if light in the field was frozen by wire ploughed up, I did not know, that was the gentle reach of ignorance the waves, the ice the forms frozen in familiar remoteness— they were then, and are closer now, as they melt and rush into the spillways: “one critical axis of the crystal structure of ice remains dominant after the melt”—believe that? or live there, they would say in the shade I am now competent for, the shell still furled but some nuclear stream melted from it.
The air plays on its crown, the prince of life or its patent, its price.
The absent sun (on the trees of the field) now does strike so gently on the whitened and uneven ice sweet day so calm the glitter is the war now released, I hear the guns for the first time Or maybe think so; the eloquence of melt is however upon me, the path become a stream, and I lay that down trusting the ice to withstand the heat; with that warmth / ah some modest & gentle competence a man could live with so little more.
Price Tag Song OK and relevant to the cosmos, scarce of air said aunt Theoria, the scar city is not for resale or photograph ic repro duct ion I mean at least you can’t look all the time out of sight or mind the choice is sheer care less debauchery I count, as three two one & scarce the part healed city where we start led in sects live The Common Gain, Reverted The street is a void in the sequence of man, as he sleeps by its side, in rows that house his dreams.
Where he lives, which is the light from windows, all the Victorian grandeur of steam from a kitchen range.
The street is a void, its surface slips, shines and is marked with nameless thoughts.
If we could level down into the street! Run across by the morning traffic, spread like shadows, the commingling of thoughts with the defeat we cannot love Those who walk heavily carry their needs, or lack of them, by keeping their eyes directed at the ground before their feet.
They are said to trudge when in fact their empty thoughts unroll like a crimson carpet before their gentle & delicate pace.
In any street the pattern of inheritance is laid down, the truth is for our time in cats-eyes, white markings, gravel left from the last fall of snow.
We proceed down it in dreams, from house to house which spill nothing on to the track, only light on the edge of the garden.
The way is of course speech and a tectonic emplacement, as gradient it moves easily, like a void It is now at this time the one presence of fact, our maze through which we tread the shadow or at mid-day pace level beneath our own.
And in whichever form we are possessed the surface is sleep again and we should be thankful.
By whatever movement, I share the anonymous gift, the connivance in where to go as what I now find myself to have in the hand.
The nomad is perfect but the pure motion which has no track is utterly lost; even the Esquimaux look for sled markings, though on meeting they may not speak.
The street that is the sequence of man is the light of his most familiar need, to love without being stopped for some immediate bargain, to be warm and tired without some impossible flame in the heart.
As I walked up the hill this evening and felt the rise bend up gently against me I knew that the void was gripped with concentration.
Not mine indeed but the sequence of fact, the lives spread out, it is a very wild and distant resort that keeps a man, wandering at night, more or less in his place.
Aristeas, in Seven Years Gathering the heat to himself, in one thermic hazard, he took himself out: to catch up with the tree, the river, the forms of alien vantage and hence the first way by theft into the upper world—”a natural development from the mixed economy in the drier or bleaker regions, where more movement was necessary”—and thus the floodloam, the deposit, borrowed for the removal.
Call it inland, his nose filled with steam & his brief cries.
Aristeas took up it seems with the singular as the larch tree, the Greek sufficient for that.
From Marmora And sprang with that double twist into the middle world and thence took flight over the Scythian hordes and to the Hyperborean, touch of the north wind carrying with him Apollo.
Song his transport but this divine insistence the pastural clan: sheep, elk, the wild deer.
In each case the presence in embryo, god of the shepherd and fixed in the movement of flock.
Wrung over the real tracts.
If he was frozen like the felted eagle of Pazyryk, he too had the impossible lower twist, the spring into the middle, the air.
From here comes the north wind, the remote animal gold—how did he, do we, know or trust, this? Following the raven and sniffing hemp as the other air, it was himself as the singular that he knew and could outlast in the long walk by the underground sea.
Where he was as the singular location so completely portable that with the merest black wings he could survey the stones and rills in their complete mountain courses, in name the displacement Scythic.
And his songs were invocations in no frenzy of spirit, but clear and spirituous tones from the pure base of his mind; he heard the small currents in the air & they were truly his aid.
In breath he could speak out into the northern air and the phrasing curved from his mouth and nose, into the cold mountain levels.
It was the professed Apollo, free of the festive line, powdered with light snow.
And looking down, then, it is no outlay to be seen in the forests, or scattered rising of ground.
No cheap cigarettes nothing with the god in this climate is free of duty moss, wormwood as the cold star, the dwarf Siberian pine as from the morainal deposits of the last deglaciation.
Down there instead the long flowing hair, of great herds of sheep and cattle, the drivers of these, their feet more richly thickened in use than any slant of their mongoloid face or long, ruched garments.
With his staff, the larch-pole, that again the singular and one axis of the errant world.
Prior to the pattern of settlement then, which is the passing flocks fixed into wherever they happened to stop, the spirit demanded the orphic metaphor as fact that they did migrate and the spirit excursion was no more than the need and will of the flesh.
The term, as has been pointed out, is bone, the flesh burned or rotted off but the branch calcined like what it was: like that: as itself the skeleton of the possible in a heap and covered with stones or a barrow.
Leaving the flesh vacant then, in a fuller’s shop, Aristeas removed himself for seven years into the steppes, preparing his skeleton and the song of his departure, his flesh anyway touched by the invading Cimmerian twilight: “ruinous” as the old woman’s prophecy.
And who he was took the collection of seven years to thin out, to the fume laid across where he went, direction north, no longer settled but settled now into length; he wore that as risk.
The garment of birds’ feathers, while he watched the crows fighting the owls with the curling tongues of flame proper to the Altaic hillside, as he was himself more than this.
The spread is more, the vantage is singular as the clan is without centre.
Each where as the extent of day determines, where the sky holds (the brightness dependent on that).
And Apollo is in any case seasonal, the divine “used only of a particular god, never as a general term.” The Hyperborean paradise was likewise no general term but the mythic duration of spirit into the bone laid out in patterns on the ground “the skulls are sent on hunting journeys, the foot-prints alongside; that towards which they journey they turn them towards, so that they will follow behind.” From the fuller’s shop as from the camp of the seal hunter, some part of the bone must be twisted & must twist, as the stages of Cimmerian wandering, viz: .
–th Century B.C., north of the Caucasus, then .
th–th Centuries, invaded by the Scythians and deflected southwards & to the west.
And .
after that, once more displaced (th Century to maybe B.C.), the invasion of Asia Minor, “ruinous”, as any settled and complaisant fixture on the shoreline would regard the movement of pressure irreducible by trade or bribery.
Hence the need to catch up, as a response to cheap money and how all that huddle could be drawn out into the tenuous upper reach, the fine chatter of small birds under the head of the sky (sub divo columine) on the western slope of the Urals and the scatter of lightning, now out of doors & into the eagle span, the true condition of bone which is no more singular or settled or the entitled guardian even, but the land of the dead.
Why are they lost, why do they always wander, as if seeking their end and drawing after them the trail and fume of burning hemp? Or they are not lost but passing: “If thoughtless abandonment to the moment were really a blessing, I had actually been in ‘the Land of the Blessed’.” But it was not blessing, rather a fact so hard-won that only the twist in middle air would do it anyway, so even he be wise or with any recourse to the darkness of his tent.
The sequence of issue is no more than this, Apollo’s price, staff leaning into the ground and out through the smoke-hole.
It is the spirit which dies as the figure of change, which is the myth and fact of extent, which thus does start from Marmora, or Aklavik, right out of the air.
No one harms these people: they are sacred and have no weapons.
They sit or pass, in the form of divine song, they are free in the apt form of displacement.
They change their shape, being of the essence as a figure of extent.
Which for the power in rhyme is gold, in this northern clime which the Greeks so held to themselves and which in the steppe was no more than the royal figment.
This movement was of course cruel beyond belief, as this was the risk Aristeas took with him.
The conquests were for the motive of sway, involving massive slaughter as the obverse politics of claim.
That is, slaves and animals, life and not value: “the western Sarmatian tribes lived side by side not in a loose tribal configuration, but had been welded into an organised imperium under the leadership of one royal tribe.” Royalty as plural.
Hence the calendar as taking of life, which left gold as the side-issue, pure figure.
Guarded by the griffins, which lived close to the mines, the gold reposed as the divine brilliance, petrology of the sea air, so far from the shore.
The beasts dug the metal out with their eagle beaks, rending in the cruel frost of that earth, and yet they were the guardians, the figure of flight and heat and the northern twist of the axis.
His name Aristeas, absent for these seven years: we should pay them or steal, it is no more than the question they ask.
References A.
P.
Vaskovskiy, “A Brief Outline of the Vegetation, Climate, and Chronology of the Quaternary Period in the Upper Reaches of the Kolyma and Indigirka Rivers and on the Northern Coast of the Sea of Okhotsk”.
, in H.
N.
Michael (ed.), The Archaeology and Geomorphology of Northern Asia: Selected Works (Arctic Institute of North America, Anthropology of the North: Translations from Russian Sources, ; Toronto, ) J.
Harmatta, Studies on the History of the Sarmatians (Magyar-Görög Tanulmányok, ; Budapest, ) Herodotus, History, ; Longinus, On the Sublime, T.
Sulimirski, “The Cimmerian Problem,” Bulletin of the Institute of Archaeology (University of London),.
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Hopkins, “Indo-European *Deiwos and Related Words,” Language Dissertations Published by the Linguistic Society of America (Supplement to Language), XII.
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Rasmussen, The Netsilik Eskimos; Social Life and Spiritual Culture (Report of the Fifth Thule Expedition, -, Vol.
VIII, Nos.
-; Copenhagen, ) E.
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Phillips, “The Legend of Aristeas: Fact and Fancy in Early Greek Notions of East Russia, Siberia, and Inner Asia,” Artibus Asiae, XVIII,.
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Phillips, “A Further Note on Aristeas,” Artibus Asiae, XX, -.
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Partanen, “A Description of Buriat Shamanism,” Journal de la Société FinnoOugrienne, LI (-), - H.
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Michael (ed.), Studies in Siberian Shamanism (Arctic Institute of North America, Anthropology of the North: Translations from Russian Sources, ; Toronto, ), especially the two papers by A.
F.
Anisimov: “The Shaman’s Tent of the Evenks and the Origin of the Shamanistic Rite”.
 and “Cosmological Concepts of the Peoples of the North”.
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Duchemin, La Houlette et la Lyre: Recherche sur les Origines Pastorales de la Poésie, Vol.
: Hermès et Apollon (Paris, ) M.
S.
Ip iro lu, Malerei der Mongolen (München, ) Señor Vázquez Speaking and Further Soft Music to Eat By So today it is quite hot again and the erotic throb of mere air replaces the traffic; we (the warmed-up) are not separate from the body flowing into and just being with air.
So delectable, another sense for presence, glandular pressure; so all the dark air comes running up like some woven thing, soft like our own possessions.
We read about that in cheap paperbacks—maybe today it’s the turn of the scarlet athlete.
Anyway, the angelic hosts were undisturbed in their eminence of domain, not caring at all for charter or land reform.
In that sense mostly far distant from the Colombian peasants whose current leader is so evidently named by a small promethean gesture.
To return, this is an intimately physical place, picked out of the air like forbidden fruit.
So much air and so close I can feel the lunar caustic I once used in a lab note-book headed “analysis”.
Now it’s Laforgue again, the evening a deep city of velvet and the Parisian nitrates washed off into the gutters with the storm-water.
In the more entire flarings of sheet lightning the rain-drops glittered violently in their descent, like a dream of snake’s eyes.
All this the static and final saturation of air: the physical world in which, somewhere out in the Andes or in the jungle valleys the same bitter spasm is fought, for life and traffic: it is the air, we breathe and if now it trembles like some satiric sexual excitement we are no more than the air we now are, baffled.
The angels have no reason to worry, about that.
Thoughts on the Esterházy Court Uniform I walk on up the hill, in the warm sun and we do not return, the place is entirely musical.
No person can live there & what is similar is the deeper resource, the now hidden purpose.
I refer directly to my own need, since to advance in the now fresh & sprouting world must take on some musical sense.
Literally, the grace & hesitation of modal descent, the rhyme unbearable, the coming down through the prepared delay and once again we are there, beholding the complete elation of our end.
Each move into the home world is that same loss; we do mimic the return and the pulse very slightly quickens, as our motives flare in the warm hearth.
What I have is then already lost, is so much there I can only come down to it again, my life slips into music & increasingly I cannot take much more of this.
The end cadence deferred like breathing, the birthplace of the poet: all put out their lights and take their instruments away with them.
How can we sustain such constant loss.
I ask myself this, knowing that the world is my pretext for this return through it, and that we go more slowly as we come back more often to the feeling that rejoins the whole.
Soon one would live in a sovereign point and still we don’t return, not really, we look back and our motives have more courage in structure than in what we take them to be.
The sun makes it easier & worse, like the music late in the evening, but should it start to rain—the world converges on the idea of return.
To our unspeakable loss; we make sacred what we cannot see without coming back to where we were.
Again is the sacred word, the profane sequence suddenly graced, by coming back.
More & more as we go deeper I realise this aspect of hope, in the sense of the future cashed in, the letter returned to sender.
How can I straighten the sure fact that we do not do it, as we regret, trust, look forward to, etc? Since each time what we have is increasingly the recall, not the subject to which we come.
Our chief loss is ourselves; that’s where I am, the sacral link in a profane world, we each do this by the pantheon of hallowed times.
Our music the past tense: if it would only level out into some complete migration of sound.
I could then leave unnoticed, bring nothing with me, allow the world free of its displacement.
Then I myself would be the complete stranger, not watching jealously over names.
And yet home is easily our idea of it, the music of decent and proper order, it’s this we must leave in some quite specific place if we are not to carry it everywhere with us.
I know I will go back down & that it will not be the same though I shall be sure it is so.
And I shall be even deeper by rhyme and cadence, more held to what isn’t mine.
Music is truly the sound of our time, since it is how we most deeply recognise the home we may not have: the loss is trust and you could reverse that without change.
With such patience maybe we can listen to the rain without always thinking about rain, we trifle with rhyme and again is the sound of immortality.
We think we have it & we must, for the sacred resides in this; once more falling into the hour of my birth, going down the hill and then in at the back door.
A Sonnet to Famous Hopes Then the mind fills with snow the free, open syllables of reward.
All the limbs respond, to this my eyes see, there the sense of an immense patch—the north atlantic wake.
A line of scrubby trees, those fields still not ready but the snow, is still the physical rain.
Also hopeless, as if dead with strain and every nerve, in the dismal cathedral a grey waste.
But the freedom plant springs alert, in its curious way and reserved in guesswork, now in biblical sequence.
O Jerusalem you are no less than this, Cairo and Massachusetts, trust your eyes only when they fill with more than, the price of what you see.
As what I feel about it & meanwhile, the retinal muscle is bound to another world, the banks of snow are immense.
The patch of salvation, so we are too late not paranoid or jewish yet but the snow fills, me with reward & with me, the road is the tariff: above all then great banks of cloud tether my elate muscle, to nothing less & its fields—still fresh & green.
Whose Dust Did You Say How old how far & how much the years tear at us the shreds of cloth as I think of them and the great palaces with courts & the sounds of mirth merriment in the darkness within the great dream of the night.
I live still with the bitter habits of that fire & disdain I live in it surrounded by little else who can impair or bound that empire of destined habitation or go off into that coyly drab town by slow stages or by any other damn thing else who can who would waste his time who would fritter his time away how the years now do encircle the season and when is a wage a salary by dead reckoning from the merest centre of the earth the mere & lovely centre, of the earth.
A Dream of Retained Colour We take up with the black branch in the street, it is our support and control, what we do with life in the phase now running on.
From here each time the glitter does settle out, around some lamp, some fried-up commercial scene we live in support of and for.
Who is this that may just do the expected thing; not the magic silence of the inward eye you may be quite positive.
TV beams romantically into the biosphere, plant food is our daily misery.
Mine: light & easy, the victim-path is so absurd.
Misery is that support & control: the force of sympathy is a claim no one can pay for.
We are indeed supplanted and I know the light is all bribery, daylight, electric, the matching stroke.
Uncertain whether the stars of my inner canopy are part of this brittle crust I watch them often.
The moon is still silent, I count that a favour unpurchased, but the scintillant clusters are the true test: how much then are we run, managed by the biograph & predictive incision, it must be possible to set the question up & have it operational, in time to restore the eye of fate: Lucifer, without any street lamps or TV.
The branch is rained on, it does nothing, the event is unresponsive / & attending to such infantile purchase is the murderous daily income of sympathy.
The stars then being ideas without windows, what should we do by watching, is it true: is it true? Starlight is the new torture, seraphic host, punishment of the visionary excess.
What else, they glide with their income intact, how often they travel.
What they do in this social favour, that and how with, is it true.
The prism of mere life is unbearable, plants and animals in their sæcular changes, eaten up with will-power.
Who would believe in the victim, as, in such general diversion, who would need to.
O you who drive past in my dream-car of the century, lead me by no still waters, don’t touch me with the needle.
I’m watching no one, the torture is immaculate and conserved, I’d love to go so much it isn’t true it really isn’t true.
Sentimental Tales one further towards the sky now well don’t be such a damn nuisance you’ll break the cord what of that it’s nearly time for supper we must eat the clouds range in their places the tide’s up the other waits for him two that’s wormwood we’ll pick some we’ll hang it up the line holds back a tidal point eastwards it’s nice there anyway why take the trouble the lines dip lean & famous three you could say it was the water the birds often come here a nice glide before dark I must say the salt thickens mere prospects and any way they could hardly get better now could they as the wind freshens they do so slowly Foot and Mouth Every little shift towards comfort is a manoeuvre of capital loaned off into the jungle of interest: see how the banks celebrate their private season, with brilliant swaps across the Atlantic trapeze.
Such delicate abandon: we hold ourselves comfortingly braced beneath, a safety-net of several millions & in what we shall here call north Essex the trend is certainly towards ease, time off to review those delicious values traced in frost on the window or which wage-labour used to force to the Friday market.
Actually as I look out the silly snow is collapsing into its dirty self again, though I don’t feel the cold as I have thoughtfully taped out the draughts with Pressure Sensitive Tape (also known as RUBAN ADHESIF and NASTRO ADHESIVO).
Thus my own sphere of interest, based on a quite sharp fahrenheit differential, contains no trace of antique posture; I’m waiting for the soup to boil and even the slow, pure, infinitely protracted recall of a train-ride in northern Ontario (the Essex of north America) can’t fully divert me from the near prospect of Campbell’s Cream of Tomato Soup, made I see at King’s Lynn, Norfolk.
Another fine local craft, you don’t need to believe all you read about the New York art industry: “the transfer of capitalistic production to the foreign market frees the latter completely from the limitations imposed by its own consumer capacity.” And note that completely here, as I do while looking at this dirty cold patch of road and suchlike, thinking of cree indians and their high-bevelled cheeks & almost ready for my skilfully seasoned ? oz.
treat.
No one in Minnesota would believe, surely, that the dollar could still be whipping up tension about this? I am assured by this thought and by the freedom it brings, & by the garishly French gold medal won by my soup in .
Star Damage at Home The draft runs deeper now & the motion relaxes its hold, so that I pass freely from habit to form and to the sign complete without unfolding—the bright shoots in the night sky or the quick local tremor of leaves.
Where this goes is a scattered circle, each house set on a level and related by time to the persons whose lives now openly have them in train.
Each one drawn in by promise recalled, just as the day itself unlocks the white stone.
Rain as it falls down turns to the level of name, the table slanting off with its concealed glint.
And what is the chance for survival, in this fertile calm, that we could mean what we say, and hold to it? That some star not included in the middle heavens should pine in earth, not shine above the skies and those cloudy vapours? That it really should burn with fierce heat, explode its fierce & unbearable song, blacken the calm it comes near.
A song like a glowing rivet strikes out of the circle, we must make room for the celestial victim; it is amongst us and fallen with hissing fury into the ground.
Too lovely the ground and my confidence as I walk so evenly above it: we must mean the entire force of what we shall come to say.
I cannot run with these deeply implicit motions, the person is nothing, there should be torture in our midst.
Some coarsely exploited money-making trick, fast & destructive, shrill havoc to the murmur of names.
The blaze of violent purpose at least, struck through : light : we desire what we mean & we must mean that & consume to ash any simple deflection: I will not be led by the meaning of my tinsel past or this fecund hint I merely live in.
Destruction is too good for it, like Cassius I flaunt the path of some cosmic disaster.
Fix the eye on the feast of hatred forcing the civil war in the U.S., the smoke towering above the mere words splitting like glass into the air.
The divinity of light spread through the day, the mortal cloud like no more than heat haze, that thing is the idea of blood raised to a final snow-capped abstraction.
I mean what the name has in its charge, being not deceived by the dispersal which sets it down.
We live in compulsion, no less, we must have the damage by which the stars burn in their courses, we take/ set/twist/dispose of the rest.
There is no pause, no mild admixture.
This is to crush it to the centre, the angelic song shines with embittered passion; there is no price too high for the force running uncontrolled into the cloud nearest the earth.
We live here and must mean it, the last person we are.
One Way At Any Time Through the steamed-up windows it says “Thermal Insulation Products” I can’t see where it’s come from, as the warm steamy sound puffs out from the jukebox.
The girl leans over to clear off my plate, hey I’ve not finished yet, the man opposite without thinking says must be on piecework and his regular false teeth gleam like sardines.
But the twist here is that it’s all in that yokel talk they have for the rustics and this man is in overalls, his boy about nine silent beside him.
The driver opposite looks as if from some official car, he carries unworn black leather gloves & wears a black cap, with a plastic vizor.
He has a watchchain across his waistcoat and a very metallic watch on his wrist—he is not functional in anything but the obvious way but how will he too speak? McCormick International rumbles past in truly common dialect, diesel in low gear but the boy is still quiet.
His teeth are the real thing, crooked incisors as he bites into B & B his father’s mate sways with natural endorsement back and forward in his chair left by six he says and I don’t know whether a.m.
or p.m.
The girl shouts and the young driver in uniform gives an urban, movie-style flick of a nod as he pushes back his chair it is Bristol it is raining I wish I were Greek and could trust all I hear but suppose anyway that one of them turned out to be Irish? Acquisition of Love The children rise and fall as they watch, they burn in the sun’s coronal display, each child is the fringe and he advances at just that blinding gradient.
As I try to mend the broken mower, its ratchet jammed somewhere inside the crank-case, I feel the blood all rush in a separate spiral, each genetically confirmed in the young heartlands beyond.
The curious ones have their courses set towards fear and collapse, faces switch on and off, it is not any image of learning but the gene pool itself defines these lively feelings.
I get the casing off, sitting on the flat stone slab by the front door, you would think fortunes could be born here and you would be wrong.
Their childish assertion is bleeding into the centre, we are determined that they shall do this: they look outwards to our idea of the planet.
Their blood is battered by this idea, the rules for the replication of pattern guide their dreams safely into our dreams.
The two ratchets are both rusted in; I file out their slots and brush out the corroded flakes with oil.
They watch, and what they watch has nothing to do with anything.
What they do is an inherited print, I lend it to them just by looking & only their blood seems to hold out against the complete neuro-chemical entail.
I guess their capacity in pints, the dream-like membranes which keep their faces ready to see.
The mower works now, related to nothing but the hand and purpose, the fear of collapse is pumped round by each linked system & the borrowed warmth of the heart.
Questions for the Time Being All right then no stoic composure as the self-styled masters of language queue up to apply for their permits.
That they own and control the means of production (or at least the monopoly of its more dangerous aspects) seems not to have struck home.
But it must, or hysterical boredom will result and we shall all think that creative paranoia has now finally reached these shores—and as if we didn’t invent it anyway, as Wyndham Lewis tried so fiercely to explain.
And in the face of the “new frankness” in immaculate display in the highest places, why should the direct question not be put: if any discrete class with an envisaged part in the social process is not creating its own history, then who is doing it for them? Namely, what is anyone waiting for, either resigned or nervous or frantic from time to time? Various forms dodge through the margins of a livelihood, but so much talk about the underground is silly when it would require a constant effort to keep below the surface, when almost everything is exactly that, the mirror of a would-be alien who won’t see how much he is at home.
In consequence also the idea of change is briskly seasonal, it’s too cold & thus the scout-camp idea of revolution stands in temporary composure, waiting for spring.
All forms of delay help this farce, that our restrictions are temporary & that the noble fiction is to have a few good moments, which represent what we know ought to be ours.
Ought to be, that makes me wince with facetiousness: we/you/they, all the pronouns by now know how to make a sentence work with ought to, and the stoic at least saves himself that extremity of false vigilance.
Yet living in hope is so silly when our desires are so separate, not part of any mode or condition except language & there they rest on the false mantelpiece, like ornaments of style.
And expectancy is equally silly when what we think of is delay, or gangsterism of the moment, some Micawberish fantasy that we can snatch the controls when the really crucial moment turns up.
Not without asbestos gloves we can’t, the wheel is permanently red-hot, no one on a new course sits back and switches on the automatic pilot.
Revisionist plots are everywhere and our pronouns haven’t even drawn up plans for the first coup.
Really it’s laughable & folks talk of discontent or waiting to see what they can make of it.
How much cash in simple gross terms went through the merger banks in the last three months? Buy one another or die; but the cultured élite, our squad of pronouns with their lingual backs to the wall, prefer to keep everything in the family.
The upshot is simple & as follows: .
No one has any right to mere idle discontent, even in conditions of most extreme privation, since such a state of arrested insight is actively counter-productive; .
Contentment or sceptical calm will produce instant death at the next jolt & intending suicides should carry a card at least exonerating the eventual bystanders; .
What goes on in a language is the corporate & prolonged action of worked self-transcendence—other minor verbal delays have their uses but the scheme of such motives is at best ambiguous; .
Luminous take-off shows through in language forced into any compact with the historic shift, but in a given condition such as now not even elegance will come of the temporary nothing in which life goes on.
Starvation / Dream The fire still glides down in the hearth, the pale season and the leaky boat drops slowly downstream.
Like emeralds the remote figure of a remote capital gain: the case of fire rests in a flicker, just short of silence.
So the dream still curls in its horizon of total theft, cooled by the misty involvement of dew, and at once it is clear, finally, that this is not our planet: we have come to the wrong place.
We steal everything we have—why else are we driven by starved passion to the dishonour of force? The Russian trick was to burn up wads of banknotes, so as to clear the imperial stain, the hedged & tree-lined avenues of our desires.
And what we dream we want is the whole computed sum of plants and animals of this middle world, the black lands called up by our patient & careful visits.
By any ritual of purpose we extend the idea of loan and we dream of it, the payment of all our debts.
But we never shall, we have no single gain apart from the disguise of how far we say we earn.
The ground outside mistily involves itself with its contour, the leaky boat glides down the morning flood, in this rival dream all our enemies are with us and the animals & plants shall take nourishment from the same silent and passionless table.
Smaller than the Radius of the Planet There is a patch like ice in the sky this evening & the wind tacks about, we are both stopped/fingered by it.
I lay out my unrest like white lines on the slope, so that something out of broken sleep will land there.
Look up, a vale of sorrow opened by eyes anywhere above us, the child spread out in his memory of darkness.
And so, then, the magnetic influence of Venus sweeps its shiver into the heart/brain or hypothalamus, we are still here, I look steadily at nothing.
“The gradient of the decrease may be determined by the spread in intrinsic luminosities”—the ethereal language of love in brilliant suspense between us and the hesitant arc.
Yet I need it too and keep one hand in my pocket & one in yours, waiting for the first snow of the year.
Crown The hours are taken slowly out of the city and its upturned faces—a rising fountain quite slim and unflowering as it is drawn off.
The arrangements of work swell obscurely round the base of the Interior Mountain, in the pale house with its parody of stairs.
The air is cold; a pale sunlight is nothing within the constrictions of trust in the throat, in the market-place.
Or the silver police station, the golden shops, all holy in this place where the sound of false shouts too much does reconcile the face and hands.
Yet the feet tread about in the dust, cash slides & crashes into the registers, the slopes rise unseen with the week and can still burn a man up.
Each face a purging of venom, an absent coin, oh why as the hours pass and are drawn off do the shoulders break, down to their possessions, when at moments and for days the city is achieved as a glance—inwards, across, the Interior Mountain with its cliffs pale under frost.
And the question rises like helium in its lightness, not held down by any hands, followed by the faces disowned by the shoes & overcoat settling in behind the wheel and pulling the door shut.
Thus the soul’s discursive fire veers with the wind; the love of any man is turned by the mere and cunning front: No hand then but to coin, no face further than needs be, the sounds fall quickly into the gutters: And from this the waters thin into their ascendant vapour, the pillar of cloud; it stands over the afternoon already halfdark.
No one is fearful, I see them all stop to look into the sky and my famished avowals cast the final petals.
It is the Arabian flower of the century, the question returned upon itself; the action of month and hour is warm with cinnamon & clear water, the first slopes rise gently at our feet.
Love Noble in the sound which marks the pale ease of their dreams, they ride the bel canto of our time: the patient encirclement of Narcissus & as he pines I too am wan with fever, have fears which set the vanished child above reproach.
Cry as you will, take what you need, the night is young and limitless our greed.
Night Song The white rose trembles by the step it is uncalled for in the fading daylight and tiny plants sprout from between the stones Soon Mizar will take the tawny sky into protection they will soon be calling for the sick ones and all our passing sounds will rise into the horn and be cast outwards scattered the scale rises like a tide and the frail craft is afloat Who would believe it yet the waters are rough and the seabirds fly unblinking as if wind were the ointment they wished for Come back to the step I call as the house turns and it is almost night but there is no end to the peace claimed by the sick body and no relief for the mere lack of fever by which now I lean from the step and touch at the bare twigs with my wrist A Stone Called Nothing Match the stone, the milk running in the middle sea, take your way with them.
The way is the course as you speak, gentle chatter: the lights dip as the driver presses the starter & the bus pulls away to leave for the moonstruck fields of the lower paid.
Gentle chatter, match the stone, we are running into the sea.
Pay your fare, have the road beamed out: nay, eat as much bread as you find, and leave the wide earth to pursue its way; go to the brink of the river, and drink as much as you need, and pass on, and seek not to know whence it comes, or how it flows.
A good course in the middle sea, we swing into a long rising bend.
The equinox is our line for the present, who is to love that: the thought dries off into the arch ready for it.
Faintest of stellar objects, I defy you and yet this devastation curls on, out over the road.
Are we so in the black frost, is this what we pay for as the ruined names fade into Wilkes Land, its “purity of heart”? Do your best to have your foot cured, or the disease of your eye, that you may see the light of the sun, but do not enquire how much light the sun has, or how high it rises.
The devastation is aimless; folded without recompense, change down to third do any scandalous thing, the gutters run with milk.
The child of any house by the way is something to love, I devise that as an appeal to Vulcan, to open the pit we cannot fall into.
Failure without falling, the air is a frozen passage, the way bleached out, we are silent now.
The child is the merest bent stick; I cannot move.
There should be tongues of fire & yet now the wipers are going, at once a thin rain is sucked into the glass, oh I’ll trust anything.
The babe, when it comes to its mother’s breast, takes the milk and thrives, it does not search for the root and well-spring from which it flows so.
It sucks the milk and empties the whole measure : listen to the sound yet we go on moving, the air is dry, I seem to hear nothing.
It is for the time an aimless purchase, where are we now you say I think or not /go on/get off/quiet/ match the stone.
John in the Blooded Phoenix Days are uncertain now and move by flux gradients laid by the rare minerals, sodium in dreams of all the body drawn into one transcendent muscle: the dark shopfront at a.m.
But we are close to the ancient summits of a figure cast for the age, the gasfire we sit by, the sharp smell of burning orange-peel.
The axis of landform runs through each muted interchange, the tilt is a plausible deflexion of energy / now we are not at the side of anything.
In the vision made by memories of metal we walk freely as if by omen over an open terrace, of land like chalky sediment in soft water.
It is the gas-fire that does it, I despise nothing which comes near a skyline as old as this.
We could pace in our own fluids, we speak in celestial parlance, our chemistry is reduced to transfusion.
Who would forbid fair Cleopatra smiling / on his poor soul, for her sweet sake still dying? If he were he is, the condition of prompt dilatancy is exactly this: the palest single spark in all the Pleiades.
Chemins de Fer It is a forest of young pines and now we are eating snow in handfuls, looking at the towers which when the light topsoil is warm again will carry the firewatchers.
From here there is no simple question of preparing to leave, or making our way.
Even the thinnest breath of wind wraps round the intense lassitude, that an undeniably political centre keeps watch; the switch of light and shadow is packed with foreign tongues.
I shall not know my own conjecture.
The plants stare at my ankles in stiffness, they carry names I cannot recognise.
Yet in the air, still now, I am claimed by the memory of how the join, the incessant lapping, is already reported in talk to a human figure.
Again he is watchful, the dream slides right up to the true Adam and he keeps silent among the branches.
The approach, here, of streamy recall seems like the touch of Europe, an invert logic brought in with too vivid a pastoral sense, too certain for Alsace, the double eagle or the Gulf of Lions.
He is a dark outline, already struck by sacred emptiness.
He goes slowly, her body fades into reason, the memory evergreen and planted, like the lost child.
And so slowly, still, draining gradually into the Rhine, the huge barges freeze in the heat of trade.
How much power, the machine gun in a Polish scenario, black and white fade into those passionless excursions of childhood.
The small copse, water rusted in, an adventure! With which the flimsy self pivots in wilful envy and lusts after its strange body, its limbs gorged & inert.
As It Were An Attendant Proceeding still in the westward face, and like a life underwater: that facade sheer and abrupt, the face in all that shot towards venus, march on the pentagon, all the prodigious cycle of ages.
Going on then any person still frequent, fixed by the sun in that euclidean concept of “day”, takes a pause and at once is the face or some account of it: mostly we are so rushed.
Harassment is not on the switch, playback of the perfect darling and late again—we can begin with the warmup about the politics of melody / that one, and please you say at once, not again.
By the face we converse about stars, starlight & their twinkle, since sweetly it subsides and by proceeding, a long file above water, single laced after this jabber we keep it all going, at one time it is just that, gone; the rest is some pale & cheshire face.
Conspicuous by its rays & terrible and grand this is not our feeling as blindly I tread to find myself out of it, running on before them, accompanying them and going with them, there, as I have not known for months, standing by a hedge: “I love the shipwrecked man who was betrayed by misfortune.” As a cork rammed in the century’s neck, I see at once the faces who have unsuccessfully dogged my path—the procession headed by the old woman who walks & does other things maybe she sings, this is her song: Blackie, she calls (her cat free of sparks), she treads with her face, the grave carried away she has stringy hair water flows at her feet it is often dark there nor quick nor neat nor any thing / along the path leading up to the Congregational Chapel at Linton the sepulchral urns mourn their loss of protein & like its beautifully fishy stare the frontage outfaces the morning, the star at evening, like milk.
Mostly this is the end of it, through into something else, as, statement: the child is so quiet now he has stopped screaming the scarlet drains from his cheeks he is pale and beautiful he will soon be asleep I hope he will not thus too quickly die in the sky the face Blackie she calls him & he is there & without passion.
The Corn Burned by Syrius Leave it with the slender distraction, again this is the city shaken down to its weakness.
Washed-out green so close to virtue in the early morning, than which for the curving round to home this is the fervent companion.
The raised bank by the river, maximum veritas, now we have no other thing.
A small red disc quivers in the street, we watch our conscious needs swing into this point and vanish; that it is more cannot be found, no feature, where else could we go.
The distraction is almost empty, taken up with nothing; if the two notes sounded together could possess themselves, be ready in their own maximum: “O how farre art thou gone from thy Country, not being driven away, but wandring of thine owne accord.” On the bank an increase of sounds, and walk through the sky the grass, that any motion is the first settlement.
We plant and put down cryptic slopes to the damp grass, this passion fading off to the intensely beaten path: that it should be possessed of need & desire coiled into the sky, and then dismembered into the prairie twitching with herbs, pale, that it is the city run out and retained for the thousands of miles allowed, claimed to be so.
A NOTE ON METAL [] The early Bronze Age would, I suppose, locate the beginnings of Western alchemy, the theory of quality as essential.
The emergence of metal technologies (smelting & beating, followed by knowledge of alloys) was clearly a new way with the magical forms through which property resided in substance.
Until this stage, weight was the most specific carrier for the inherence of power, and weight was and is a mixed condition, related locally to exertion.
The focus of this condition is typically stone; and though this seems most obviously to insist on the compact outer surface, in fact it provides the most important practical & cultic inside: the cave.
The privilege of that ambiguity about surface gives the painted rock-shelter and the megalithic chamber-tomb the power of formal change, and in this way substance can be extended, by incorporation, to allow the magical and political/social presences their due place.
Whereas with copper, tin (and perhaps antimony), weight coincides with other possible conditions which are less mixed and specific: brightness, hardness, ductility and general ease of working.
And further, the abstraction of property (characterised as formal rather than substantive) makes the production of alloys a question of technique in the most theoretical sense.
Bronze may have been known to the Sumerians at a very early stage, and yet tin is rare in the Near East and must have been imported over considerable distances.
The difference between the kinds of intent supporting the movement of bluestones from Pembrokeshire to Wessex, and the Sumerian acquisition of tin from Cornwall or Bohemia, must be obvious.
And through the agency of the most ostensive control of force, namely fire, sword-blades or spear-heads could be forged into a strength infinitely more abstract than the flaking of high-quality flint or the hardening of wooden points.
The new quality thus gained was sharp and killed with new speed and power, from a long range.
Animal hides could be sewn up with metal bodkins and fish taken with fine wire hooks; the metal ploughshare could cut deeper into the soil and with less effort.
The new quality of spiritual transfer was concentrated in these most durable forms of leading edge, seen especially in the flattened motive of ornament, and the history of substance (stone) shifts with complex social implication into the theory of power (metal).
That’s a deliberately simplified sketch, because it may well be that this theorising of quality, with its control over weaponry and tillage and hence over life, induced a deeper cultural adherence to substance as the zone of being in which the condition was also limit: the interior knowledge of dying.
By death I mean here in particular those forms of life and ritual, the extension of body, in which persistence through material transmutation was an egoterm (even when socialised) rather than one concerned chiefly with the outer world (enemies or animals hunted for food, flesh as object).
So that stone becomes the power-substance marking the incorporated extensions of dying, and is still so as a headstone is the vulgar or common correlative of a hope for the after-life.
And in parallel with this reactive development (maybe, an exilic theory of substance) comes the rapid advance of metallurgy, shifting from the transfer of life as power (hunting) into the more settled expectation of reaping what you have already sown; this itself produces the idea of place as the chief local fact, which makes mining and the whole extractive industry possible from then on.
The threshing of millet or barley must bring a ‘purer’ and more abstract theory of value; the mixed relativism of substance leads, by varied but in outline predictable stages, to value as a specialised function and hence as dependent on the rate of exchange.
The Sumerian settlement was founded on the innovations of metallurgy, and these abstractions of substance were in turn the basis for a politics of wealth: the concentration of theoretic power by iconic displacement of substance.
The unit of exchange was still the ingot by weight and not yet coins by number, but we are already in what Childe called a ‘money economy’ as opposed to a ‘natural economy’: there is already a code of practice for capital loaned out on interest.
For a long time the magical implications of transfer in any shape must have given a muted and perhaps not initially debased sacrality to objects of currency-status, just as fish-hooks and bullets became strongly magical objects in the societies formed around their use.
But gradually the item-form becomes iconized, in transitions like that from aes rude (irregular bits of bronze), through aes signatum (cast ingots or bars) to aes grave (the circular stamped coin).
The metonymic unit is established, and number replaces strength or power as the chief assertion of presence.
In consequence, trade-routes undergo a dramatic expansion, since mercantile theory operates with the most conspicuous success when employed over large inter-cultural distances: “In the Early Bronze Age peninsular Italy, Central Europe, the West Baltic Coastlands, and the British Isles were united by a single system for the distribution of metalware, rooted in the Aegean market.” The clearest instance of this type of change arises probably where a more ‘sophisticated’ and ‘progressive’ economy meets an idiom of change and value less efficiently abstracted.
The mercantile contact between the sea-borne traders of the Eastern Mediterranean and the peoples of the Anatolian hinterland can show this interaction already by the late Bronze Age (for this region, c.
B.C.).
On the great alluvial plains of Asia the condition was one of power rather than value; that is, substance, and not (in the first instance) transfer as exchange.
Flocks and herds can be stolen, bartered, given in gift or tribute, so that wealth for the most part is the power of a technique to hold all that, again the politics of limit.
Whereas the Greek traders were already middlemen with no political standing, Sardis no city but a commercial centre working on the trick of abstract distance between real supply and real demand.
Lydia, as Childe again said, was “a frontier kingdom owing its prosperity to transit trade.” Here finally, and for the first time (according to tradition) arises sheer mercantile distance in the form of coin, where the magical resonance of transfer is virtually extinct: “That coined money should have been evolved here [the Eastern Mediterranean] is not surprising, for it was an area of intense commercial activity, encouraged and fostered by natural advantages.
The Lydians, ‘the first shopkeepers’ as Herodotus called them, as well as the neighbouring Ionians, received goods from the caravan routes and river communications across Asia.
They had access to safe and sheltered harbours for easy coastwise trade.
They exported their famous Chian wines, their purple dye which gave its name to Erythrae, and their Samian pots, but above all they were renowned for their gold, which provided the fabulous wealth of Croesus, and still more fabulous wealth of Midas.” And Croesus, the first recorded millionaire, is also the first to devise a bimetallic currency, where even the theoretic properties of metal are further displaced, into the stratified functionalism of a monetary system.
We are almost completely removed from presence as weight, and at this point the emergence of a complete middle class based on the technique of this removal becomes a real possibility.
So that by this stage there is the possible contrast of an exilic (left-wing) history of substance.
And yet the shifts are off-set and multiple, and in the earlier stages are accompanied by extensions of awareness newly sharpened by exactly that risk.
The literal is not magic, for the most part, and it’s how the power of displacement side-slipped into some entirely other interest which is difficult, not a simple decision that any one movement is towards ruin.
Stone is already the abstraction of standing, of balance; and dying is still the end of a man’s self-enrichment, the ‘reason’ why he does it.
The North American Indians developed no real metallurgy at all, at any stage of their history.
The whole shift and turn is not direct (as Childe, too insistently, would have us believe), but rather the increasing speed of displacement which culminates only later in a critical overbalance of intent.
If we are confident over the more developed consequences, at the unrecognised turn we are still at a loss to say where or why.
Notes Some of the earliest British metal-technologies have been held to include techniques of “smelting, alloying, casting, hammering, grinding and polishing, work in repoussé with punches, traced ornament, perforation with a punch and perhaps also by drilling, riveting, probably the use of a mandrel, and most likely an empirical skill in the exploitation of work-hardening and annealing” (D.
Britton, “Traditions of Metal-Working in the Later Neolithic and Early Bronze Age of Britain,” Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society, N.
S.
XXIX [], p.
).
On the technology of this, see G.
E.
Fussell, “Ploughs and Ploughing before ,” Agricultural History, XL.
, -.
See also Marc Bloch, “Natural Economy or Money Economy”.
, in J.
E.
Anderson (trans.), Land and Work in Medieval Europe; Selected Papers by Marc Bloch (London, ).
Even in the case of early Greek coinage it has been argued that the original intention was not so much in the first place to facilitate trade (external or internal), but rather to establish a system of centralised national wealth which could support a professional military caste; see C.
M.
Kraay, “Hoards, Small Change and the Origin of Coinage,” Journal of Hellenic Studies, LXXXIV.
, -.
V.
G.
Childe, The Prehistory of European Society (London, ), p.
.
On the overland trade-routes in Asia Minor and traffic in metals (especially copper) see R.
Dussaud, “La Lydie et ses voisins aux hautes époques,” Babyloniaca, XI.
, and in particular the tentative route-map included as plate .
There is reason to consider this hypothesis of overland trade with the interior as conjectural, but there is little evidence which would refute it.
See G.
M.
A.
Hanfmann, “Prehistoric Sardis,” in G.
E.
Mylonas (ed.), Studies Presented to David Moore Robinson (Saint Louis, -), Vol.
I, pp.
- , and J.
M.
Birmingham, “The Overland Route across Anatolia in the Eighth and Seventh Centuries B.C.,” Anatolian Studies, XI.
, -.
On specifically Lydian trade and the monopoly structure of the Lydian mining industry, see C.
Roebuck, Ionian Trade and Colonization (New York, ), Chap.
III and especially note (p.
) on kapelos.
A.
H.
Quiggin, A Survey of Primitive Money; The Beginnings of Currency (London, ), p.
.
Concerning Midas (briefly) see J.
M.
Cook, Greek Settlement in the Eastern Aegean and Asia Minor (Vol.
II, Chap.
XXXVIII of the revised Cambridge Ancient History, issued in fascicle, Cambridge, ), pp.
-.
Although the almost pure native copper from the Lake Superior region was being hammered into various points, blades and ornaments as early as – B.C.
But the forms are in most cases copied directly from earlier types in flint or bone, and none of the smelting or alloy processes was involved.
See J.
B.
Griffin, “Late Quaternary Prehistory in the Northeastern Woodlands,” in H.
E.
Wright Jr., and D.
G.
Frey (eds.), The Quaternary of the United States (Princeton, ), p.
.
Urban totalitarianism, for example, as Childe argued in “The Bronze Age,” Past and Present,.
, -.
UNCOLLECTED POEMS And Only Fortune Shines We are not the person for this as we do make away / over to the / side I tell you oh love the ones we are the touch of, as going in the dark, why should it be less.
I will keep down to the damp ground, splayed in the faint hope it is love when in this last passion I see we are then who we love, in the open.
Cheeks ever puffed with hollow pieties, the wild flames feeding from the star in the forehead.
Each while he hurts, where the brief turn & coil of the chin, eyes for me the other, the mild trust.
She stands swaying as I know her in the beauty of that, one voice containing the other.
I will go on with this: daylight slides into the bloodstream, how can we hold what we are So I see the other come in, the slight figure buckled in close and pale oh lady be the present figure of what I do feel & will go to, over the glance in the dark the passage, footfall as she stands or runs now, up the steps.
They breathe the air there is, we are not short of any thing.
We love what we trust it is the coming age of the face, oh please do set this in the sight I must have.
The per- son we now / are not I / will wait for you as we both stand, so here far from the star the needful life of the cheek the rise of, the heart.
Poem in Time to This At that moment the tone of the first sound came to me, walking under the changing cloud cover, up past the place of rise and turn I know so well.
Like water it is the continuance of opinion; if the green comes on again or we fall as we pass through what we know already, this is truly our pace for the joy of season.
In my own time I too choose to defer and expand, my limbs loose like the gradual & cancelled reason: call it “the purpose of the self”.
So chastely the sound ministers to the ease of motion, I walk knowing the whole past like a single brown shell.
If it is the absent sea, I have never seen that, I am at this present time in no rage for the real noise, clatter of shingle etc.
The first sound is enough, I do nothing but know as I walk, past the new green and rise to the fertile crest, that my feelings are all given away, the murmur lost to the ear.
East-South-East And so it is the figure, gleaming on the path, the person who shines in the torrents of fresh rain.
That rushing sound is already lifted as if being carried over, taken so slowly that the rate is birth.
Struck into birth, into lightning and so slow the touch not at all wild.
The slowness is what’s strange, as if the washing were a coin ready for the soul, the shining road just a surface to years, to the years & their raiment kept out and folded.
The light pleating the rain.
Coming from Hitchin the way twisted under some trees & I met there the Shining One.
No conversation or investment followed, the rain was incessant; there was a completely steady flow of change.
The damp was ionised, with charges slipping down quite unmatched paths, it was a most beautiful and painless night.
And there is nothing to rescue, where the figure may stay & receive wine with the blood of a white hind, on the A and the shelter of the journey.
Nothing to save, we shine, we also shine in our neglect.
Hey Oswald He wanders inertly, with a shrewd unattending absence, his being on a thin stalk: he twists from reluctance to keep to the one plane when his name comes in sound, to him The light bracing of muscle confronts him, already he has that instinct: connected to the shadow, draw what is yours into the evidence, of person But the sun most marks it, by a sudden flashing on and off, going black from the centre like a flower rotting: this is the stable sign by which the world insists in the one ecliptic He is there at loss, knowing the world to be so: his youth now the sentiment drawn off by his being so, by his first name: by his owning his thought (his coming end) How Many There Are: A Letter Even to wait slowly, as with the one word ‘far’ is the reach of a number theory, the art attached to that extension of the holy war.
As I walk down the fold in the banks, following the water is an axis, the flow brushes the leaves and houses into the channel, the progress of relevance; which is, I know about that, more familiar in these parts.
But where, in some sense I might otherwise be is the number I live with, who is the three in my hand, always so hungry for it at the break; or even the pure form of change.
The greedy halo is the enlargement of similar things (included in likeness).
There are five, the air is moist round the just visible moon, you could double and split the very birds of the field.
Three is the means of survival and five is its consort; it arises as a permission from who one is, a nonfinite proliferation of tireless limbs.
If the road be crossed (or traversed), the break so caused is a fault in creation.
We must move carefully again & magic is the presence of form without number.
As if that weren’t as old-fashioned as exactly it sounds.
Each time I go the same way the file of occasion increases: perhaps we should just grow more solemn.
Yet I know you are there, finding the five steps of my entire life, we stay in the figure & can afford to count nothing else.
P.S.
This may be just sentiment.
But if we think so, the term is still our claim, the form of water & I do hope at least very much, for that.
FIRE LIZARD.
 Come and tell me.
The draw of the beetle, making the lane of water, the fire lizard.
I hear the front of your visited wish, I am inside it now.
I hear where you go to.
My love of the corners.
If your scarf is deeper blue, come past the bridle, the bodiless parterre shakes the sleeve.
There I believe what you say.
Oh small lamp of the scarlet, tell me: the front rests by the sky.
We too seek perfect pitch.
Cracking nuts, leaning either way you say so.
Bright shadows point under the snow.
The intelligence is not even held under.
The new thing cries like a cat.
Shew me sweet with the fingers for that’s enough.
The proem strides off as breakfast by the plate washed over; oiling the shell, ringing the bell.
I cannot part you, try as I often do.
The hour snaps up my tinder bank and where will be the last of her time to go with it; which is the step.
As you say so he takes his flit, over the water creamy toes, envy with coins right by the phone box.
We are the recession of blue-green.
The broken dangerous cup is not mended.
The point of sky has all that in sight but optics apart.
Parsecs fiddle the onion, don’t you know? Or care what the cave says, who said it.
Burning the gum while the bird made solemn mock.
He says balsam in defence, warningly on.
Are you hurt now, scalded anywhere on the arm.
I take your part my Russian winter, ice on the stream.
On the formal disclaimer, that’s so too.
Banded opal in the mouth of June, why not.
I know why.
The fish delays, that’s why, scale rattles over the crossing.
Still I love you.
That’s the reason too.
BRASS.
 On eût crié bravo! Ouvrage bien moral! Nous étions sauvés The Bee Target on his Shoulder Gratefully they evade the halflight rising for me, on the frosty abyss.
Rub your fingers with chalk and grass, linctus over the ankle, now TV with the sound off & frame hold in reason beyond that.
Paste.
Thereby take the foretaste of style, going naked wherever commanded, by the father struck in the plain.
His wavy boots glow as he matches the headboard.
Do not love this man.
He makes Fridays unbearable, with the ominous dullness of the gateway to the Spanish garden.
His herb-set teeth are impossible, tropic to R.E.M.
and the white doll.
It’s all so prognostic: he wakes inclined to say just that.
But then he stretches / beyond / the silent floating torpor of stupefaction, flesh pierced & stripped like comb honey.
Water the ground with song, aria with cloud, that’s his aunt with the brown teapot jammed into edible, macerated crumpet.
So you shrilled unwittingly in the rd chorus.
Oh he wants no more but bright honour sparkling in his eye, he flies into pungent happiness.
He insists, rather grandly, that this is “right” for him.
The greedy mule recoils from Salamanca, still won’t eat.
And after rain the mild rushes shoot for you and command the house to be built at once.
Red and grey as they come.
In the sheen of dew his socks are wet and the tincture stains his instep indeed.
The head film matches the conduit with banal migraine.
Father pokes about for the gay snuff of Algiers.
Together we love him limb from limb, walking in the moonlight; moderate SW gales do nothing but blandish the same story.
Which is spelled from birdsong anyway, say indeed under cumin, fetlock, going out and gentle with the prime order of frost and reason, reason and frost, the same stormy inconsequence.
A patch of wanting is not singing successfully, the adverbs of a spate are too like, well, écriture fatale.
The ring is on the other wall of the shop.
The plaster ceiling is clear and true.
Say so, as a median nature, up the sad trellis.
Say you do, lighting the “sacred squadron”, flat on their faces.
The wall of the shop has a blue tablet, in memory of ATV Channel Nine.
On this bonny bank father pauses, to empty his boots of seedlings and filthy change.
A rash of invasion follows, in strict order of love; first the new non-vintage, then casually sitting out in the garden atop the grass.
Be gentle with his streamy locks until he gets the wrapper off.
Strip pieces of flesh from the animals lying dead in the streets.
Love him, in le silence des nuits, l’horreur des cimetieres; otherwise the trendy book will slide into the bath & linger there, avec le savon and the Rose of Texas, toasted marine-style.
“If he eats the flesh of his hand: his daughter will die”—that too is costly, like rime.
I mean, day after day is sunk into the river & washed like palest blue Reinheit into the last droplet of Kümmel.
So wolf-tallow is smeared on his lower lip.
It is dear to be left calm in face of the house and the night.
If it is dark and cloudless, without stars, some friendly woman will blunder with the tap.
No news can be less valued, by derisive acts of mercy nonetheless; don’t come while I’m away with the sad touches of sulphur.
Rain.
The water is rose-blue also and gentle while mist curls into his daughter and she receives it pleasantly, muting the comic scowl.
Bravely she traces the path of father’s boots on the lawn—little sister we sob merrily & settle down by the newest grave: fresh earth as the clay to see with, standing by the head, making the song with shadows set over the reed-bed.
That’s what they’re for, seasons and for days and years in the circle of teeth by the cosy fire.
You know if you ask that the air terminal is not yet rebuilt.
Sun Set • Small flares skip down the coal face how can I refuse them the warm indolence of fancy the solace of wheels muffled in sheepskin then Bruckner on the radio & how easily I am taken from the hearth & returned changed & unnoticed it is the pulse of birch tar & molten amber the estranged blood in the vein Viva Ken Euphoric gloom writes itself off into the air: some views are quite terrific but really I don’t give a damn and flimsy scorn-like sails scatter all over the lake.
It’s like stencilled cardboard again, ascending to its lumpy clouds and the snow creeps into meek sexy puffs, ready for morning.
And there is this much more, as the march of literary lancers pales in the mirror: sweet nothing for lunch this time, yet another talk about diamonds.
What is this glittery filth; not the factual remains of desire, not refinements all over again? Comic disbelief fractures the glottis, glottal pauses, nothing is in high season & your tender looks are frankly incredible here the prevailing sense of occasion minces feelingly to the meter and pops in another ketchup insult, beneath which the spirit labours uncontaminated by you me or anyone but the old man caressed by his sweating animal chair.
Here zooms into view the new floor, spinning down ready-dirtied with vengeance and catastrophe: fate strikes! fainting members compose “hope” and “trembling”, mere watchers burst into pieces! That’s what happens at the harbour, that too is rabid for traffic in hilarious absolute daybreak or drop at the very first call.
The Kirghiz Disasters .
The news comes in from the Tarim Basin, that the passes are blocked by fresh falls.
Ice forms upwards from the floors of gravel & inwards from the sides, the train is halted by needs quite unforeseen in its schedule.
Rock tumbles in pretty cascades.
The base-line of the ‘time is money’ quadrant shifts to take up new stress; only the line of major ripple still twists free, trapping air under the crystal.
The muse in reckless theophany gives a familiar yell: juniper, moss agate, jurassic boredom glows in the empty waiting-room.
The fire is an unreal mixture of smoke & damp; the reason for this is unmusical, in stoic silence by the door.
.
Readable at Easter, the arrows flash to the lonely mark and spell ruin quite quickly, in fact make up the letters in triple nourishing layers.
Beyond this, light and some kind of extraction, the heartfelt sighs drawn off like grass—there’s nothing in the way of dawn with its bald patches, why don’t the men on the other side get up & do it? The heart has its excuses, no friend waits who has not met the postman half-way down the beach, calmly indifferent.
Wake up wake up he shouts through the open window and you reach for the time, feeling the warm air & its wax.
Otherwise the rest is just absolute; right down at the foot of the buttress a mark of wasted affection lies awry, all falling apart.
.
Come on in then, goes up a general shout, there’s still room & there is, who would trouble with the freedom to dissent when there would be so much respect to put up with—oh/oh/oh and off out into the etc.
Better far a lizard, an excursion special, attracting the lowest rate of tax compatible with unnoticed grace.
Can smoke freeze? Without warning the ice emits its periodic crackle, jumping upwards like wall-paper, and searching the band for another station reveals new liassic beds near the previous shelf.
So without tooting we depart, she knowing all the while that freedom would just leave her stranded again.
The continent will of course embrace us: we wound only, reluctant to kill.
.
The rider touches his hopeful cabin, in the form of a child aged about seven months; the circle of knowledge is unbroken.
There is even price in the air, its upward lift near to the limit.
The driver peers from his screen at the circle, now leafy and flashing, the sign of the imposed progress by late evening.
Only the decision is stopped: “the idea expressed is for any of the three persons to deeply desire or hope to do a difficult thing”—and they do, they always run to the gate with news or make wide grabs at the leaves as they whizz past the window.
What else is there: the captain orders the sight of land to be erased from the log, as well he might.
.
Hell, not water creeping like afflicted soup into the park, no prospects for renewing our tickets.
The choice commissar lifts his glove by the thumb and returns it to the very short lady at the desk, legs deep in turbid current: she can’t stir yet either, she flips up an eye in each socket.
She is quite disdainful.
The flocks of songsters translate the old films into dirty little blocks each time round, they “never think of removing a single stone.” They are zealots in the park all over, they pick away his glove more than they watch for the morning rush.
And at that the fringes wither with tight credal echoes, bringing fear into the homely recital.
Swear at the leather by the knee-joint shouts Jerome, crumbs ready as a favoured bribe.
.
Then I eat a careful selection of food.
My fork skims thoughtfully from side to side.
I keep up a steady munch, almost like a heartbeat you could say only slower by a certain amount.
I am prepared to discuss it with anyone.
The tribe inflates and each muscle shuts.
.
He now drops the heavenly coin in the doorway; under the autumn heaps the battalion choir make twits and observe the coin’s unblemished descent.
A flashing silver rivet slips into the anthill on the bend.
Conclusive appetite is in that chorus of disaster, we shall call him me-me & have done with it, crippled stick.
And while replies sprout between the bricks the hired contra-basso feels his cheek with another finger, thinks of a note falling into his auntie’s purse.
The choir is widely aroused, rises in respectful attention.
And the pain runs down his right side, making him gasp: the traffic goes into twinges, everything does this, flicking through knots, but the really first question is still not warm.
How could it be as we turn quickly round and look at what you see.
.
So that Jerome springs back into place, your friendly dental technician trailing his new bridge-work.
He is esteemed always, loved to distraction, the first principles of life must be “tender and ductile”; strip off, and that too is rotten.
The redeemed corset strains into view again and we perk up finally by the counter.
Tip tip tip as the band refuses to watch, we don’t like to fix it so close to the keel.
What to prune, come down into the store-room.
Or not this time, they all stroll in from the drill and its wreckage: they are all here.
All disgustingly crouched along the spinet, they spin, they catch at enamel, they gasp at the pollen count.
She next stuffs her little crown into a bag and runs daintily upstairs, she nauseates everyone.
Royal Fern By the beads you sleep, laden with scrip.
How can you love me in dream, always walking from field to field.
You sleep on, seeded by snowy drift.
In strings it bales from the crest.
And singing with it I run, half fearingly, out of the hot shade.
Love holds me to the mallet path.
In his youth he walked much.
Tears streamed down his unlined face, damping his shirt.
Sleep glows in its beads, staring the wing blind.
Still the snow hums, fetching my life: the pain to come, still the key takes cover in the chamois case.
The key is the edge of our day.
So the fiat parks by the kerb.
We hear him switch off, he is dreaming of the void.
In time, soup for the father in open green.
Now the family is rejoined.
In a gold circlet they weep of old fears.
It is warm here, the sycamore pales at last.
His to keep.
Amass.
L’Extase de M.
Poher Why do we ask that, as if wind in the telegraph wires were nailed up in some kind of answer, formal derangement of the species.
Days and weeks spin by in theatres, gardens laid out in rubbish, this is the free hand to refuse everything.
No question provokes the alpha rhythm by the tree in our sky turned over; certain things follow: who is the occasion now what is the question in which she what for is a version of when, i.e.
some payment about time again and how “can sequence conduce” to order as more than the question: more gardens: list the plants as distinct from lateral front to back or not grass “the most successful plant on our heart-lung bypass and into passion sliced into bright slivers, the yellow wrapping of what we do.
Who is it: what person could be generalised on a basis of “specifically” sexual damage, the townscape of that question.
Weather of the wanton elegy, take a chip out of your right thumb.
Freudian history again makes the thermal bank: here credit ° a/c payee only, reduce to now what laid out in the body sub-normal or grass etc, hay as a touch of the social self put on a traffic island.
Tie that up, over for next time, otherwise there is a kind of visual concurrence; yet the immediate body of wealth is not history, body-fluid not dynastic.
No poetic gabble will survive which fails to collide head-on with the unwitty circus: no history running with the french horn into the alley-way, no manifest emergence of valued instinct, no growth of meaning & stated order: we are too kissed & fondled, no longer instrumental to culture in “this” sense or any free-range system of time: .
Steroid metaphrast .
Hyper-bonding of the insect .
% memory, etc any other rubbish is mere political rhapsody, the gallant lyricism of the select, breasts & elbows, what else is allowed by the verbal smash-up piled under foot.
Crush tread trample distinguish put your choice in the hands of the town clerk, the army stuffing its drum.
Rubbish is pertinent; essential; the most intricate presence in our entire culture; the ultimate sexual point of the whole place turned into a model question.
The Five Hindrances His canopy makes a new pallor; the crescent strikes a high whistle as from the bridge over the gap.
How it displays itself, eating the seed like cough sweets.
Listen under the wheel, from Mannheim to Trieste, what you hear is wide air in chaos, dusted over and softened like flesh.
That’s how we part, not caring, in a blood spot absolute for destruction.
We rise and fall with hedge-trimmer’s finesse, when the step veers round to the east: take what you hear slowly, as water makes the sun pale again, near the scabious pinned out for rescue.
It cannot turn back now in the room smelling of damp wood, it is so far outreached, cross-bred with the future.
His former self wastes on the stair, putting oil to each hinge in turn.
Now we come through the air we breathe bemused by the week: the fire of heaven, gentle, very light.
The brilliant patch (thorium) where the pilot touches the web and “intersects the gross national product”, undeserved incest with the soft light of the planet.
What is this high street at night, in every direction the same as itself? As it will not change but pleads for its topical centre, rising to the cone of wind and ash: fields of pure inertia.
He folds the stem of his two cheeks to this, he fans the servant with scented leaves.
The two friends walk down the sandy track and we hold back the ends of the crescent.
The future history of the air is glowing, with amity beyond the path itself; touched gently and brought to this stubborn wreck.
Wood Limit Refined Looking out on to was his bet devised for the blotched appearance of a stain, high in the parlour again again we want it more terribly faster, why are we blamed for eating the whole west bank of the town, pleasure gardens, pair of pliers, salad oil remorse floods in natal reflex, life in the ear is marked by this throbbing uncertainty winding up water for a ridiculous fountain, a jet called Gaspard give him his snack stained into the plate again again how can his leg reach the shelf in (under) such “thirst” for the train of events for the brushed-up dinner for the sea of aral & nothing else, actually.
The Ideal Star-Fighter I Now a slight meniscus floats on the moral pigment of these times, producing displacement of the body image, the politic albino.
The faded bird droops in his cage called fear and yet flight into his pectoral shed makes for comic hysteria, visible hope converted to the switchboard of organic providence at the tiny rate of say .
per cent “for the earth as a whole”.
And why go on reducing and failing like metal: the condition is man and the total crop yield of fear, from the fixation of danger; in how we are gripped in the dark, the flashes of where we are.
It pays to be simple, for screaming out, the eye converts the news image to fear enzyme, we are immune to disbelief.
“If there is danger there ought to be fear”, translocation of the self to focal alert, “but if fear is an evil why should there be danger?” The meniscus tilts the water table, the stable end-product is dark motion, glints of terror the final inert residue.
Oriental human beings throw off their leafy canopies, expire; it is the unpastured sea hungering for calm.
II And so we hear daily of the backward glance at the planet, the reaction of sentiment.
Exhaust washes tidal flux at the crust, the fierce acceleration of mawkish regard.
To be perceived with such bounty! To put the ring-main of fear into printed circuit, so that from the distant loop of the hate system the whole object is lovable, delicious, ingested by heroic absorption! We should shrink from that lethal cupidity; moral stand-by is no substitute for -inch reinforced concrete, for the blind certain backlash.
Yet how can we dream of the hope to continue, how can the vectors of digression not swing into that curve bounding the translocal, and slip over, so that the image of suffered love is scaled off, shattered to a granulated pathos like the dotted pigments of cygnus? III What more can be done.
We walk in beauty down the street, we tread the dust of our wasted fields.
The photochemical dispatch is imminent, order-paper prepared.
We cannot support that total of displaced fear, we have already induced moral mutation in the species.
The permeated spectra of hatred dominate all the wavebands, algal to hominid.
Do not take this as metaphor; thinking to finish off the last half-pint of milk, look at the plants, the entire dark dream outside.
Nothing Like Examples With its threatened yellow tag on the chain we were ready again in the evening.
Pallor from the week was intense, as a flame in some weir or wicker basket; marks on the brickwork destroy pain.
Its yield is so tight and graceful, you see it passing under the lower shutters and through the arch into the yard.
Failure like the frantic lark has no place by the lock.
Please invent the change to advance, gripping the rail by the chapel door.
Had you a sister I could have thought longer and down the slope where water ran out over the limestone sill.
The full moon flashes its Roman tinge and prepares for new decimal butter.
But none of the smaller plants had been returned, it was a betrayal of sorts in a rather uncertain mile.
She is racked by desires so foolish, such a lombardy storm in the small park where the children play with gravel.
By the stream all the glass is coarse and twisted and yet this is more and more a peaceful universe.
He will cut off his thumb to please a select crowd but it is a trick of course; death hovers because of the dove’s lamentation, his part of the soul.
Why don’t you go down the street, why not believe this? As a slip of praise to the glory of an old building, its stones delicious in metal foil.
Then his spirits declined, he gave his time to listless staring; the child sang to his brother notable for black looks.
Vacant and possessed the hours stepped by in the heat, the glutted alcove swarming with ants.
By the clock he turns again in her shadowy arm.
Hem-stitched to fate she is still the fountain, giving him her sweep of hopeful grins: home like the bell & laid in earth, in the shipwright’s flower.
Ash surmounts the town on the hill.
The wharf has some glint in it, his hands drip with syrup.
Warm air flies among her thoughts, the razorbill swerves past the obelisk and such a delicate yarn also.
What he would say if he could.
And why don’t you just drop it anyway, on some bridge where envy curdles the strange visit.
Chiffon ahoy is beamed out to the dog, a yapping mongrel whose plate in the Dutch tavern is thick with flies.
Love is all you need to start with, then the porcelain stove will gobble up anything there is around, including the lesser-used faggots of the brain.
And who would drown under the noetic shower, not her sister, mimic benediction.
But this is more and more a peaceful universe, it turns on this mossy pivot.
Who does not feel the new petrel under his scapula, which is the tremor of fortitude as it subsides.
The question unasked is too flushed and hazy for the bayonet in the guard of honour, the water in the ground.
Es Lebe der König (for Paul Celan, –) Fire and honey oozes from cracks in the earth; the cloud eases up the Richter scale.
Sky divides as the flag once more becomes technical, the print divides also: starlight becomes negative.
If you are born to peaks in the wire, purple layers in the glass format, re-enter the small house with animals too delicate and cruel.
Their throats fur with human warmth, we too are numbered like prints in the new snow.
It is not possible to drink this again, the beloved enters the small house.
The house becomes technical, the pool has copper sides, evaporating by the grassy slopes.
The avenues slant back through the trees; the double music strokes my hand.
Give back the fringe to the sky now hot with its glare, turning russet and madder, going over and over to the landing-stage, where we are.
We stand just long enough to see you, we hear your fearful groan and choose not to think of it.
We deny the consequence but the outset surrounds us, we are trustful because only thus is the flame’s abstract review the real poison, oh true the fish dying in great flashes, the smell comes from shrivelled hair on my wrist.
That silly talk is our recklessly long absence: the plum exudes its fanatic resin and is at once forced in, pressed down and by exotic motive this means the rest, the respite, we have this long.
Only the alder thrown over the cranial push, the waged incompleteness, comes with the animals and their watchful calm.
The long-tailed bird is total awareness, a forced lust, it is that absolutely.
Give us this love of murder and sacred boredom, you walk in the shade of the technical house.
Take it away and set up the table ready for white honey, choking the white cloth spread openly for the most worthless accident.
The whiteness is a patchwork of revenge too, open the window and white fleecy clouds sail over the azure; it is true.
Over and over it is so, calm or vehement.
You know the plum is a nick of pain, is so and is also certainly loved.
Forbearance comes into the stormy sky and the water is not quiet.
Thinking of You Not going forward let alone returning upon itself, the old fat in the can.
The old fat rises to a reason and seems because of its can, not going forward but in its rank securely, so as to be ready.
Divinity rises to no higher reason since going up alone is returning itself to the can.
You choose if you like whether we stay in the rank or go forward as alone we can, divinely secured about the midriff.
Older than forward is the way we might go and grow because we do, fat.
In the can it is the rancid power of the continuum.
A New Tax on the Counter-Earth A dream in sepia and eau-de-nil ascends from the ground as a great wish for calm.
And the wish is green in season, hazy like meadow-sweet, downy & soft waving among the reeds, the cabinet of Mr Heath.
Precious vacancy pales in this studious form, the stupid slow down & become wise with inertia, and instantly the prospect of money is solemnised to the great landscape.
It actually glows like a stream of evening sun, value become coinage fixed in the grass crown.
The moral drive isn’t quick enough, the greasy rope-trick has made payment an edge of rhetoric; the conviction of merely being right, that has marched into the patter of balance.
And here the dream prevails, announced by Lord Cromer: his warnings of crisis revert to hillside and the market town: “the great pyrotechnist who did it all, red from head to foot”—inducing disbelief stronger even than remedies.
We become who he is, the abandoned fishing, the asserted instrument renewed as a cloud over the moor.
What he says is nothing, the hills and the trees, the distant panorama washing the buried forest.
Who he is tells us that what he says need not be true, in the dream to come it will not happen.
The botanist & the collector of shells & the consultors of dictionaries & those who light fires with care now hereby confirm the dream and the segmented wish made solid in the time of day.
It is cash so distraught that the limbic mid-brain system has absorbed its reflex massage.
We move into sleep portioned off in the restored liner, and the drowsy body is closer to “nature”, the counter-earth.
The nervous system burns hissing down to its fluid base, watched by the hermaphrodite from Coventry.
Now freedom from care deflects the care itself; that grandiloquent spiral of common-sense was exotic after all, what was said to be true was so because said urgently—and when imitated by lazy charade the truth became optional, alternative to the grand stability of dream: “the transit from drive organization to cognitive process.” The truth has lately been Welsh & smoke-laden & endlessly local, and “getting it right” held the nagging danger of not getting it at all.
And being right is not so absolute as being so; the climax community of the dream brings new eyes, the man in the street is visible again.
The distance of being so reopens the millennial landscape, “that we need not even think of it as possible.” Then the possible seems a paltry art: “the perceptual events of the dream produce a partial or temporary reduction in the state of need current in the organism.” Whether partial or temporary they release gratitude, the moment of joy self-induced as desire turned back into a globe itself infolding like a sun, or like a moon, or like a universe of starry majesty.
“The spot was the one which he loved best in all the world.” And such affection curdles the effort to be just, the absolute perception spreads calm into the air and the air works like a sea.
The horizon is lit with the rightness of wayward sentiment, cash as a principle of nature.
And cheap at the price.
Lupin Seed Said mostly to be tranquil, what you gain in the little, playful, heady shiftings of air & cloud.
Rising I mean over each walker, who moves his legs and ankles like this, blinks at the frontage and tries not to draw in the cedar of Lebanon, weeping aspen, how much heart-wood will he light on regardless? He becomes the choosy Corot of the month ahead, he feels the incessant passage de nuit, also bird-scarer.
The warm air regales him, is even warmer, again trapped in his mouth.
Of Sanguine Fire Swift as a face rolled away like pastry, turned up the stairwell oh cough now room for two & faced with bodily attachments: evidence hovers like biotic soup, all transposable, all like.
The pastry face takes the name Pie (crust folded like wings over the angelic substrate, all so like pasties they hover again), is younger by a specific aim.
From upstairs the face crossed by banisters counterclaims in re Outwash, it foils downward, round the newel, to a fierce vacancy guarded on legal & moral grounds which run to the limits of perfect zeal.
Outwash and Pie face across the table, synergic coils wound through the house of Mercury where they dwell; in extent far out like angelic protraction, fortitude, appetite—these doorways face out to the dyke, and in and out go Pie and Outwash.
They loop over the difference in age, in the glimmer of evening, angry in turn at the visceral lightness which fades so swiftly outwards and upwards—is this really mud & zeal, is this the perfect earth? Custard in glacial helix, face down to the scooped-out place? The alluvium does not rise or fall; the song is equipolar and the faces are conjoined in likeness, made of that angelic evidence.
Disposition sports in the stairwell.
Pie speaks, it is a last precultural eulogy: I’m buggered he says if I care I don’t give a four penny damn or a blind fuck where soever and now all the mountain peaks sail by in handy likeness and pride & passion & moral precept/gurgle like the honey Outwash expected to run busily with the milk.
Pancreas strikes hard into the valley floor.
The adrenal cortex cannot fail to grab for the willow wand, life’s like that all round.
Pie is chastened, grows more organs of a strictly theoretic cast; wine runs in his head like stellar juice (like evidence, off again): the path runs out to the lip of my fear, for you; the planets bow their heads at every door At fortitude they sing in unison At appetite they knead into a lump At protraction they shine like the letter D like you, like me wearing the three garments of the animal soul.
Let’s face it says Outwash you’re some what gone in the head, an organ contrived as a fancy at least, in the stairwell, like the proleptic comfort of taxis in Euston Station.
Draw off a sample of that spinal fluid, take more care.
Be trusty.
Our true fate is post-alpine, our true place bounded by small mountain ringlets: who have therefore no weight or load upon their Faculties, nothing to dead or slacken the Spring of their Nature, no Concupiscence to darken their Understandings, or to pervert their Wills, no Indisposition, Languor or Weariness occasioned through crazy and sickly Vehicles wait for it, Pie conceives a whiff of apple, even short crust, wait for it, like one bold face too many, pyloric mill racing; yet Outwash runs on for the cloud— but are always Fresh, Vigorous and Bright, like the life and quickness of the Morning, and rejoyce like the Sun to run their Course— and makes it through zero gravity, he too on the verge of deep narcosis.
He slides his face down three stairs, skipping the treads; he merely thinks abruptly of a red sexy pudding.
And still the sensual race soaks up the issue, evidence this time of unmannerly lust.
Pie cranes into a softened cutaneous layer, name spread like gaudy lipstick.
Outwash bends under the lintel; beads of angelic sweat hang like jewels over the western hemisphere: fierce vacancy lies in the ground.
Eyes with love with fortitude, flaring to the idea brushed past the cheek erotic counterpass in the thoracic cavity, the slender likeness of blood between two faces the slight salt of the stairs bread in the stairwell love as an intensely chaste brush with the idea of heat, its warm likeness melted down into legal guardianship, of the frail pinnace.
How preoccupied with the female zoning of the house are Pie and Outwash.
The patient swelling of transposable parts, like an incomplete theory of merely physical decay.
Gangrene in the evidential footings, nothing to call she, yet pervaded with female oestrus; hot under the limits of “perfect zeal”? See says Pie in chant the wagtails, sedge warbler, they fly just under the curve of love, they skim the face of the water likeness evading with the quickness of the morning the bounded condition of name.
Eyewash says Outwash and means love for it, helpless in sardonic glimmer, peering for the small window, the “evidence”.
Steam rises off the water surface, minute shifting of levels.
Lipids drop to no purpose, like too much, they allude to what could be younger still.
Planets stream across the fields and in at the three doors.
UNCOLLECTED POEMS The Friday Ballad The cruel child is elevated this morning by the prospect of careful memories.
How he turns warmly into the shade, how he would like to lay open his left arm.
It is wise again to look into the summer garden, the birds are so witty with the green moss.
The cruel child defers to the antique and senses the third cuts hidden away.
Juices flow like a crest in the kitchen, now he bends his foot over the kerb.
There is perfect order in his mind, Arch of Titus, the book held together with sticky tape.
Why is he reluctant to come back.
Who will take a long sigh at the remand home, guest of the chamber ensemble, set about with patches of Field Southernwood.
Deep calm infects his chest, still his humour is far beyond reward and normal endurance.
The cinnabar moth commences his song—a sentimental ditty devoid of malice.
The cruel child hears the song and beats time on his slender forearm.
His eyes burn, but not with envy: there is no chance so broad that he cannot step quietly into the centre.
The clouds open and the cruel child is taken up for protection.
The weather spoils him, too much sunlight.
The price of zinc remains constant.
We on the banks of the Orwell look about with unperplexed faces, we have nothing that’s not our own.
Air Gap Song Viz, it gets changed as each pivot is laid out in the star winding—so far as the lexical diaspora, the Arab terms leaping, water not ready in the well.
No more than, the leader hunts back, grey light, all that was across Sinai.
The stones lie now in less morbid scatter, touching in phase across the relief that it is so much withdrawn & hardly settled, why does the mole press back to the surface of old love.
Each angled to its point of flux & so on & with so much its place removed, the leakage in moral sense to the “error signal”, making the rainfall restless, unstable: the loop not connected but open & induced to nothing.
Here the guide falters.
The cone heats to a dull brightness.
What is meant makes its own small displacement, and so the tracks fade off in their fictional extent, variable star gale, twin poles distribute all the reverse signal.
Patience ascends from the well; sheer hateful energy in the shortwave is god-like: we trust all that we hear.
All the layers induce silence, the air heats, old love transforms the control & water is lost, blessed in the indifferent star viz it gets changed.
Bite on the Crown Human voices come past the table lifting that plea that we be there with envy abated on the bridge at the far end of the garden.
Places rise for the furnace, all ideal all press in to the carnal soul; and so warmly the wind mounts over to an entrance.
Clouds make the sound fitful to hear and cramp sideways the light we cover the wounded eye as we are brought to the cool inner room.
No pain crashes into the river, it is optic flame I am burned by in the star-burst of lint and plaster.
This hurt is lustful for relief, spikenard revealed in the small box but touch shows only the mirror, opens out the harm.
White & Smart The point is marked by a dull red circle as we go in and are sealed by cloud.
This is the first-born count of the shore, glove on the wheel like the white hawk he calls to, rising to powder wished for and spilled On his hand.
Through the office and out to the small yard the sound crosses by life itself (all risks) to the wedge marked blue on the dial.
In the cloud the bands show briefly the reasons for staying at rest, trust threaded to passion Which is brilliant.
The shore-line spins to dry versions of evening, as the air throws bright specks on the screen ahead.
The ticket raid is certain: go to the mirror boy and see the frost there, wings numb & shaking on the frame.
We turn up to mark seven and wait.
The frontal tree drains like the smart raven he calls to; he is beyond lines dyed on the forearm and shoulder, as we are also.
The new light from the grain comes to the throat and hovers there, by consent.
Nibble Song The glass sweats out and falls by its weight and by the mountain path, it is pasture for the moment.
No gain by night in the passage of rowling sound: the crystal tube ploughs up thoughtful acid lines, is cold.
Up the sloping path to the kiosk, icy newsprint.
White butterflies in the sun, dip too close to the table and the glint snaps them, dimorphic marble.
We sit round by the lower fields, in the sun light and look out slowly.
On the Front They go off in ageless parity, into the fields of marjoram burning under the hot sun.
I hope for this to the point of such abstraction, it shades into the detached retina itself.
The wind spreads off too, the threads run right into the hotel lounge.
How should we not go on with it, the defied omen the place where we warm our hands? The question tilts to its answer, we watch them file through the square, gait low-slung & alert.
And yet we do not need them; the light reflected from the balcony on the damp stones, the tide rushes by in darkness.
And no word to the living, we are blown over & suffused with nutrient salts, cathodised & protected, the threads spin like a candle.
Now they decline in the last coma, they are stones still damp: the scent is exhausting.
Smoke drifts over the small tables.
Pointed lightning darts against the earth; & with eager merriment the bees cling to the same white flowers.
The King of Spain Now with the mark taken away the voice, like too much shade sideways in the air, cuts back to itself.
On the instep of her new shoes love is the mark, spelled as “made in Korea”: have patience, be serene, fly down with the silver nutmeg held on tight.
Out on the flight deck the fuel canisters simmer with their dream-liquid of the moorland throat: deuterium, outrunning the fall, lies ahead.
The air on the stone finds felt there, some cheek to touch.
Nothing is certain now but the advent of immense feelings such as these, as silver and nutmeg are exotic colonial toys from the rapist’s pocket, but by fusion, how his voice gives them back.
Aus der Welt werden wir nicht fallen, not dashing a foot you say, we are so much before and after and thus are saved, are safe, are rife.
The subdued nondescript humming of the night sky.
And thus the good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust burn to the socket.
The three points of the absent mark compose, for us, the dioptric of the shaded valley, the ignition touched by the field of light.
For us is the mark we have erased, like streams as to us and with us, toys of the voice, the fast breeder in top gear, floating down to the cup.
And could it seem an act of courage—the toy (“made in Hong Kong”) calm & free as stone: felt for feeling as the singer’s trick.
He suppresses the very mark, the air riding over its absence, and his fear is loved intently.
O so skilled is he, by the loose waterfall; over the brow the shade flows past him, to the stone at our feet.
Retail Count The glass rises half-dark and tilts over to the child’s arm refracted in a white bandage.
Fret the dust of light he shrinks into case doz and is projected star-bursts avail him nightly and by mute signs, lips sutured together as to keep the pearl from the discount.
The picklock shimmers.
Limbs pass through the maze.
The monitor locks on to a vale acted until hit and lost in silt, tuning into the peak signal the piper plays: (a) The triangular sling ascends and anomalous standing-waves compose the trihedron of geodetic base vectors.
(b) Half mute the torsion song mounts under glass, against it the girl presses.
So by the linden tree he sweetly leans, the white vale is full.
The arm is sung by cataract, white sound, white blood, white light locked in the carotid.
Rich in Vitamin C Under her brow the snowy wing-case delivers truly the surprise of days which slide under sunlight past loose glass in the door into the reflection of honour spread through the incomplete, the trusted.
So darkly the stain skips as a livery of your pause like an apple pip, the baltic loved one who sleeps.
Or as syrup in a cloud, down below in the cup, you excuse each folded cry of the finch’s wit, this flush scattered over our slant of the day rocked in water, you say this much.
A waver of attention at the surface, shews the arch there and the purpose we really cut; an ounce down by the water, which in cross-fire from injustice too large to hold he lets slither from starry fingers noting the herbal jolt of cordite and its echo: is this our screen, on some street we hardly guessed could mark an idea bred to idiocy by the clear sight-lines ahead.
You come in by the same door, you carry what cannot be left for its own sweet shimmer of reason, its false blood; the same tint I hear with the pulse it touches and will not melt.
Such shading of the rose to its stock tips the bolt from the sky, rising in its effect of what motto we call peace talks.
And yes the quiet turn of your page is the day tilting so, faded in the light.
Smooth Landing There is a lie of the immortal which we wait for up here, up on the slab as on the nod the vapours puff and disappear.
And in the long run to give blame adds new spirit to water-colour, in the famous heart-felt posies which decorate the killer.
Have you had enough? Just say justly that the hostage accuses himself, as he boils his egg, counting to where he loses hope of a softened future life, taking the rough with humour as a cataract, no less, whitens to peace with honour.
A NIGHT SQUARE.
 Now if you step down into starlight you are here with the cold hem by the throat so chill with linen you gather you are so falling you are with us all I will give you the tag hand caudal basket so far he sware, feared There is the ten advance you have do you, allow him his warm loft as he hears us shout down through the cold the glass the passing altogether lost reticule, as glow afright me not so far I do not know She rings me the dark she fails with the larding-pin do you let me return that, when furtive the rain to the settled line goes frost be low the sill and will Whether of his eyes or mine now you cut the ganglion, it flowers must it must it not before the hour goes with the bivalve and being clothed with the swarm in the pathway, out towards the monoplane But is the small ensign of love a street by the docks past the screen past the lithograph is fixed so desperately the screen past when he sets his wheel by the form of a per fected nail in structed second part When it is required of the days while we wait by the bridge as if we knew when we were to wait we had a sight of our hand reaching over to lift the days while they stick like wind against their foil Depart by the child as you hear me then, as wind blows down the way for it leaving what’s now the wet wood of the old pier for life-long defection as now as sold for and given away each with passion unturned in the sky I am taken in three out there by the instant fixed in the grass by the water by the path still as still rising over the wheel so were it almost a part of what you say you tell me every third day How these are gone into sound by the back larynx forced in to a history of rueful masquerade with the poison gas the flare rotten and I cancel the magnum am allayed by where will we go where will we be To be even over and lit in this far under the face turned for the while, turned as the tile you see how they perch as gulls do too far to go back and if they know the way they go they do not ever earned So as there is then we are turned and spun fetched as we have means or do not gasp by the frail cloth or the cloud before rain uncalled for caught by the eye brow raising the hidden arm INTO THE DAY.
 Tagschlucht: The next moment, the waning light expired, and with it the waning flames of the horned altar, and the waning halo round the robed man’s brow; while in the darkness which ensued, the cosmopolitan kindly led the old man away.
Something further may follow of this Masquerade.
Blood fails the ear, trips the bird’s fear of bright blue.
Touching that halcyon cycle we were rested in ease and respite from dismay: strip to the noted bark, stop the child.
O say your word by the mortar, invite the scorn due, fail.
He made his pact with the sentiment of resentment, he acted sick and was instated for ever; his hobby was amateur fear of.
And the bark grew and grew.
Its estate was rested and mighty, willow down close to the wall.
Blood then barred from the brain, sun in the sky, what’s lost is the hour spoken by heart.
Rise as on the hill does, the crime of the paviour time veers by the ear again circa , little stone we fall well stricken and lost you say he was rebuked—say that! While too white the bluff was over tempests blasted the fruit still, bare the stem and hurts again round to the sun to his count round, alert by day.
For this also, falls.
Esteem its fold the favour looked for or not if not in, not stayed.
For rest comes at the parting flash, not sooner, the alarm in the passage makes no mark.
The digits on the plate add up to nine also, the bees swarm.
Sleep through the morning, careworn child, the bird flashes, the spark plays with your hair.
Overtly the step lacks time, hath not th’advantage.
And if not safe, in time.
Gauge at four the pan demic invasion, the integrity of false day.
The bud rots with gentle glory, fluttered in chronicle.
Vain to ask, you see all there is.
Memory of curling and soon stalks in the land.
It is unsullied and, despite this, the assuaged birds soar, as they must.
So the seeds are cut, loose and like the bounce of the crystal dark scouts we walk blankly in the universe; oil from the lamp we need for our calloused ankles.
The shades attend our motions, we hear their thankful hum.
Sometimes a tune by Robertino Loretti protects us, when so as to then for cut! Or snip your master the prince of green devices to stir his felted palm, conjugate effort: to arise and strut joyfully aside.
The astrology of hunger proposes a starry bun.
The dust of commerce adds glamour by morning, the trustful shepherd stops in his track.
Arrest is sprung up, hope holds it, wish wears its diadem.
And now crowned with sleep who may flinch from the eye of God in the spiral organ of Corti.
Who does we reign our royal house is roofed with fateful slates.
Wishing to love is the sign now painted with darkness, as the rain moistens the huddled sheep.
The peahen shouts with fate also and is accepted.
So lowly is the divine body, so pale the even rib.
Does the bolt in the street mark the laundry of the future—he inquires of the smiling attendant boy.
The turn is spread so thin, how can he eat what there is, the plate is nailed down; but a railway, he laughs, is not open to casual debate.
So we fall to agreeing and pick at the bone of blind yellow contentment.
The fine tweed comes free and bleached from the fingers, we are slowly rehoused.
It is the rarest thing, the compounded blood and light makes lustre swerve in the dream.
By the flux moment we meet and in flight to its thermal precinct, serve the oil to his master.
Why then in the heart by happy smiles and joy on her face gaudio in that arc the wind turning back.
You take out three of the first from the awning; later they sip honey, refreshed.
This one is high in its hourly residue by the grain store marked in time and metal slots and flowers that soon lie in part reserved, replete.
Across the shore the track of feet and spread to break, to wear the line, intact.
As the fate for his brother, acid in the granule, by the car.
Drive him and his attention held push-button tuning, undilute, colourless.
Trailing in the water, his hand in the field of seed.
Aversion to that, in his jacket, as the sun falls, informing water by flake and mail.
And bringeth to a kingdom: brown and peaty by conjecture, exempt from the gentle mark, NTBR.
He ties his lace as he just can, elated by counsel in the spring day.
What is true caresses and warms him, dresses his touch.
See the bird flit past in Portugal, do not fail.
No resented banter takes the breeze forward, the sky in chance halo, cadentia sydera caelo.
Close by the pit the punter stands, a flower for his sister and all their injustice in the fixed order of time: by and by.
Leave to do one thing is given in the song half heard fixed injustice gives the orange its juice and turns, alert.
See that you see what he says is called memory, recall and of what he does is the same.
By this assembled the sale gains savour, and what you see past is reserved in favour and what he says now is no more than that.
Little morsels of chalk in the ear make heated mutter, invidious root-like whelk.
To salt the current runs, to seed upwards.
A line of zero interval fits between the pair of points and past them.
Over the care for their free matching goes the bird of the water-meadows looping and calling as the fiery purse does, in our prolonged intake of breath: desire on a single button is not more sharp than this.
By such resounding as by spherical harmonics is truth in exact flux come among men.
Quartz crystal frequency standard madrigalian brightness, bring the limits of parody in the snowy cloud.
With the white glove the day comes on by axon to light the helper’s cheek.
The calm revives in surplus slowly too much shadows the idea of failure as an arab tide.
He spoke of that with a match in his pocket, with the bird captive, its claw broken.
Still the day made advance to the finger and thumb, goat-striped in the reticulum.
Promise is spread out so far, shifted azurite: the arterial circle fluoresces like milk and we are there, abashed.
Lack spreads like snow back by the path to the iron pipe flaking and not succeeding.
And over this luck comes, the bird making shadows like fortune, like heat and light, on the wing.
Lack warms, it is the conduit of starlight through the shut window, lack of love hot now, luck cool by turn, the bird it likes.
Sand and copper stiffen the rail and the glass shifts on the ingot.
Over the first leaves the light strikes the cuff, soapy, as her brother puts down the packet, waits for an answer.
And there split, do you hear, at the lumen, “as the light of a great number of candles.” Bitter root, blue crest.
We cross into the ship hardily; spacelike in two regions and timelike in the two others.
One flame behind the other, in this line we are invaded.
At the apex conflect no fate from the orbit comes ashore with us, white ones.
Occulted by the great disk: seeping out to the fringe, scant light now averred like a pistol lunation he inquires of the black jolt, dehiscent florid éclat on the Egyptian plover’s label.
Is it the same wind, Mörike, in the same sombre trees? Yes at the fluttered filmy face, de saturated by spectral shift.
The nervous one sings in the mountains, hoar cycloid above his brow, his feet numb, “the bugle ringing through a vast pine wood to keep us together.” In this local inertial frame the tropics rest, fallow as the northlands, and as quiet.
Lured by the star of night visible to his eye alone he runs tawny and dazzled.
Gleams from the flower in orion catch at his sleeve.
The call is lost in echo, the blood-murmur, his hope strikes zero and is caught, as by the shade, so slowly from out of that bright hall he came.
The travellers come to the gate.
Here begins the world line of the sphere.
It is a familiar moment O my child keep peace with the elements, the folded bird.
Your hair in the pulse-wave goes as the coast by night, recursive intercept.
The region inside the sphere is shaded.
Backflow makes your face shine, blood subducted at the doorway.
This is another flame, not ours, we stray with the child wet with dew.
What swims in the eye is mortal dread, solar flare.
The ear spins with sharp cries, there is shear at the flowline.
Honour thy father, anguish as the sign deflects through water, into port.
The shell crossing is sport, they are childlike and their limbs intact.
After feints the heart steadies, pointwise invariant, by the drown’d light of her fire.
In the set course we pass layer after layer, loving what we still know.
It is an estranged passion, but true, the daughter willed back by blue eyes, unscathed, down the central pain pathway.
Timelike delirium cools at this crossing, with your head in my arms.
The ship steadies and the bird also; from frenzy to darker fields we go.
WOUND RESPONSE.
 “Of particular interest in the present context are the observations made on patients whose middle ear had been opened in such a way that a cotton electrode soaked in normal saline solution could be placed near the cochlea.
A total of surgically operated ears were studied.
Eleven patients heard pure tones whose pitch corresponded to the frequency of the sinusoidal voltage applied to the electrode.
.
.
.
One patient reported gustatory sensations.” Touch, Heat and Pain.
, p.
Treatment in the Field Through the window the sky clears and in sedate attachment stands the order of battle, quiet as a colour chart and bathed by threads of hyaline and gold leaf.
The brietal perfusion makes a controlled amazement and trustingly we walk there, speak fluently on that same level of sound; white murmur ferries the clauses to the true centre of the sleep forum.
The river glints in harmony, by tribute from the darker folds of that guttural landscape which lie drawn up under our touch.
Blue-green to yellow in memory beyond the gold number: the tones and sweetness confuse in saline.
We burn by that echo.
It is called love like a wren hunt, crimson ice, basal narcosis.
By deep perjury it is the descent of man.
Above him the dicots flourish their pattern of indefinite growth, as under cloud now the silent ones “are loath to change their way of life.” The stress lines converge in finite resonance: is this the orchestral momentum of the seed coat? Our trust selects the ice cap of the General Staff, rod to baton to radon seed (snowy hypomania)—thus he jabs a hysteric wound, H at top strength.
Yet in the tent of holy consternation there are shadows for each column of fire; in the hedgerow the wren flits cross-wise from branch to branch.
Afferent signal makes the cantilena of speech as from the far round of the child-way.
We are bleached in sound as it burns by what we desire; light darting over and over, through a clear sky.
The Blade Given Back The price of famine on the inner side goes down to the spark, with snow crystals in the blood, washing again.
And the lane clears, beaten by brush, you take the toprail and push hard, so that it opens too for shale and scree; the mat now in the hotel foyer grained with ant love.
He smiles with shadow within like a case of mica grips: there is rage in the lace he calls for and gets, out, you go down to the sparking river bed, road spilled with oil flag out angered with the shadow driven up.
Too far but the iris clouds over to the bank and we are starving like the man who says right form and means no less, the rain is from the plain tonight.
Blood’s up, the welkin diverges from that makes a dough of failed manners oh please why don’t you settle the first leaf on the counter, the book by the clock.
The stair goes box by box she stands by the kerb three inches the rest is bronchial collapse.
The hotel is the black phosphorescent price of oranges today at the ready, frothing with skin.
Up the metal staircase at the back of this store I struggle with cautery holding the broom in the stall forward, how the year rides to a stop by the orthoclase.
And we are burned out with hunger reversed again holding, being held as the snow cruises to the junctions of recall in the place to stay to put your feet up and be calm shielded by the mantle of fields green and spoken of, coming down.
The hotel lights up on the first floor it gets late, veined with inner stair and counter-stair it makes a war with smoke on the wall: the day is lost in greed.
Oh rest your head.
Cool as a Mountain Stream The apple cap sinks down to your faint hopes, sprawled in the sun on the grassy hillside, shirt over the soft haemal arch.
By this vane in the ground the roots start to sicken, snow normal to zulu time stuns soft news of choice all over the earth.
You spin with erotic doubt, ah then, hysteric tenderness, is this the mount of our youth or his body? He must be eaten slowly, by autolysis of face thus forced to riot, claimed by soft hands in his shirt: not a beast of virtue.
Water rots in the stem.
The park is called in.
We will come now.
We do pump & burn with hormone of the forest, soft hair mute against what we say.
So the shirt thickens with salt: breathe against it and hear what you are, “vigorous and moderately upright”, that noise again, “soft juicy flesh”; pollen here is bright feeling, damp spores stamped down in the Eckman spiral of stripped earth.
Now a haploid cyclone of insect lust throws the heart into spasm & hard rock, whirling round in the shirt where the wound smiles like a well-stocked three-star freezer.
“Perfect conservation”/slow rot in the fibrils, the sun mounts in greed and its soft fingers.
Thanks for the Memory An increase in the average quantity of transmitter (or other activating substance released from the VRS) arriving at the postsynaptic side over an extended period of time (minutes to days) should lead to an augmentation in the number of receptor sites and an expansion of the postsynaptic receptor region, through conversion of receptor monomers into receptor polymers and perhaps some increase in the synthesis of monomers.
[None of these ideas bears upon the chemical basis for depolarization induced by acquisition of transmitter by receptor.
There is evidence Pigment Depôt So the tenant comes back under his arch of blood, affirming its pulse; the air dips sharply and we are cold in wide-angle blankness, by a bridge on the motorway not yet open to traffic.
Steel rods strike a pressure chorus in the hostel for the revenant already a victim, who sees a small grey woman descend down the steps to the sea.
The first yolk is defective.
The force for existence composes a colony of black spots.
Just under the line of surf the black cursor makes the split total, the atropine shelf of vision.
Who else can surmount this, the tenant’s glass is empty and remote.
Yet he ignites with order as an orange-yellow chimney.
He does not command the freehold.
Suddenly we are overcome, to concede the whole force of his body to rise, to granulate and make a sugar anvil; we search the downland, to bring him safely to that point of rest.
Lights stream past the carotid bodies, as the victim reclaims us and our dark patch.
We are driven through rain to blue and scarlet, to the memory of grey shadow on the fringe of salt.
This is a passion which throws over the hostage to violent ocular convulsion.
And still we cannot do it, aspiration leaves us coughing with retinal noise.
We apply for rebate on the form provided, injected with vanillic acid diethylamide our displacement is fused by parody of the military hint.
There he goes as the road thickens twin lights merge and spin with syrup, yet the grey figure is absolutely not a part of the citric acid alert; the continent splits off, the sea fumes, and what she does makes the arch a template of blurred foresight.
The tenant conspires with that power & is quiet.
Of Movement Towards a Natural Place See him recall the day by moral trace, a squint to cross-fire shewing fear of hurt at top left; the bruise is glossed by “nothing much” but drains to deep excitement.
His recall is false but the charge is still there in neural space, pearly blue with a touch of crimson.
“By this I mean a distribution of neurons .
.
.
some topologically preserved transform”, upon his lips curious white flakes, like thin snow.
He sees his left wrist rise to tell him the time, to set damage control at the same white rate.
What mean square error.
Remorse is a pathology of syntax, the expanded time-display depletes the input of “blame” which patters like scar tissue.
First intentions are cleanest: no paint on the nail cancels the flux link.
Then the sun comes out (top right) and local numbness starts to spread, still he is “excited” because in part shadow.
Not will but chance the plants claim but tremble, “a detecting mechanism must integrate across that population”; it makes sense right at the contre-coup.
So the trace was moral but on both sides, as formerly the moment of godly suffusion: anima tota in singulis membris sui corporis.
The warmth of cognition not yet neuroleptic but starry and granular.
The more you recall what you call the need for it, she tells him by a shout down the staircase.
You call it your lost benevolence (little room for charity), and he rises like a plaque to the sun.
Up there the blood levels of the counter-self come into beat by immune reflection, by night lines above the cut: Only at the rim does the day tremble and shine.
Landing Area The spirit is lame and in the pale flash we see it unevenly spread with water.
Lemon yellow very still, some kind of bone infection, both heroic and spiteful.
Actually the arabs might do well to soak up revenue on a straight purchase of, say, Belgium.
Make a new blood count, more and more quietly, we change daring for darling on the bypass.
Still the sky is yellow and completely with us, as if at birth.
Is the throat dry, no it is mine and lined with marrow; bone on the other hand “can be here today and gone tomorrow.” He was calm itself and central to a scheme of virtue, not absent nor wincing but his eye was as dry as the sky was wet.
And the sun set.
Chromatin The prism crystal sets towards the axis of episodic desire: lethargy and depression cross the real-time analogue: currents level and historic matching blurs into locked-on receptor site blockade.
Stable mosaic at adrenal print “you” are in white “I” see a moving shade by the door it is my wish to be there running on (“mental confusion, tremors, anxiety”) and breaking the induced blockade I truly am by the door shaking or the frame goes to gel.
Visual sonar arrhythmia blocks fading brocade made pressure crisis you and the flowers in pliant flicker real time! I surmount the uptake gradient, cognition by recount, the homeric icefields unfold.
Melanin For the next legation I bite distilled residue I live to the one, for the top, over the home scraper I seal felt, glutted with ashen light All too grayly, stack up for the window finding her target doubled, pectin she visits wanly her broken section plug And shallow they had struck the mute rim what pretty precious price foam in duty, live act must comply within How could any one so much any way even fixed breed enteric: that’s my pallid inner coverlet An Evening Walk Touches belonging to the ascent of the brother mount in the column of sound and are spun over crosswise, this is tonight abated now as rightly he makes shoes felted in the way asked of him.
Further than the stride he wears and dares to the paramorphic boot in the amble, his intact ankle rushes, pauses, rebukes the vast surge offering standby credit to the whole orchestra.
All of the adverted rattle culminates in that modular layer, spread with a butter hydroxide film.
The shoes are priced with reason lightly set under with a new varnish, we must have the lace-up wallet for the portamento in the crisis ahead.
Somewhere there is calamitous groaning heard on the foreshore with the water just black above freezing and even now he falls and lies in the street why is he stunned wretchedly holding his mouth and there are pork pies arranged on the counter in a jellied pyramid.
They too foil & pitch furtively, they are sprung but torn.
How does he not feel a feeling: his jacket is rent we are envious of his in ability to pay & the fine exquisite workman ship of his uppers.
Shod in bands of iron goes the wave of the hand.
The brother over ten years yields to elated frenzy but feels nothing, xylocaine snows him under the table.
Quite swiftly we take up the hope lessly benign feelings, to make a lozenge, to oil the throat of the frozen fish dinner yet still sound less and less so, di methyl hydroxy thiopentone.
The in fibrillate mem brane.
Infantile, recursive pandect.
Bread against his cheek he says the star-fall broken and inside the shell his echo spans & twists the wave to us of a simple feast It is polar light on the table in spate, transhumant as the bowl takes milk and stays there, as we lean out by the door Breve: now in the shed we have wheat flakes, quietly under the air, over a hill and give back the even list of what we eat As grazing the earth the sun raises its mouth to the night rick, ox-eye’d and burning, strewn over the phase path At the turning-places of the sun the head glistens, dew falls from the apse line: O lye still, thou Little Musgrave, the grass is wet and streak’d with light Again in the Black Cloud Shouts rise again from the water surface and flecks of cloud skim over to storm-light, going up in the stem.
Falling loose with a grateful hold of the sounds towards purple, the white bees swarm out from the open voice gap.
Such “treasure”: the cells of the child line run back through hope to the cause of it; the hour is crazed by fracture.
Who can see what he loves, again or before, as the injury shears past the curve of recall, the field double-valued at the divine point.
Air to blood are the two signs, flushed with the sound: (a) “tended to refrain from aimless wandering” (b) “experienced less dizziness” (c) “learned to smile a little” (d) “said they felt better and some indeed seemed happier”—out in the snow-fields the aimless beasts mean what they do, so completely the shout is dichroic in gratitude, half-silvered, the gain control set for “rescue” at negative echo line.
The clouds now “no longer giving light but full of it,” the entry condition a daze tending to mark zero.
Shouting and laughing and intense felicity given over, rises under the hill as tinnitus aurium, hears the child her blue coat! his new shoes and boat! Round and round there is descent through the leader stroke, flashes of light over slopes, fear grips the optic muscle.
Damage makes perfect: “reduced cerebral blood flow and oxygen utilisation are manifested by an increase in slow frequency waves, a decrease in alpha-wave activity, an increase in beta-waves, the appearance of paroxysmal potentials.” And constantly the child line dips into sleep, the more than countably infinite hierarchy of higher degree causality conditions setting the reverse signs of memory and dream.
“Totally confused most of the time”—is the spending of gain or damage mended and ended, aged, the shouts in the rain: in to the way out Run at ° to the light cones, this crossmatching of impaired attention feels wet streaking down the tree bark, a pure joy at a feeble joke.
THE PLANT TIME MANIFOLD TRANSCRIPTS st April Today’s session of the London PTM Conference will be of especial interest to readers as it was dominated by a paper on “Palaeomnemonic Resonances”, delivered by Professor Quondam Lichen from the Edinburgh Institute for Plant History.
Periodic oscillation as the basis for rhythmic behaviour patterns in many plant systems has been the subject of intensive recent invegitation (correction, investigation), and Professor Lichen emphasised that confusion will occur if correction for epoch is not applied.
Sleep movements in the common bean seedling (leaf folding) are in phase with diurnal light-dark rhythms and are triggered by photoreaction; but the “in phase” is not exact and the diurnal periodicity is not causative with respect to bean sleep: “Beans which have been grown since germination in constant white light do not show any leaf movement rhythm until some change in the environment sets it in motion.
All that is required is a single –-hour exposure to darkness.
Once set in motion, this rhythm will persist in constant light or darkness for at least – days, with a period of about hours” (Sweeney, pp.
–).
The timing mechanism for this behaviour cycle and others like it is clearly intracellular, and it correlates with no identifiable flux rhythms in the external environment.
Difficulties have arisen in interpreting these data as evidence of harmonic oscillation, free-floating in an arbitrary time continuum rather than aligned in a linear time manifold of determinate epoch.
Growth kinematics are discrete for individual systems but these systems are genetically covariant in vectorial space-time.
Linearity in the time manifold is originally established as a special function of genetic velocity, and it should be realised that the pregenetic manifold is arbitrary with respect to the sign given to time vectors.
The solar period of planetary revolution is the most decisive phase of oscillation in “our” galaxy, and yet plus or minus in the time-line cannot be set without reference to a transcelestial epoch.
For we can trace the motion of any celestial system through its natural origin t = to negative values of t “and there is nothing to prevent the system having existed at such negative values” (Milne, ZS Ap., , p.
).
The pre-genetic flux of space-time is thus possibilistic with reference to plus values, allowing the operation of causality but not entailment.
The genetic epoch G(t) = initiates a determined cytochronology, because almost at once the swarm of positive velocities branch by means of differential acceleration.
Only plant systems remain functional on the pre-organic event horizon, that is, continuing to synthesise growth requirements from the pre-genetic space manifold.
“Higher” evolutionary forms have developed factorial nutrition, i.e., “eating” (vicarious pre-digestion).
In the transport of plant nutrients the support loop of the root system creates suction gradients from the inorganic system having existed (negative values) through the exponential increments post G(t) = and into the positive finite velocities of plant life.
The increments are exponential in the sense that in the middle growth period of an organism there is a linear relationship between the logarithm of cell number as plotted against time.
Genetic velocity in these systems is thus bipolar: “Earth forces the roots of plants downwards, while internal fire or aether sends their stalks and branches shooting up to heaven” (O’Brien, summarising Empedocles).
Positive and negative values are set in bipolar orientation; and this sets the epoch for genetic moment: abundant, foliate.
Interference patterns are thus instantly produced across the permeability barriers in the plant (the internal “event horizon”).
As progressive differentiation takes place in the genotypes the manifold feedback loops acquire characteristic species-linked resonance periods or memory cycles.
The mnemonic process is not like lattice resonance in crystals, however, since positive and negative values are structurally differentiated in relation to the genetic epoch; and these structures, like the combination of amino acid sequences into plant proteins, constitute the phase map for any given species within which the period-functions are continuous with the epoch.
The conclusion to Professor Lichen’s somewhat leathery discourse is greeted with polite, photosynthetic applause.
After a prolonged lunch (described by a sardonic young blade as “a veritable been feast”) Dr Cypress and Professor Lichen adjourn to a seminar with a small group of co-workers.
What follows are edited transcripts from the mRNA recordings made in vivo.
Dr C.
speaks first.
Quondam, I think we can relax the formalities.
I particularly wanted to ask about root uptake of organic compounds in the, er, higher plants.
Do you see this as importantly discontinuous with the pre-genetic manifold? I am thinking for example of the absorption of D-amino acids into the cells of carrot tissue.
Well, Dr Cypress, I think I must first take issue with your assumption about “higher” plants; though I say it myself there are many quite lowly organisms which shew an advanced range of cytokinetic procedures.
Oh indeed yes, Professor Lichen and perhaps the term was unfortunate, I only meant to suggest——— And that’s exactly my point, Dr Cypress: “suggestion” is no part of proper taxonomy.
The metaphor of relative elevation in the hierarchy of morphogenetic sophistication is all too crudely suggestive.
And though of course I respect your own scr-rrupulous objectivity there are all too many today who confuse height above ground with innate developmental superiority.
My dear Quondam I must reassure you that no reflection of any kind——— Hoots mon, it’s in the air like tetanus spores, some genera are just too big for their boots.
The Lichen clan are viable well above the tree line, and not much further from Port Angeles than a pig can spit I’ve seen trees held up by their Lichen canopies.
[Student, aside: What’s got into the peppery old ranter, sprinting up a gum tree like a barbary nettle?] .
.
.
.
.
And as far as carrots go, since you mention them, those crowlin’ creatures will metabolise anything, phagocytic riff-raff .
.
.
.
.
[Dr Cypress: Oh please, Daucus carota, (murmuring) I beg you———] and as Linnaeus rightly obsairved, any natural fool would make a clever fellow, if he was properly brought up, though for them worm-infested tubers it’s mostly down, unsaturated carbon chains of the most naive kind——— Amazed uproar breaks out in the seminar room as Professor Lichen collapses into a rosette on the desk in front of him.
Readers should note that the Professor, normally an almost total abstainer, had during the previous (“convivial”) lunch taken in a good deal of liquid refreshment.
The incident was quickly glossed over but it remains indicative of important biometric tensions underlying this London conference.
th April An extremely suggestive contribution was given yesterday to the London PTM Conference by Dr M.
Gale, from the Norfolk Field-Station of the Chronic Research Unit, on “Microtime Gradients in Plant Cell-Structure”.
Touching lightly for support on Process and Reality Dr Gale was somewhat sceptical about cellular interface models in pre-Minkowski format, producing reified layers and truly monastic concepts of membrane and closure.
Whereas boundary conditions function as systematic phased convergences along hydrophobic wavefronts, buffer gradients in the form of lipid bilayers intercalated by protein meshwork.
This functionally complex wavefront characteristically allowed highly specific enzyme transport, as well as selective osmotic permeability, the lipid frontier exposing only preselected binding sites on the protein molecule and thus forming vectorial enzyme tubes.
As has already been proposed, “there is considerable interaction between membrane protein and the hydrocarbon chains of lipids, and a large number of the lipid head groups are directly exposed to the aqueous phase” (Branton and Deamer, , p.
).
The basic wavefront or barrier/gradient isobar may in this general way comprise a discontinuity in chemical or electrostatic space-time without of necessity offering a gross physical structure.
Protein transport functioned across one orthogonal gradient and this transferase activity did not inhibit simultaneous osmotic functioning back across the same gradient, inducing no “congestion” in the lumens.
Indeed the electrogenic output of positive sodium or hydrogen ions seems precisely to form the reverse gradient specific for the intake of glucose, against an existing positive concentration (Lehninger, , pp.
–).
Lipid bridges and conductive vesicles propose a spurious integrity for the membrane as a physical construct rather than a flux density state maintained by hydrolysis of ATP; Dr Gale was quite unconvinced by data derived from dehydration or freeze-etch techniques.
In discussion this viewpoint evoked a sharp response from Professor Lichen, who found the implied mass-energy equivalencies too insistent on high-energy covalent bonding, “as if it were a grand platonic bog”.
Prof QL suggested acidly that Dr Gale was too committed to the hydroseral reference frame, to which Dr G (“please call me Myrtle”) argued that she had tried to make allowance for this.
Projects at the CRU tended to work with energy states as theoretic substrate function, oscillating across mnemonic beenfronts: “the world is everything that is been the case.” Prof QL muttered some such phrase as “orgies of mathematical licence” but added more amiably that he himself had been a Sort of Projector in his younger Days.
Dr G flashed a sweet smile and went on to describe some informal beenwork speculation.
Time-averaged protein tubes comprise the meshwork of willbeen functioning, held in semirigid array by double reverse backflow or “dream membrane”.
CRU realtime process models emphasised these memory-dream bilayers and associated been gradients, as (for example): thermal dream to the face of to will vary to the face that past dream to it that melt past dream past to (equimolar) to by will been dreamt of it future that so that “we would expect a system designed for the conditions of been formation to be somehow adapted to the load on memory.” Dr G alluded to seedback screening being done by a CRU fieldworker in Siam, on bee semen and interplant time dilation; “I cannot state for certain,” she recalled, “whether he was the first to sow beens.” st July (pre-empt): hrs mins secs GMT & post hoc “At present the Earth is losing about thousandths of a second per day” and of course Rindler says that “evidently each photon in the static description of the model moves with uniform speed towards a limiting particle and then stops dead” (MNRAS, , p.
).
North reports on some theoretical limitations (Measure of the U., –) but the Cambridgebased Bioparallax Research Station now has observational data to confirm an important distinction between stopping and stopping dead.
Close stemmatic monitoring of specimens of Impatiens glandulifera was synchronized with the now just past onesecond time-stop to record variations in sleep movement.
Mammals are of course immune to these secular effects as all monolinear organisms exhibit simple phasic arrest indistinguishable from steady continuance; but bilinear plant systems could be expected to display refracted harmonics in the form of head waves.
The observed sequence of events was as follows: hrs mins secs: photons move normally with usual speed towards air-cell interfaces and impact shews usual pattern of partscatter & part-absorption.
hrs mins secs: anticipatory wave-front begins to induce turbulence & buffering of photons.
hrs mins secs: photons shew fully developed conical wave-fronts.
Differential velocities induce major refractive turbulence and planar shear.
Head waves introvert and photons stop.
Interface compression (c) in time (t) shews the c–c scale form c (t) = ———— [ct–exp(–t)], t–t so that by the method of steepest descent we can write for t = : lim c (t) = ? (willbeen).
hrs min sec: new datum produces regression of head waves and layer re-integration.
Photon incidence stabilizes at new signal level.
At each stage of this process the air-cell interfaces of the plants under observation at BRS shewed normal organic function, slowed at the point of maximum compression to levels which comprise stop in stem-system time but preserved in endoplasmic “counter-current” by the phasic differential of rootsystem time.
Thus overall systemic arrest did not occur; adjusting for signal shift in observed data we may conclude that stem-arrest merely caused the stem & leaf system to function temporarily on root time.
Thus stop is not dead stop according to observation, confirming results predicted by theory.
Plant death is clearly a more complex event than in other life systems.
In arrest situations like that just described other organisms are maintained by mnemonic capacitation, whereas plants can clearly switch to another part of the chronoscopic wavefront.
One unexplained point so far is the massive production & release of auxins (timelapse transamination) during this dilation sequence.
Affine transform (th July ) Willbeen function has always been most powerfully implicated in bilinear time systems with differential enzyme signal rates, and NGF/IAA have been speculatively identified as basic cross-phase transmitter substances (usually crossed exponentially, to produce incremental second-order functions of the “growth” type).
Monophasic dilation in stem-system time has now confirmed this model for plant process, as outlined by Dr Gale (Proc.
PTM Conf., ) and as specified for auxin catalysis by Sheldrake and Northcote (New Phytol., ).
Stationary wavefront patterns of differentiation, however, or “static descriptions of the model” are difficult to test experimentally; Sheldrake and Northcote met strong opposition to their proposal that “the majority of the auxin in the plant may be produced as a consequence of cell breakdown” (p.
).
But evidence from the time-dilation sequence shews that reverse turbulence in cell frontier gradients catalyses growth in a directly comparable way.
Since stop in stem-system time was not dead stop (and thus relativistically unobservable), autolysis must have been the chief cross-phase process: a starkly isolated moment of total willbeen, sine qua folium de arbore non cadit.
Sheldrake has more recently described how “auxin, acting as a messenger of decomposition and decay, causes the surface area available for absorption to be increased in those environments where nutrients are abundant” (New Phytol., , p.
; see also J.
exp.
Bot., , p.
).
Phase stop and cell death thus function indistinguishably to cross-multiply gradients by signal feedback, and a fully relativistic composition of velocities must be invoked to set “stop” and “death” as partevents within the containing bilinear reference frame.
rd May The PTM symposium assembled for the last time this evening in a finale of exceptional power & radiance, well beyond the wit of your procumbent reporter.
Such scenes of precycle and vernal interbeen! The discussion was to have commenced with a paper from the Black Cosmos (C.
diversifolius atrosanguineus) and some deeply serrated fibrillation was rumoured to have transpired; but there’s no smoke without fire and the inversion was set up by Grass, the pasturage team from some area whose name didn’t reach me.
Or maybeen didn’t set out in that direction, I don’t know about that anymore.
There was some unfinished business over lecanoric acid and the free m-hydroxy depsides which had been shunted across from the enzyme phase.
Were we back to front in that sequence folded over double? The G(t) = epoch shewed ignition at the chronometric cusp in the sequences from the Grass team, null gradient this time back.
Negative vectors in genetic space flow across to the flower: “Let us propose that at first the genetic code was in some way read backwards from protein to nucleic acid” (Jukes, , p.
).
We truly did propose, or were we sidestepped exponentially, again I can’t clearly determine.
What the Grass team exhaled into the continuum was the aleph-zero reversion or linear strike itself proposed by the Cosmos.
Darting and humming like bees we were confronted at first/last by the erotic! Thus the flower of the intellect (did you say) returned in full array upon itself, enfolding fire with fire through the tireless vigour of Time.
The bees were an intense provocation, metonymic selves in syllabic flow(–) towards the bright mirror.
The proportion of Reason to Matter is not the same in all the regions of the Universe, yet the colloid field had shielded us from the free transfinite stream.
And now by the inference from amino acid substitutions we saw the genetic sign reversed “at the rate of about one base-pair change in or million years,” and from there “the RNA itself could have been transcribed backwards into DNA.” Backwards was the front of this inferential catalysis, renamed the aleph-zero flower of the ordinal stream.
It was a strange moment, and powerful, as the body of the earth rested overtly beneath us: recognition in the match of sense-rescript that the use of time is Fate.
How we all arrived at this moment of willbeen inertia I can’t precisely predict.
Or was it recall, the Grass team had the thought well shaded in bifocal residue as here: But this again was before the more sane label, the negative flower of the Cosmos, itself after the recognition of polynucleotides streaming out from the epoch such as shyne in our speech like the glorious stars in Firmament.
There is a set of loops somewhere in this great & forcible floud like the aurora and in this total purge of the horizon both ways I stop before I do.
UNCOLLECTED POEMS Glove Timing As riot the water goes up to press and suck his suddenly lost sense; given by like and like to live beyond his (you say) assertion.
Dark brows limit the crown and ram solid between them, she must take to, the name split by, a margin.
Mostly on the mouldy part, the green adopts its shadow housing; the what he gives one by one to his finger joints is the name that won’t try or a cup then settles back on the gap it serves.
The run-on slaps brightly the middle gate and its bolts act the stand-in, you know, “safe by return.” Down that grade swims the swelled decoy, his top infant joy in what: flour on the fingers? I know through glass that wanting his line will overtake, again, her full step, each wrong word for it flashing its bank card.
If you still want to come in like that, take off your word for shoes.
HIGH PINK ON CHROME.
 ecco già la mossa nascosta— una linea di eoni e di dèi la muta una muta di anubi enciclopedizza chiosa accusa verità e vanità passioni e svenimenti in minoranza infinitamente cadi/sei.
Pink star of the languid settles by a low window lap to flit, give the life too quickly, the storm a mere levelled gaze.
And count the hook by the water, rely on modest delay; it is I who say this, not to fade or shine out, to be trusted and played.
There: heat rises now with the bank speckled, going down to the point of noon.
Take stock, be fair while there’s room.
At the step air flows like news in the head, referred as a black ribbon down the arm to the thumb.
Can you move or give your name, or crack or will you.
If you breathe through the head-set, true to type, we’ll hang on too.
An hour passes, you pass it, we pass them further.
Draft to the colony in pale and envious eye; he hits the ampoule, cuts off to bright stop.
The green bottles, the mowers in the field, largesse boiled in the pasteurised skillet; across the picket lines “reduced almost to a syrup.” And so we go as now we know, watching the sheep gaits fade up the hillside, across the waterfall.
Strict joy here is skin deep, sun slanting across pads under the split knuckle.
In the spray the choice herbs cluster, their names a de luxe suppletion.
And run and jump and fatten if you can / and do and will: light of my eye, too.
He farms the pelt with aniline; makes up the chart to the brim, with joy at some happy look by the roadside.
What he cannot is how he sees, to hear from what leaves before he does, is calm.
Pretty sleep lips, the carrots need thinning, pork chops are up again.
We sail and play as clouds go on the day trip, after a hot moon farrow.
“She rolls in her bath and she rolls on the soap, she rolls into bed and I dare not, am silent and shaking his flag of joy over the stunted beastlike refusal: out of the stall and yet more quietly on our way.
The halter of melon seeds, dyed in the grain, rustles against the table.
Don’t stop, it is true and not just some living pip you have, some line of teeth or grit beneath your cheek.
So the germ layers are threaded, with ink over the ground woodpulp, you sway my empire of dismay, which from within is the hive of too many colours.
I live there and will, and make the chain a path into the hope trap: the lost scent of a just peace.
And we are there at stand to and are ready, and bite at breakfast with our happy grins like pierced lace all around the neck.
What then will cut to his bone, when silence in such a case is a kind of flattery.
The ear starves in the field, burned off in a cloud like a charred linnet.
And a wound is not anything lost, exudate from the flushed ledges without pollen and broad-leaved, the sheep may safely crop.
To be devoured at a sitting: we skip the thrill and pass the mint sauce, the wisdom of a kindly heart? The innermost and motionless boundary, burning for burning; we dash outwards through the smoke.
Rapid flutter crosses the weave you dream of, some denim piece on the mend.
Yet the sun makes arbitrament by the after-image; is this set right, true-hearted, burned in.
The moon is blotched and spent, nor is the body larger than the place, you must say quickly intense burning pain in the chest, how much to give LD a scruple of fair dealing and upright fashion (shallow breathing); he declines to take bread into the garden.
The near shade is false again.
We frown into the glare.
Thus there is no doubt that some of the toxic effects of these metals is the result of a cell-mediated immunological reaction against the body’s own proteins modified antigenically by the metal and that this is in some way genetically controlled.
The hot rain comes to straw with siren passage, sweet to see and strict to touch.
My intake of doubt lies double above you, how strong the sound is, late for the hill itself.
We cannot solve what is wasted or will not come to rest.
Despoiled the light was, the best filament smoking, fish out of water.
Making the coward in the hayfield, forcing the burden of proof.
Heavy metal then is the storm of a sexual fury, keyed up to the question false at the very root.
The caustic sheen of that crest rises in the oven, the microwave “open mind” as hot to see as choice to fall and splinter.
And yes, substance has no contrary among things that are; what we must is the dream of a sharper cold, and she knows that also.
As all things pass to and fro in the world, from one hand to another, belayed.
So dream after dream ensues, blind eyes and shadows conspire to organic dust & its antigens.
The cut figure quails over stubble, a little colder now, nipping the roof of his mouth in high-level, foisted arbitrage.
Get out of this, dainty blood in the box of gloves.
Snow on the grass spills water on the brain, a fine bird in a field of parsnips.
To admit is not to enter, the door is not an ikon.
And take her softly, in fear for sanity at the open window, light slanting in through the limes.
She looks warily at the clock, not ready for its classic certainty in a case bought with green stamps.
And yet is not yet, oh sacred mill-stream the vanes are pressed to turn and shew where the journal rests and is content.
What he says they must do is actually starve beforehand: then is the fulfilled backwash.
If I had given less, or given more, it might have been prudent too.
This furtive admission of degrees, the trial of an F hybrid, splits our cold lunch into panic.
Give or take another sandwich, himself at a glance, sanctus.
Next they climb to the top, to try their new flag.
Worse than ever is upside-down, careless brutes.
All this across a drowsy shaded vale; triplex zooms ahead in action replay.
And nasal congestion makes what you say less warm than what you meant.
Silver splints betray the shattered thermos flask.
In the lane the overdrive is shot sideways and parched there, the theme of duty not succulent as ever was.
And midnight ploughing on the high field, what grandeur will save us now.
Sinter these glancing blows: the half pressure is pretty much absolute.
Up on the grass ley the impossible is never required and again, more and more, the calcium defect plays like a spring.
The outcome is negligible.
We must be quite direct; the meal ticket is not a coloured title but the main act itself.
How do they get in if not by straying, where growth is a kind of success across the open window.
Above the night sky the atrophy continues, costing just what it says on the ticket: the open question over and under and wasted as childish carols, ripe well before time.
Too far past the point the seed splits and saves its line from the wake of high water stress, in vited in catchy weather.
That makes a tidy run, food is “money made easy” the tiller raises up a spot payment for the last round trip.
And this little biscuit is as much as anyone could ask for and more than many could take.
Aliphatic hydrocarbons are its tacit basis, the explosive device was placed on a window ledge and the area sealed off.
His attention was more than seemed reasonable at the time.
No trace of his earlier helpful manner survived the event, and yellow rust was not well controlled.
The mark-up gave injury a forensic turn: “senseless” was an alternative, decoy stage, at top-level discussions still in progress.
By leverage against the body the life by rule amounts to referred preference, that much.
As blood may track into a false channel, the small boat at sea a noted twist of cruelty.
You know that at once, lost into the burned skin and thereby starlit as an extreme call.
In feare and trembling they descend into threatened shock.
Faire and softly, too far from the dry arbour.
The chisel plough meets tough going, we spray off with paraquat ? pints per acre.
And the Cr label shews them and us in your same little boat, pulling away from the vacant foreshore.
Again the feedstuff for ruin makes the level “acceptable”, there is no choice but to choose this.
Ascorbic acid is massively retained.
The seedbed shrinks and cracks as misjudged alertness claims its recent victim.
What is discarded? The furrow is still open, we read the papers with coy amazement and concern.
The distance.
 from a self protein is not by nature either just or rational but the mirror image of both.
Yet per contra is the formal shell only, the wax on both sides.
That half-light admits ligation, abrupt paraldehyde.
We give now what we took then, bound by attention.
The iron in that shallow stream is not changed and here we cannot wait for the tilted basic grey with which the lines return.
The trial sets rope by the companion-way, over the true level as you are forced to lift as soon as you can.
Nothing is tapped or bolted safely what you do you run into the catch at retail for the recorded message a closed market cycle on fair deal (it does not do, the loss adjuster hardly smiles) at once.
And next time round the traffic needle sticks on the shaft, we get by with guess-work.
At how much for so much, the royal shadow you grant will lapse before its time.
The donation is waged intently in the fan at top remove.
What does that amount to, mostly less and less as the shade shews red.
Cross-infection stops the coolant, really just a sleeve note.
We long to sleep in the country and with strange passions spread about like sacred litter, the tonic sanction skips a beat.
Only her simple bandage gives cause to watch moments not scatter forward, or hold there like butter-fat, commuted past recall.
So to adopt the excursion of choice flavour the star man empties his regard into a replica of the faded hill.
Some plug of fancy holds the light slanting through seraphic cloud, playing the safe bet.
It is this mournful arch at the front which strikes too much patience in bone as the critical organ; there is something in it, across the somatic metal shifting, “which I cannot explain.” Or spark up with impaired conjugation, clip and fold the patch-work of the new-born, still damp with joy.
What right to work, if there is no wisdom without a voluntary act.
Say what you like, the one you missed, like a Chinese squint, was better, closer to the end.
We stand too deep in the baker’s trial, as if you hadn’t noticed that.
It seeps under the nail, what ought to be known (quod scire tenetur).
The toxic action is severe adrenal trauma, corroding by touch, leaving a blackened scar.
If reduction is fast the blow to esteem is on occasion terminal in the strict sense, a doubt critical above zero.
And the meadows are shut up for hay, air flies into fire as the lungs puff out with tremor.
Over the rosy hedges the passions in their circuit feel for the safe edge of the hoop, their votive antiphon; all goes in the old way, leaching the soil, guessing when to cut.
Now the band narrows towards its stand, the light uniform and clear; calm presides in the lane as dust settles, laying “a charm of love amongst men.” Even at the sky mark, as a heroic measure, the reason for this leaves no print.
Yet in stock the air corrodes his throat and nails him twitching to the Earth.
The float is criminal; access by blood spread, dimercaprol mg.
Dead right you are as you bleed for what you see and what you do.
The development of the main body cavity is more obscure.
There is a great latitude in prudence.
The green is lost or painted up with fear.
And for ever the day ruffs out at the neck, taken with brightnesse, too brilliant to the touch; inside the thoughtful sphere of that wrong.
THE LAND OF SAINT MARTIN “The sun does not rise upon our countrymen; our land is little cheered by its beams; we are contented with that twilight, which, among you, precedes the sun-rise, or follows the sun-set.
Moreover, a certain luminous country is seen, not far distant from ours, and divided from it by a very considerable river.” Start Spill the dish his lip said, at the side, this one, stop and run and stop then.
Was the day wet when he set to it, for his cheek the step on top.
Wish to wish inside, the slip led to this.
Within and done, a life of silt.
Next In from the grain a neck shone, a sandy shoe.
Red or bad or wet as needs be.
The ache beyond his other self, as you say he will stay on for it.
His rest and arm will, too.
Even the sky is hard to see but leave, and see and follow, and leave but see as well.
Reason To be ill said his way to look out, this may break what will not mend.
We know that.
And if not so it will not do, the life is like as not.
Under the roof is over the floor; also true or lost.
I give my life for that, note well how this is not enough.
Point Ready yet was the best; this day took a white strip by the shelf, at the back.
You must not fall over, the top is marked with a nib.
Yes it is.
The chance goes bit by bit across the air and is changed, or entire, as yet the time flies utterly.
Fill More thread settles in.
But sink for it counts by one, quick to meet the door and pass him.
Not lame, not hurt, all that too far true.
So far, after the dear one.
Why you look to me if brought here now, or soon, and then wait for one to one going on by.
Only It can be cold if you do, to give way, open your eye.
The shelf is under what you put there, the help is part of the store.
See it carried out as we like no less.
We are told this.
He gives a hand and falls exactly, and before he must.
Cloth Leaf-leaf and sister speaks, we pick any song up.
Eat the last bit you left over, you did.
On the table damage mounts.
The tale starts again and strikes.
Any best week is lost like that, we admit, life long too much to stand.
Too much to find is so, this time round.
Send No more your name seems right, it slows down, it won’t call, shading the coat.
Quite pale where you want to give your word.
Willing, without end, at this point step off.
Nothing else showed at all.
The same one he tried to hold, up and down and melt and then he did.
VERNAL ASPECTS “All you must do on receipt is place outdoors in a cold position so that the frost can work at it and break dormancy.
– weeks of this should be sufficient.” Exponent Quickly white and slowly darker, the path clears by the use it gets; yet the sky is like wet wood again and they shout for more than we’d care to look at.
Reflections make cuts in the skin where the thin end of a wedge keeps the door primed like a step from a railway carriage.
Temper When you squeeze the lid it clicks and the beads jump.
Oh yes, but do be careful they don’t fall out like days quickly and soon it’s time to say that too, dark for light under.
And they cross as I told you, getting ready to give up and to be given in.
Coil It is a trick of the limit a day presses, as lined with notice it scrapes by; the next step still not ready, put back any you don’t use.
Yes, alright but the small one isn’t right yet and the night won’t rest, too many hours in shadow of thin vapour.
Now the carpet is not touched and across it light settles like a bent spring, no delay at all.
Everything is here and is being burned slowly and is enough.
Storage Truly it is not a box but a top, what goes out comes out and the moon in fog gives more than is yet taken.
How could a living soul eat his dinner and not choke on the total, if the hours too did not feed him up as small fry back into the swim.
And so nothing was said but only “Mr Kania canya mend our clock” and there were no pains in the lost marks of that passage, only the marks of its studious account.
Winding Between two states run the waters of the river no man steps into but in which the smalls splash every day, a civil order intently crossed.
No she says hoping to mean yes, three red squares on the bottom & three on the top.
And don’t you dare move it, practice rage in the ground of playing up by spilling over.
No hints will press me to care and so I care just correctly less.
Bolt If you set your mind to it, the words tell you the first levels are free ones, only the end is fixed by its need to be freely led up to.
And for me all levels are held but the last, the parting shot I don’t dream of but see every day.
Then you buy another notebook, scissors vanish and the spiral binding shews justly the force of even intervals.
NEWS OF WARRING CLANS.
 Consulto Speculo geris Omnia; fallet Imago: Te nam (an jurares) sera Ruina manet.
At some moment in the clan’s prehistory there was panic that the high points would not be completed on time.
In the sense of “what counts is strictly under age,” emotional negativism and fatuous serenity are states like a loose rein on quite the wrong horse.
The clan, très primitif in variable kinship with notes on anomaly, turned pig-style right down on the shell.
Outlook vaulted with crystal brows, in fact they blanked out for inventions about battle.
The rents were needed from that idea to revoke greed and invite swift cunning.
Thus on the pentecostal peneplain, at high altitude with mist and star-play swirling below, the ties of a juggled racket dumbfounded the watcher’s own care by childish excess: boredom so rhapsodic, and pure, and classically monographic That a crow-lined tanker fluttered the tapes in the chilly air.
Alarm roused these woven nests and the funds never ran out, the streams click & clack from the pump of days.
Add any distinct subversion but get your prime up, its feed is greed and dental.
Four dark lines on the lower cheek then stubbed at the nose bridge, to wrap up the blue star and make ready.
You can always see what you want if you play fancy and know the wrinkles.
Slender strips of some apparently special grass seal up the blade scars with mastic gum.
We would file our teeth into hooks if we dared, and when the first snow is reached the leaders are peeled off, a pulp elation revealed to its double.
The limit of combat between spools lies at the capstan north & west of Kalat, two miles out of Kendal.
The pitch is first sung over a drone, then laid out in expensive copper.
Each étage bespeaks the cost of the one preceding, so that spiral cladding is tonic to those who see what they can’t eat.
Down in that cheeky gorge a scheme of tokens makes up an array we take for taking counsel.
The master of pre-ethical tactics, a graceful savage, chances his arm.
Prospects converge from that shadow, o’erflung with fish-milt.
Links under stone prolong the song like the scale of colours.
The incidence of dizygotic twins is in unexplained decline.
That comes of a lapsed sibling policy: the moon age tables looked linear but glowed geometric.
Red alert is now nearly talked up and stitched into the chute.
Get weaving with those terminals, the scout shouts in a lost dialect, it’s time for a war footing.
The week-end bigot dips his shoe in a home steroid and settles down to await “developments”—no screen can chart the hostility of his desire.
He takes a knife, rejects it as too warm takes another and makes the initial cut.
It is an unknown birthday in the high hills, now air flows freely and animal scents mount his attention.
Consider the stem for gelded blood & its rapacity: can the sulphur-head hold steam at the splice, snow time? Musing again at the geothermal turret, a stray engineer looks for a tap.
The sun strikes a stone in its patient station, between rock and more of it.
A broader scan picks up the mute with the mouth-organ, pulse coding his own resentful spike.
You take me for Valoroso, what kind of haemophiliac variant is that, in the bravado now doggo, what kind in the residue of upland grasses, holding fire.
No one can wait as the herbage is scorched off by the sun’s total octave.
In that agreement the two count up to the first skirmish, ready as stout troopers to take the floor.
Many feet stamp dourly or chafe the protocols, whilst the graded raid is stencilled upon each rumoured jaw.
Oh where is the tribal influx, why the hell isn’t the light ready; if you’re not the cash you must be the food, yer dumb git.
The gradients for soul passage at every level are cast down for each class, as per shuttlecock in a fancy tram-car.
All risks are no risk.
Option trading has become the hottest game in town.
And does the option wag the stock, with peace and gentle visitation? They rivet the stick close to strike, shorting the stock against call; in the tree glide the lie sits like gall by what you say it does, messenger creature.
Far now into the white refuge this banquet spreads over its days of hot rock.
The wardens conceive fear as a plan of relief and compute the mise-en-scène.
They advance said forging as the party sharpens, to refer uniquely in view.
The tribal actuary is already too derelict to seem awake as he drives the hand packet at a false grabber, the water forays see to that, and thus each slat of the “cultural horizon” is geared up according to form.
Axes are ground back and fluxed.
The diodes are tuned by costly milk splashing, or by spotwelded hints from all advanced outfits.
Crunch and whirr midst stunted bushes, past the rib-cage of the burned-out photo archive.
Must have the melt action, must have the water ration, have to crimp the incandescent Tab.
As the lintel slides into its pinions the wax riot steps closer.
Mist & smoke are hard to tell, knitting for a pearly jumper.
Dir scouts arise in a line of chorus round the raft, too formal for the song according to advice but gathering fresh darkness: a rim of froth, carbon-black, seals it.
Then some heaviest sound yet from within the slice folding of all-natural flavour hits a gross epact, and fate stands fixed on the canteen floor.
For all around the cool breeze murmurs, rustling through branches, while from shivering leaves and broken lights streams down deep sleep, lying where it falls.
This is the song & dance of a small minority; restless at the planned loss of blood donors they grind their even teeth in the moonlight.
And on the tab were little mosaic gaps aplenty, with cool savours sweeping across cooler, more vacant skies.
Paper and mimic silk we say, or honey & milk, the shades talk or lurk in twilit conversation: the tribal shows palter and fall right off.
Even the discounted losses are stippled in, on a brass hinge folded back as the routes are scaled away down many sandy defiles.
The shrine is almost a raft, of course, crazy at those rates ahead and yet no rest, or too slick a total, fires the engine by cubic and stepped rising.
The blood group orders new hardware, with a flair for gearing its plan to the time of the also-ran, to a quick sally down a blind tube.
Cosmetic universals likewise choke their line from the planet, as a power cable in reverse or right down the same drain.
And still to be dressed, still to be neat is truth or riot in the street, floating like the oil upon the chartered streams of Babylon.
And so, no more grab auctions at this altitude, bidding on clip by descending half-tones of shaken foil in the tree.
Take what you get, go anywhere, strictly come back nothing.
They brought up some tale about white fox teeth, flighty talk with the lofty albino trim, you know the kind.
They burned out the flute stops without even looking (so they said) and keenly personal were the stares that came with it.
Lit with one match, right up to scratch, that crew were over the line before even the flag dropped.
Like the dapper butcher painted in phosphorus, the town planner prowled round his snap-shots of triumph.
A real lucky break.
“All will reveal right out to the flat truth” say the nasal rangers alongside.
On such orthopaedic skids the day slides into its dusky slot; neither barren nor reckless yet but on the run.
And the drive gets to go straight by decision into falling rocks again, any whole slur in the nap will do it.
The raid is fixed into the spoke and, yes, chamfered by vocals at “sweeping spring choice”, roughing up the northline.
The plan was to spread many lies, each quite gross and polished to the gloss of air-line greetings.
Several coal and marble mines are already reported to have been seized.
The saturation of what is “solid and durable” is cooled to a sham-level of killing frost: pain is feared, false danger triggers waste of fear.
Since in an outraged moral system the lying report, subject to efficient causes, is bound fast to a truth mostly formal, the efforts at mendacious gab exceeded all limits.
Good taste was shunted into the slogan vestry and reconstructed as billboard nostalgia: the purest central dogma in the history of trash.
Again “it has not escaped our notice” that, by song & dance, men cannot live or move out in the midst of plenty.
We munch and munch along planned parenthood, getting and spending on the same credit card.
False tedium bids up each braggart by his plea bargain, to set the motif as if vicious, viz., takes the getting out of wanting, but in fact the Kung out of Fu; the final arts are martial.
You don’t always get what you want, so storage is less of a cramp: You don’t always want what you say, or say what you do (do you): Bashing the cloud cuckoos, short of street sugar, what we need is hot milk: The rest is allegory linking reserve error, we make a roux to thicken up the money supply and merely imitate attention.
You stamp about looking for more cheap cuts and square deals.
But soup levels kept them all without sleep, greasing their eyes with mimic fire.
The clan rehearsed unison by cypher, to mark out the list of victims in death of their own.
They fell down and bled in droves, they sang little glees of passage with paper & comb, the recorders ran out of tape.
The tedium of all this struck a new high in feedback whine; that tunnel was jammed with insults inside and bardic butter overall.
The first scout said he meant what he said, once again meaning only the hesitation with which his fizzing tracer sprays peppered the dewy mountain air.
Very early on for that practice-work: for every clone on the step above the nature of hot food, some other variant is watching from a step further into the menu.
At what point does printed cash reconvert into a single verisimilitude, or does it pay to count on paying.
Write when you get work.
The cheese was fleeced in a gray crush, old & mouldy as a gorge of brushed silk; O death in life and pickled cabbage the seams of salt arch like a fat tabby on the dresser scraped with a vengeance; These checks for travellers will bring him up sharp as a knife.
This is not fair game is not by the lamb chop the sport it seems.
After lunch the yoghurt left over flips back to fiscal by-play, sagging as current debts do.
Suck or lose this matrix.
The route signs are quite subtle, just planetary appetisers and the main party watches the sand which is all quiet like a fried egg.
And by this narrowest pinch in the paid-up history of our attentions the fear of surprise became so intense it blew the fuse and satisfied the hopes of almost the whole band.
Well settled back in their prefigurement, the kidnap of parental vantage, these sleepy children chose not to wake up: their choice succeeded.
The option prevailed over theft precisely by means of ambush, and employed the same rigid tracking.
The pause displayed as its credentials shewed only the chagrin of a recognised falsity cut like a rock wafer.
“Too late” came in before “not enough” and the long-term end before the snack in the long-stay dancing school.
The mode d’emploi proved a perfect dream, all completely rewired, you must believe this sincere account of the negotiations.
Thus all the scouts confirmed a night raid by the canyon route as the very best chance, requiring a legendary daring in scale with talents in the vault.
The staining rites were doubled at this; and the pause plus its option flanks, could this be less real than the ardour we wanted more, that what turned up was just the ticket? Track star, lead over the fields of snow, now’s the time to keep in lane, where the angels go.
Put a pretty stone in the ancient well as night, our friend in need, darkens the empty till.
This is the ace of all desire, fed by the smoke and flame of this exhausted fire.
Down in the rocky defile stark crowding shadows held still, also “anyway” since the any points here to “this one only” or “in thy will is our mortgage.” The most audacious lies pack the throat with steam, we mean the full irony of fear and then cancel all but the head banner (the instruction to “be frightened”).
Bold as top brass the melody lingers in the blood bank, the clan is caught napping and swapping the false yaps of their dogs.
He is in accord with his uncle in the same tone-row; the possessed lady denounces cuts with jabs about standing shoulder to shoulder with the rock-like boulders of the zen tea-room; patience, hard thing, the very worst is yet to splash your feet and get your gaiters wet.
None of those colours is halfway near a good match in a dying art, awake on the causeway from base to crown.
The loyal rebels foresee through air interdiction that their salt tablets will fade away, and the patches of lustre make transit markers ahead like the mirrors of ice they truly are.
All the reports, in echo of stylish lies, lay stunned by drab hints from the sandy empires of the plain.
The old melisma in the frame set by a new battle jittered like spring-water, a painted stone in a painted picnic.
Nerve and verve broke for lunch & were gone.
UNCOLLECTED POEMS Stay Where You Are At the end point rain comes on by the rival pyramid, the first anvil of entry: we seem so intently noted in the rest camp you pay to leave, long to fly over.
A splash is made good again or in the blender, ascending from chip by chip to the calamine.
Imperfect joy simmers in the nub of this razor, our care for the good green things we take and eat, hollow & overspilled in the course of events; lying flat out towards depletion all hints seem natural content to breathe our native air across the little rims of sweat tantamount margins yes we trust what you like: At the sylvan depot the treaty is still unmarked not even summarised, motion is the inner portrait of habit.
True in every painless line, alive in the death of its origin, the painted nesting-box mimics a cardiac stop but little pans of blue & russet, from the very sauce-boat of Horus itself, the rack of spices in the clinic kitchen point the future for brown eggs, and clinch that deal for ever.
Tortrix This skin river was directly marked, its track to l’esprit fou, for the second eye-opener.
A new bite at his instep is corrosive and colloidal at one throw.
So, air latch cross white, descending or like cries of rage invited.
His insufficient step in the moth paper at Box End, please come repatriatingly.
Fan filtered the sweets of liberty by backward-turning, never grieving, for matter is crucial.
Its torture never stops that rot with oak light out wrapped beside, pandemonium.
My oral virus on a willow lessens and does give over new-stripped crocks.
Not to inhibit birth, exactly but like a glad bird broken from some cage .
.
.
of raphe glass together.
I like oak light for its touch of class, a mark of favour to our dove’s new egg and dirge.
But too overtly you fur your gloves with reasonable commodity or room; he steps in to take charge, we make a little folding of the hands to sleep and dream of her neck, the jump & flinch threshold.
In witting tort, furthermore they feed upon the food of semblance, in her dream of not to bother and are fed up to smoke loss, earache remedy tomorrow.
A guide towards ceramic pressure promotes mountain glory in its tetrahedron: I round your col, we at their bole, an air of flint powder grandly prevailing to cheer the eye.
The palatal third rhyme, was it the blue line of a mental illness or the grub of uncertainty which chews its glossy, villous choice.
Both stripes go straight to folie de doute as your italic target, called philology but known as Mother of Janet.
As I looked at this muff, tears came to my eyes and I sniffed, the criss-cross was a midwinter apology with a surprise step at arm’s length or to it.
He went Thackeray, I went Thales, no one saw our acted parting shots.
I watered the track, he blazed the entrails and the comb was set fair.
For what disquiet could this be remedial, we cajole no answer now from her snowy tongue.
Silence is infective and fused; for those whose chief difficulty is ‘that of getting off’ for a second round, radial-ply hot lips break what they newly suspend, that.
In Austria they know what they know.
Here it is different, in the mountains, where we bid for flour and accept second best, still buying bread in sausage and newly vice versa or, light in feeling, there is no substitute for this.
Use Your Loaf Then part of it fell down.
It was like rain, down was its fall but partial and to the side.
The side-part fell, if down then sideways and lay dying there too, on my side.
Thus parted, own you like it as eye-pain.
You laid it down, her name your art dies for.
Beside herself you all part then and her own is not so, known down there as ways fallen apart.
Pullman Acting on wrongly as a matter to make advantage, below grit who lives half-out besides for my part can do to a finger, I couldn’t anyway be want what wanted for—adversity to be at the new city terminal concept or make below but scooped out with suitable door-to-door limit.
The ones opposite, now you have to be filter, do feel better on half as much.
Again billing before donor habit, return to let be little set-backs you want to watch the short let and live by; here its tilt features still desiring this latterly, press down to sleep.
Dad’s flight control by rust control says so, your own update glittering lockout.
I can see you falter, candid as noted up to stand what incidental bit is vacant and wanted so—at surface rates fill only, mopping up dirt.
DOWN WHERE CHANGED.
 Anyone who takes up this book will, we expect, have done so because at the back of the mind he has a half formed belief that there is something in it.
C.
Thorpe, Practical Crystal-Gazing.
 Ash and thorn, thus idiot pear tree burnt white and gray you bear me the way wind does with vile shadows and a honied smile.
Star-naked your sherbet pinch does spin: indole outdoor, not by choice heel by the wall plan either nut juggles, willing some flippant winter or stop; this heliacal denial cannot unroll to a phrase limit yet darkman’s pay and fall will call the day graft a sweet cheat, newly torn.
Satisfied in the kodak gantry to scale and deliver the outline by soda ash they brought home the flash-cured bacon and are caught by candle light according to fowler’s gesture with the gut in lime slurry ‘I love the sober muse, and fasting’ and feed thus upon it to hurry forward to some gap in the spillage as dust flickers into orbit & between wiper blades.
There was no qualm on that footway after the night exposure and yet love-cramp washed the tarmac while harsh streams of air too soft to burn right buttered the throat we grind the gyrus with no choice but one and the other turning voice is the same.
The rail is interfered with it is cut up already libel on the road ahead telling you makes, really no odds at all.
That bend is too bad, magnanimous like a hot-air balloon over the stupendous balkans or privately dabbing your finger you do, that rail’s done as a praline, softly in the airy open there’s no more to it so out of true the rail is sundered I’m telling you.
Thanks to the lurid airways an extinction event snapped on the phrase blur, barely as a nine-jewel wreckage is linked to its Kristallnacht or maybe shut yer face you’re sent on station and corrupted with excellence neither thinks to check that’s it.
Their follies are as now, your pride’s excuse to ration fuel; or both.
Give yourself exit pallor those duties too are born to amuse and choke like paint stripper.
Here the machine bleats within its heated undercoat where you are dry and don’t think to flicker as with intimation or traffic emerging from the right it’s too late, worn thin these few scenes of note.
Already you get torn up too quiet on the flat shut down and frontal where water burns like wax and is paid by turn in the drusy eye of storm perpetual this darkened flame will melt the byelaw, you say.
As through its lentil abscess sun tempers the fad in leaf-fall by stunned silica the pass is concessionary until soldered across the output, you see what it takes; if at all the palace of fun goes under our cheap ride will blench as a sunned Everyman spine and Beryl’s lenten favours will cool to flinch or stay put through a taxing day.
Go ahead to the plant rally down at heel in the bread strike you know can’t be long and will underflow to zero to take back the land ripped open like a flood of star cancer and muddy roots or too grandly al dente you feel the blood-struck surface rate the breakfast serial a success, far and away bloated over the sand.
The creamy recruit pines for his stone, down under the second-best hiding white at the foot of green still white, ever green, love offers the perfect match ignites the perfect loan.
Or, when a lark while over the sea blindly following its instinct to ascend into the air, and to fall again descends to the sea, and is drowned.
By the pure fluke of the introit now into the NHS cathedral the bundle of new roses in their Trauersaft hits peak fluid and shatters softly like a blue vase; so the new heartland technology gives leverage over the whole system it sounds like food it comes apace it comes amiss it comes too late.
You’ll get it given soon lit better by skilled labour to drop greed with a brittle chip the smoke on the tarmac is taken and broken in the draft and spills with sweet clatter as chalk hurts the eyelid never stop for brow-ache or wait to lick the spoon.
If the day glow is mean and spoiled by recognition as a battery hen, you must know how the voice sways out of time into double image, neither one true a way not seen and not unseen within its bent retort we feed on flattery of the absent its epic fear of indifference all over again and then that’s it, the whole procession reshuffles into line.
Even through the north window and on page also the dispatch is prohibitive or in an upstairs room watching livid reminders it is the same.
Cutting a dash on warm days you liken this to that and nearly run out and then you score and you tear and then you fold up.
The sick man polishes his shoes wide-awake in the half light what else should he do as scent from the almond tree ‘abjures the spirit’ with its air of mortification.
What is known is the almanack set out on a trellis, a pious gloss over waste so clean and natural that clothes out on a line dwindle and then new colours are there again.
All the hedges are paid for but as soap clears on the mirror the willing helper is there as herald of lazy, dishonest misery in the pink fading surround of clouds across a sky if it were the final demand we should shine with fear but it is not.
A limit spark under water makes you see briefly how patience is wasted that deep sadness is a perk of the iron will; no sound catches the binding dark side of this relish, head-on in thermite lock.
Each one bound to wait, the other blunders to see it and suffer the play at choking or not turning away.
To be at home is no quicker than far off as a log the hate blot is steady.
Amy’s lurch gives true colour a career razor-nicked with specks of astral white.
The gadget hums stunted by snow on a hip rose and juice spurts; like a dream dew-draggled exactly you pick and choose and habit pales under the tool-rack, back broken and split right to the frame.
at all anyway whatever even so rubbish Think about it we must know what this means, some hero strokes the flame with a wet trimming and the sparks fly up.
Before the fall of the wall there’s the loss of sense in both seeing and being seen in his end is my beginning my early morning start starting to bend and howl.
Is that quite all, the stupid creep under the stairs and in the gloom will do their best to fall asleep and in the shadow of that room we hear the shallow call to deep and fail the test, and miss our doom.
Watch the thin, pat the dry of course the thing is this one, this one too as must be said when that’s said and done to set one’s sights thereon can’t you just see what in the course of things, a fat lot one bites one’s lip right through.
You have to work it out the passion-scribble of origin swallowed up the inserted batch of fission lacks its label, grips its fever you strike your fill of that.
Just a twitch of doubt we sail with puffed about by the main chance rich and indecisive in sufferance through that rule of thumb or plain work to rule to nail your way by forced rebuff (paid in advance) whatever we say don’t overdo it whatever you say don’t overdo it keep cool and take your time.
Fresh cut in the green pound the cheek a little red from contusion; the happy mean is saved by breeding out all signs of strain.
In a week of confused pressures all round the seed is waived and the name on the tag of the bed is punctilious liquorice.
A single black and then a bit off and a bit more, down to size or the swollen jaw is tender in the glitter of sullen grins and goes stiff with acoustic waste at the air-lock.
Solace thrills as frost holds the eyes roughly blank.
Nearly too much is, well, nowhere near enough.
Chill to the neck as revealed ginger you’d never trust the key to this lock thus both are forced crude but real for a consideration.
The consumption of any product is the destruction of its value thus the land is cleared by the footprint of a quiet man with a snack in his wife’s pocket.
The test is her anger right between the eyes as filled by carbide in the pit of sky or a doped crystal, sunk.
Famously fill, the mark of top reason slips to a hen level or blunt lie.
Don’t call it more than the excuse of fluid which is its nature in a cloud bank saying get ready, keep your nerve: the pin is Egypt and sticks but the entire boil-up in possession runs over a second-hand illness on the face greedy for endemic, chronic repute.
Pilgrim, pilgrim stop your plight the watch is busted all over like the snivelled rag you’d run for eyes sore with mild disgust or altogether no, not quite at all what will be done the smashed cone in British Salt.
This time the relics turn out in force of course they run to extremes they are trained on black ice on the grim or grand shelving where the new floaters lounge.
They come like arrivals to the palisades and activate surveillance machines as a sliced loaf screened blandly by the last bite of a trim bun.
Yes it is quite funny to drink our fill so that it burns the throat the catch is apologetic as fun slakes the will so far so quite that and the joke metal turns just out of sight for ever and ever and ever.
What do you say then well yes and no about four times a day sick and nonplussed by the thought of less you say stuff it.
THE OVAL WINDOW.
 BEFORE is a relation, of degree two, but it is a relation for which not all the underlying domains are simple.
AFTER is a semantically equivalent relation of degree three, with the property that all its domains are simple—in other words, AFTER is normalized.
This condition says essentially that, given the present, the past and future are independent of each other.
The shut inch lively as pin grafting leads back to the gift shop, at a loss for two-ply particles set callow, set bland and clean, wailing as when to wait is block for scatter.
Ah so, the estrangement of the cause brings off a surcease of the affect, even end-up battered in sawdust.
You cut your chin on all this, like club members on the dot by a winter blaze.
What can’t be helped is the vantage, private and inert; yet in a twinkling mind you, to pick up elastic replacements on the bench code.
Formerly in a proper tonic, the rain would pelt and cure by the foam inlet.
Smartly clad they could only panic through the medium itself, rabbit by proxy.
On both sides smart guidance ex stock makes for home like a cup cake over.
Don’t stare: Police aware: it is a defect coma, and it shows; try it on, see if they’d want to care.
Just a treat sod Heine you notice the base going down, try to whistle with a tooth broken.
Safe in our hands won’t cut up rough, at all, pent up and boil over.
Fly my brother, he watches at point of entry, only seeming to have a heart for it.
Thermal patchwork will tell, sisal entreaty creams out.
Coming through with your back turned you’d never credit the trick aperture in part-supply.
Being asked to cut into the bone matches wishing to become the one that asks and is sharply hurt.
To be controlled as a matter of urgency: don’t turn, it’s plasma leaking a tune on Monday a renewed drive not doing enough to reduce the skin on a grape; the whole falling short is wounded vantage in talk of the town.
Low in these windows you let forth a lifelong transfusion, as by the selfsame hand that made these wounds.
Keep back from the upper notch, running below a steep flurry of pollen like a pestilence rated up for coverage.
The two main shadows over the future tense are pity and the lack of it, win or lose: banking on form, the bright lozenge marks rape swathing under a bandaged sleeve.
Stacking the calls as they come in to land a perdita d’occhio the drill rigs make a ring of fire, welded on.
Somewhere else in the market it’s called a downward sell-out, to get there first and cut open a fire break.
Less won’t do, more isn’t on either.
How a gang of boys set her face alight with a flaming aerosol can, “her mouth was sealed up by the burns.” Attention is low in historic terms and will drift down, seeming to falter slowly and making excuses for the money numbers ahead.
It is deep cold, high cloud on the grill to hear the swish of a month overhead in snow on the bush, bird in the hand.
The notice is not lit by cycle time, blinded to limit the revenant by overt loss of balance.
“He takes pity with him and makes it possible for him to enter the sea” with the reflex of naked armour, unplayed under the lintel.
The vantage stops off in arc-light at frosted glass, yet all is shaded and clumsily mobile.
Lately poor eyes.
What if the outlook is likely to cut short by an inspired fear in the bond market.
The place itself is a birthday prank: current past the front, en première ligne like stone dust on strips of brighter green.
Given to allergic twitching, the frame compounds for invertible counterpoint and waits to see.
A view is a window on the real data, not a separate copy of that data, or a lower surplus in oil and erratic items such as precious stones, aircraft and the corpses of men, tigers fish and pythons, “all in a confused tangle.” Changes to the real data are visible through the view; and operations against the view are converted, through a kind of unofficial window on Treasury policy, into operations on the real data.
To this world given over, now safely, work makes free logic joined to the afterlife.
So they burned their boats, looking on as the frontage went up and footlights blinked in the watercourse.
From each throat at its fan opening they spoke out their force of numbers.
Either a point object or its image point is said to be real when the light propagates through it by ash bluff to printed charcoal.
Count back the poll capture, fun running like paint from blue to blue over in the funnel head (sad despair, &c).
Sideways in the mirror and too slow to take up, it is the point of death.
Not lost from the track as passing its peak but the cycle burns out on the axle, quenching a thirst with lip salve slicked on the ridge of its porridge bowl.
Still spoilt by bad temper the screen relives a guessed anxiety: wounds were his feast, his life to life a prey.
The internal view assumes an infinite linear address space, a table on which are laid out all the rival manuals of self-sufficiency.
Spring up, O well; sing unto it: but the answer is a pool of values in prime hock to a pump and its trade-offs.
That’s putting it mildly, by repute.
Do be serious they say, all the time in the world mounts a deficit of choice moments fluffed and spilled.
Is misery worse than not knowing its cause, the wrong fuel in a spirit lamp? The case rests on tarmac already crumbled in a pre-recorded dawn chorus: when the furniture was removed he pulled out the window frames, threw down the roof, and pushed in the walls.
Yet shortwinded the pay-bed recycles a bad debt as if nothing else counted, as if there are two distinct and mutually exclusive actions depending on one test.
Viz, oilseed is a fashion laid out like data, the view loops round from the test drill sponsor like a bird on the wing.
Think now or pay now and think later, the levels of control nesting presume a reason to cut back only and keep mum.
So what you do is enslaved non-stop to perdition of sense by leakage into the cycle: one man’s meat better late than never.
Motor life says the branch office, a picture is not a window.
In a recursive procedure, the method of solution is defined in terms of itself; as, within the chain-guard, cold is the meaning of heat notably absent.
The arctic tern stays put wakefully, each following suit by check according to rote; it’s precious little, only smoke damage where that came from.
As what next if you can’t, silent fire dumped in a skip and sun boiling over the sack race.
Best before too late, with loath to depart in the buff envelope torn across.
I’m finger-perfect by the yard, not like the ancient sponges putting in question another glad hand from the puppet dictator.
From the skip there is honey and bent metal, romantic on trade plates: PUT SKIP EDIT, PUT SKIP DATA, the control flow structure demands a check that subscripts do not exceed array dimensions.
That is the regimen, the bin liner of the second subject, holding our tongues like brevet clients on call.
Within the frame the match-play is staggered, to protect the list from its first mistake.
Skip and slip are the antinomian free gifts mounted on angle-iron reflexes, as sick pay predates a check to recovery.
You’re flat out? But the method sorts downward, wired up from the NCR cashpoint; you must choose the order of choice, on the nail from which shadows hang.
What else null else just else if before out into the garden with overshoot, the moon is bright as snowy day.
In broad strip neon it ranks as a perfect crime.
In the margin tinted love breaks off to spot bravura by scrub wintergreen.
Ill met on this road, by invitation they do keep up while in keeping and sly good humour.
Or sit and choke or die too, you must mind only so much, looping ahead with do and while and calling softly like a fish.
Test and store alla buona, failing to respond, a sweet smile intent with the marker in default values; slowness of gaze goes down with you, flickering to meet in both the turn for good.
Droplock to gab off you steel by wed foot and fall under fur on the gate Tivoli Tivoli and if flatter so the better to win O spite reserve my mitten’s bred sodden at all given to pad out, fill in hold this piece forth with and so on go on to the lammas of forbidden let red ground At the onset of the single life it is joined commonly to what is untasted, lettered out along the oval window’s rim.
And casting the eave forward, in the first delivery you do know this talc in breath, marking the helm wind as it cools.
It fans the rim on the inside of the purlin itself, the tenon gives back exactly your life task and for the trained level.
Grind up to the hatchment there, they are later as to the perfect clank.
No time first-round, first leg, with dearer love he too could only panic through the medium.
Hold your chin to the relief coach; I am a woodland fellow, sirloin parted formerly that always loved a great fire.
The window glints now in the lee wave, fed with light up-ended.
Crape put out on the hives.
Life cover streams under, the master I speak of ever keeps a good fire.
Give a low whistle, such country cannot be burnt; fit the rebate, but sure, he is the prince of the world.
We will cast on the half then and find out the neural crest below, an inquest wrought with frost without snow-marking on the run to try the spoil and waste in a white suit.
Speak truly along the lip there, let his nobility remain in’s court.
I am for the house again and the egg-timer, give the sweet air back as nipped by the bud of ruin: three to one herring.
Arms in sisal with the narrow gate over-arched, knocking at the septum, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter a pleasant fee, their faces are part-eaten.
This is the place where, deaf to meaning, the life stands out in extra blue.
Some that humble themselves at the songbook may turn the page enchanted; but the many will be too chill below in profile, and tender-limbed in the foil wrap.
They’ll be for the flow’ry way and draw a sharp breath by flutter action, do it quickly, tongue tied.
That leads to the broad gate and the great fire, and deaf to the face soundlessly matched to the summit.
We go over.
The dip stands down in the oval window, in the blackened gutter stop of the newly born.
As they parted, she heard his horse cry out, by the rustic lodge in a flurry of snow.
A child’s joy, a toy with a snowstorm, flakes settling in white prisms, to slide to a stop.
The flask is without frame, metaldehyde safe in cold store.
There is a snow-down on that sand hillock, the stars are snowing, do you see it there: bright moonlight whitens the pear blossom.
You listen out by the oval window, as calm waves flow onward to the horizon.
Her wrists shine white like the frosted snow; they call each other to the south stream.
The oval window is closed in life, by the foot-piece of the stapes.
Chill shadows fall from the topmost eaves, clear waters run beside the blossoming peach.
Inside this window is the perilymph of the vestibule.
Now O now I needs must part, parting though I absent mourne.
It is a child’s toy, shaken back in myopic eddies by the slanting bridge: toxic; dangerous fire risk; bright moonlight floods the steps like a cascade of water.
Snow-blinded, we hold our breath; the echo trembles like a pinpoint, on each line of the hooded screen.
It is life at the rim of itself, in face of the brow closed to sorrow.
A pale white light from the east is shining in the window, a flowering spray in the glow of the mirror.
The internal view burns at this frame, eyes frozen by calm.
For full paralysis of accommodation, three or four drops should be instilled every fifteen minutes for one or two hours.
For the rest of your life.
Sight wherein my joys do lie on a pillow white with shade, brushed in azure along the folding screen; all day long, the red door is closed.
So: from now on too, or soon lost, the voice you hear is your own revoked, on a relative cyclical downturn imaged in latent narrow-angle glaucoma.
Yet the snow picks up and infolds, a mist of gold leaf lightly shimmers as floating clouds go back to the mountains.
It is not quite a cabin, but (in local speech) a shield, in the elbow of upland water, the sod roof almost gone but just under its scar a rough opening: it is, in first sight, the oval window.
Last light foams at this crest.
The air lock goes cold in hot sun, blue streak under lines swarming there, dung on all fours.
The blur spot on both sides gives out a low, intense hum, sharp-folded as if to a feral rafter; the field is determined by the exit window, the lens rim or stop which, imaged into image space, subtends the smallest angle at the centre.
So small here that the pin is bonelike and watched with the backflood at steep echo, in brown water clamped at vantage.
Mountains reach across the folds of the screen; green sedges line the path below cold mist yet the stone step is boiling fast.
Upon that dropping floor when hope is gone, the sky spoken like a roc’s egg in cascaded magnification, runs in and out and over: honey in snow.
The clouds are white in a pale autumn sky.
Looking at the misty paths I see this stooping figure seeming to falter, in a thick compound of adjustments, sublimed in white flakes.
Then it clears down, she turns or round her the sweet breath goes about, at midnight murmuring.
Extremities flexed and cold.
A light wind crosses the fragrant waters; deaf to reason I cup my hands, to dew-drenched apricot flowers and their livid tranquillity.
It has the merit of being seen to hurt, in her dream, and then much further on, it does.
Drawn to the window and beyond it, by the heartfelt screen of a machine tenderly lit sideways, the wish to enter the sea itself leaves snow dark as sand.
Pear blossoms drift through this garden, across the watcher’s vantage clouded by smoke from inside the hut.
Tunnel vision as she watches for his return, face and flower shining each upon the other.
So these did turn, return, advance, drawn back by doubt, put on by love.
Sort and merge, there is burning along this frame; and now before you see you must, we need its name.
It is a CNS depressant.
Endless sorrow rises from the misty waves, like a wick in the light of conscience.
Not feudal nor slave-owning but the asiatic mode as locally communal within a despotic state: the slant of imperium coming sideways “through the competitive examination (chinshih) on Confucian literature.” Either contract or fancy, each framing the other, closed in life.
A flickering lamp burns dimly at the window, ready for snuff brilliance which lights the mirror and shades the door.
Now the willows on the river are hazy like mist and the end is hazy like the meaning which bridges its frozen banks.
In the field of view a prismatic blur adds on rainbow skirts to the outer leaves.
They appropriated not the primary conditions of labour but their results; the waters of spring cross under the bridge, willow branches dip.
The denial of feudalism in China always leads to political errors, of an essentially Trotskyist order: Calm is all nature as a resting wheel.
The red candle flame shakes.
In darkness by day we must press on, giddy at the tilt of a negative crystal.
The toy is childish, almost below speech lip-read by swaying lamps.
It is not so hard to know as it is to do: wresting the screen before the eyelet lost to speech tune you blame the victim.
Pity me! These petals, crimson and pink, are cheque stubs, spilling chalk in a mist of soft azure.
At the last we want unit costs plus VAT, patient grading: made to order, made to care, poised at the nub of avid sugar soap.
Standing by the window I heard it, while waiting for the turn.
In hot light and chill air it was the crossing flow of even life, hurt in the mouth but exhausted with passion and joy.
Free to leave at either side, at the fold line found in threats like herbage, the watch is fearful and promised before.
The years jostle and burn up as a trust plasma.
Beyond help it is joy at death itself: a toy hard to bear, laughing all night.
BANDS AROUND THE THROAT.
 Fool’s Bracelet In the day park shared by advancement the waiting clients make room, for another rising bunch of lifetime disposals.
It is the next round in the sing-song by treble touches, a high start not detained by the option of a dream to pass right on through the spirit proof coming off the top.
What don’t you want, is there no true end to grief at joy, casting away deterrent hope in a spate of root filling? The upside of the song from the valley below excites lock-tremors as the crest gets the voice right by proxy, non-stick like a teflon throat.
To press on without fear of explanation, refusing the jab: Ah Curly do your day is done, The course of woe is quickly run.
Low without loss your shining heart Has nothing but the better part.
The star of swords is put upon his neck.
He falls to the ground.
Why not? It is a root and branch arrangement, giving the keys openly to a provident reversal, to net uptake.
To these Whom we resist.
To blot out a shabby record by a daze intrinsic in transit: See what is won, We have cut him down, Like the evening sun His only crown.
Don’t you think that’s enough to peel a larynx at a flotation, they say, by the stub of a tuning fork delivery.
The issue hits all-time peaks in no time at all, buy on the rumour, sell on the fact.
Only a part gives access to the rest, you get in at the floor too: And his dance is gone.
No Song No Supper Even so by open outcry across this ring a deep frost cuts up a halo of grey cinders; the night is stark cold to pay less and less And strike the hand numb with its spoiling glove, the eye sex-linked to give over by parity of first reason in the Rotunda’s even light.
For here is the display now, of inert promise like a flick-knife in milk dipping and turning to catch the offer subscribed with cloudbands, upon A gilded defacement.
To pay less and less until no third call for back light, while hurt fowls creep to their sedge and for more body the nearly new desk Invites a co-orbital issue: front delivery on a dropped cartel is the rule of this account.
Make ready the fresh bout of inshore welding and you can Relinquish at its best what cloys hardly and saves time.
Like grape-shot in a founder’s garden the bees cluster, the shrunk figure is so flattened out And so deedy by bent fingers joined for a novel immunity.
It is plain terror, sifted to wholemeal with double glazing and gracious sashcords.
What is That halo of white light doing in this hall if not to magnify small gifts, to less and less affordable invitations taken up in flue dust by single file Through the rank, frozen grass.
Clamped down by artifice in dark shadow you drop silent at green fire sprouting as a municipal thunderbolt, what goes up you Pay for, nuée ardente in safety-critical overshoot.
Un che piango, slop over slop gives harm to hurt minds and snow to their colder moods.
Thicker frost now, voices more distant, artefacts of routine behaviour like side-words on a postage stamp.
The leaves are bent double, stripped of afterglow In the petition of less for less.
At the limit the sound pins an ice halo about flaring echoes, going aside at the ring, ° in the Rotunda itself Where white roots dissemble and crack, faces set against payouts.
What you get you fear to want as the round slips down below and so and so and so And so the leaves are stiff, pleated like rippled ash-cloud and so studded with blank nipples, dormant so in unyielding, abundant gratitude.
Rates of Return Waiting to learn, learning to melt a blade of sugar in the afterlight, the patient markers set terms of allegiance by the step back, into the shade of the proof system.
It will cover more than the spread, by high yield in excess of practice.
Fear is conditioned to the signal which predicts shock, and yet novel fears presume attachment to comfort in, how you say it, ‘the home cage’.
Here then admit one at a time by sweet unremembered bounties at the door, the sights of growth from immortal seed acting like fallout on upland pastures causing restrictions on the movement of sheep.
The margin is close but easy enough, grateful as the dew on a roof line, there is no question that the child will be proof-wrapped, up to the eyes of what we fade away to gain.
Stamp Duty Said with a flourish, in the morning be merciful and by the evening take in the slack.
Said slowly on a recount of past preference, pitiful and generous as one to another’s neglect.
Under the stone a pocket, and inside that a token: dark-worded it will see you, as you thereafter, all the way, ahead.
Marzipan We poor shadows light up, again slowly now in the wasted province where colours fall and are debated through a zero coupon, the defunct tokens in a soft regard.
The line abets her tint by the fan oven whose gust sweeps the brow and for mere offence, in the bazaar where preference wrap is easily our choice, what most we want; To scrape from the heart its burning powder, a filth upon the floor.
Ah, resting alone under the shade of green willows, it is a brave sight— such unencumbered gallantry: Azure banners high in the fragrant breeze along the bank; on the ward floor the fairface was in point of fact congealed vomit.
The printed block upon a heart of its rotation.
Now red dust hangs, and fire drives the gold star into a dark vapour.
To mark out the pitch of ennui a strong sense of, well, woodsmoke in due season makes its offering: It is riddance from the duct we line, cheering of high degree, O Fortune rich in spoil, surfeit in pray.
The amends of Central Production set targets for bright-eyed fury, smash-hits Ranking the places where happy the man who knows nothing more or less.
Don’t blink, the stairs are already destroyed for thus, à livre ouvert, no screams ring.
Her corpse hangs, burned to ashes.
Tribute at the pledge of election, what wants this force of smattered work that a shopgirl cannot have? Nothing more counts but then withers for the victor who should, outright, Conciliate a broken enemy, or destroy them.
Vorsprung durch EDV, as mother knows, there is no rose, as in abandoned markets and deserted streets wheat sprouts flourish.
The pretext Of small mercies, seasonal rebate in the loose change: as though they were sieving the very soil itself! Attuned to modest airs the conductor beats time to flattened repeats.
All over The same again not held back, to ask grace at a graceless face it is our own in the glass of dark recall, seen at love all in the replay; the heartland is dug out for a life underneath In broadest, magical daylight.
You see as in late spring, shrouded in mist, the bright, smooth water.
The price is right, eau minérale naturelle from the hypermarket and thousands Of feet of glacial sand.
Ten thousand families in the mountains, starved on mountain grass: and made me eat both gravel, dirt and mud, and last of all, to gnaw my flesh and blood.
Listening to All As must, as will, intent upon this night air twice over you say too, the albedo white with shock.
So still and quiet, in deep discount at offer of itself consenting, the living day blocks its truth to the same: the sound of its own name in the byword, very still and quiet, the bond of care annulled.
Punishment Routines You scan the necklace unit by unit with a fast letter of intent, set to cancel what the habit already means.
It is rocksolid and brand loyal with a free-space Permission on the dangle as if to sway the choice of a smart new tent.
Nothing changes the will to change nothing, or in a state localised on an impurity The necklace plugs the blocked echo current and marks the spot for no comment: a dainty box of interference like a dashpot stops outflow in mean free time’s debate.
At the neckline the word you give then is padlocked by voiceprint, by neat cement on the impurity radius sweeping the lexicon as if to say eagerly, go on go on, to Take shelter by the waiting wall of money untouched by swells in the marquee.
It must be the clasp of waiting hands dipping to a flowery print at the outcast So white and tender by prediction, devoted to hope itself by which the tune nerves up the spark plugs.
Eat little and speak less, bleeding inside the mouth.
In the Pink The fixed charge is now set up in delay at unused incident by a factor of two, at each unfolded part-time request.
What is the purport then, tilting steadily again, away to provide mint tokens for our moment here in spite of the clearest call From screen to outlook? In both cases declaring from inside the fluid drains as would a voucher.
None of these arms will rise Before thus voided promptly by good consideration.
These antics unfold their natural residue and dispense no other sign.
So blind affection takes its toll, as Chinese walls are all the rage; a queasy interval will swing out in fragments like yet another Prospectus, yet more temerity for the asking on the roundabout.
At the supercharge tick off and claim, if you’ve the neck for it, The merit blend across traditional family values, which represent ‘no real sacrifice’.
Blood from this stone no safer than the common pool.
Lend a Hand Now these hurt visitors submit, learning in the brilliant retinue to be helpless by refusal, their bids by sealed tender; yet to hold allows still to seek redress and push back in common to the fence line, to be rid of the old stock.
Out in the swim the chill current defends its flow, time to go and blurt and burn and gently down the stream.
Fresh Running Water At a shout rain downs in deep blue and in novel compliance, a due date for departure triggers the odds breaking over this news in terms of life or cash.
Can you be helped to any less warranty, a fiery allegro even at par without winding up some slipped stunt.
Strike the shepherd upon your sweet life, waiting for a rib-cage in plaster as yet for ever it will seem.
Hang down ye blood-red roses, hang down; there is no call for any other run on the town.
Like a shadow of softened donation the clouds screen her eyes, the fair one at altitude, on a mirror-exchange of historic cost basis, free as air, freely rising to stare at the bypass graft list as it flaps in the breeze.
As we’re all bound to go that far, we beat our way over the bright track to the billet there.
The space between counters is empty, cased in a metal grid ye contrite hearts for to take us through; no writ runs here, apart.
With a fair wind and a glancing blank look the action-pack picks up speed from its place where to turn is harder than stone; a little tired towards the close of perfect play.
The sills are rotten but the rods are good for years and years.
At the break of day the eyes glisten with buffer salts, never look back.
The drill melts on the spree.
Prune what you like for its own sake, gentle Jack, tight as a bar across the line, to cram shut the stay of the home run in time.
Almost Lunch-Time Or, like two-shoes on a revised citation the master of these powers to afflict instantly cries up the residue, at a speed divested of charm.
You get to go Over-the-shoulder but with your ankle flexed, on and on if not right back at the start line around the chicken factory, where was a sugar and fretty.
There is no alarm at the menu of constraints as the bills mount in the pre-tax void, all our bills grinding by the dream of friendship in double running, cloud filling, The drone of faster upturn.
Fresh denials clothe the bare strip in verdure and smiles in the street.
Thus seen when said, undone by goodness not waiting, When therefore sleep and take your cut, distressed by patience: ‘it is difficult to learn to perform ethically’.
Stupidly good as a standing order the new figures Bear out the old question, as next to go with all her rings and all her show out along that road; beating their best back into bounds, the near-perfect rest.
Ein Heldenleben Not in this voice, by the leaf-nubs crowding upwards: the assent so free is taken on paramountly, you get chosen to be absent by a trainee Just thinking aloud.
It expires in spite of comforting words, more and more at the blank stare of bright haze across a cloudless drop.
Not by request Nor for a quick one, dig deeper, no hopes for them as laughs it off with a riot of colour at the border; you tell me what’s for the best and left out, again Like last time.
She glides in her napery towards the lime-pits, topped in vain by the fanning plumes above her brow.
This is the tale of a done thing, ready To be sent away now very quietly indeed, in the logic of spirit deletion, bitterness and bad blood.
Trading on pathos for term cover, the ombra step spills down Turning to stop there and pump by nature with a topic indemnity; the caravan jolts at the toll booth and is not ready, the cups and knives slip on the tray.
Under the cloth so neatly spread, upon the grass that lies ahead, we set our picnic, cream and salt: and the rest, by default.
The rest is unvoiced like a broken reed, You close your eyes to it and temper mirth with a mere minor anxiety.
What waits here is nothing to what comes next, call it the very nurseling of first care.
Detain At birth the splint picture, if you can, and don’t bargain for a sharp return.
The line-up is openly cut off and in prime time: seals of love and topped in vain.
Write-Out As a circumstantial infringement again loaned off the said apart or close by the index by ill, sand given longer marked on object in sport arranged dots: to they bet it was heat up this offer To provoke distraught readiness in uprated advice lick tantalum all but single too, as tears attack, may rest fair for the grain: a vital shred.
No part sold off cheating stroke line yourself pallid And at disposition prior to early default agreement overseen next there what’s left break bitterly in call you scatter.
If to count, the stub burnt metal lives in of a mental praise the dove slowly Sporadically by bus into the heart of the country Swallow Your Pride At work on the potash table reckoning up for a new song put one, put one, from between the fingers or at the checkout you are lost to view; just a little better making a fresh start in promise to see all these signs sit stable and by heart: so long further to go, about to part.
WORD ORDER.
 Strew sugar over the zephyrs We inserted our names would we sing out on sight and give in full the free the offer repeatedly, hit as he lay on the ground stroked no struck to put words into the mouth the truth the life and take the ethereal vapour like a chance crossing the street.
For anyone could, by way of a rope suspended just above the ground like a chance to take in full, we lost our nerve there, we were reported openly and frank.
In the wash-house we saw their faces we gathered up our belongings, we heard them and it was not in this word order, cannot be afraid.
Now it is later repeated, get to grips with the closed circle, the real world towards which we travel in purity and in truth to tell the capital is reported to be quiet.
As you knew why you took me for just as well you knew you I took, as you could hardly, with me if you offer taken for anything as I knew, you as can lay on nature deceived your friends We were bribed and bridled with all we had, in the forms of marriage close to the target, very near we held out brightly that, there is a door shut in whispered turbulence of the air flow, echo virus inversion in cardiac shadow to see over the lights of common day.
In the garden they waited to have a reason they cowered secretly they went about would you take a chance on it or take a cut, in the cavity rap her to bank: nothing of the kind to have a reason wer soll das bezahlen wait a bit, take your coat approached him in the street O you stormy, set at par a thigh on the long haul blown restless, to be worse, not abundant, not delighted in pure spirit.
Walk him along, so quick so chic, O ochre stain on the forearm, perjury and imprisonment and go only so far: carry him.
Breaking up O you stormy, the eyes vexed and airways blown round about, fill your lungs, imagine a sigh lilting through the air.
Walk him thus, O man for thy sake carry him, blurring as a rinse to lie in cold and fiery floods countless right over to the burying ground.
He took his chance first right he took no chance first at the front gate or no right chance to take to first front gate right gate right they take no front a cloudless sky They will stay there to and fro they will a cut lip they will stay to cut a lip there and they will it is natural to stay and to and fro and to stay they are offered They do not want it is natural they do not want to go to go out is natural they do not want to go out want is natural it is natural to want to want to go out at all war is natural they are underneath With shaded glass not within reach under the loose vine in this yard you must make a list, hearing the engine so far drifted, to carry across steps a whiff of new-mown hay.
And shouts from terraced gardens where the apple is bitter, also the almond; in the water these thorns come back by reflection overtly dazed with dreadful face, eyes turning back to the closed window.
A glass, one each will give a taste, to clear dust from the spoken hint or hardly a sound here; lying on the road as we shall catch splinters of mica in a hot arm, these flushes of traffic arouse more urgently.
What do you take me to give you now, too dry to trace out a snapped finger: si muore sapendo, on the reverse slope so amicably folded, watching with predictable gasps of joy.
For the attraction take away her long wait you must pay up sooner you must wait she must pay for you must take away her long awaited sooner you must her attraction must better go now There is some water in a bowl fetch it we used to go into the country they were good times for us, your Aunt Hannah the hammering is there again there was a scraping sound very slight for them all the time Soon there will be an enquiry answer each question the sprays of flowers on the wallpaper were discoloured where some rain had come through pink roses, hard to say how and what kind.
You must smile all the contributions were ready to go forward it was said later tell me about it What did he say if there is time quickly, not for nothing is there a word from her, that the word does what it’s for, quickly stand back he said, stand clear from what we saw, not in time to say, the word for it before avoid returning A new work a new song it is compliance will raise the wind as with one voice outlawed, upbraiding over every peak in value for money, unresting at a straight swap walk forward not brightly beforehand in rate fallen through, arm held up keep what is written in the book or be delivered to the sword raised like a great shout I heard two lovers talking and singing a fine song I will ramble with no scarf round my neck until no fire bright shining by the first blow fallen upon a sound reef brimming a collapsed lung in matching parts.
The beat is raised up it is ready now, to come in the instant is quite marked you would hold your breath as in the normal by listening or will you search me now not to speak in air hunger the baton round to stream soon after a peak flow ground force shield By which is under taken the less expensive cure not to know they breathe with what is now left off slit out for quiet Cut and blow dry as we shall have snow art so unkind Pinkepinke invincible who has so much a rush of wind invasive, ground cover fire down below vinca alkaloids never in the world A blow on the side of the mouth strike harder, it is important to be lyrical and joyous then again, another on the neck, how can this be done so strongly without the highest fidelity, for there is no cry, hardly as to know is to loosen, being not part of sense or by auscultation, taking the air and the force crushes up, blow upon the windpipe, next at a rush for breath for in the spine direct from the eyes holding back the parts of the soul by black thuds you know you do: had you not better with a metal spike the axis of ah, attention, no liquid, frame clipped by lapse indrawn and hit in no time or at all there is exactly to the front of this on the paper hoop as a form goes on through.
JIE BAN MI SHI HU.
 NOT-YOU.
 Truthfulness-by-silence is truthfulness, and expectation thereof is expectation of truthfulness; but expectation of truthfulness-by-silence is not yet trust.
David Lewis Love of semiconductors is not enough.
Thomas Nagel The twins blink, hands set to thread out a dipper cargo with lithium grease enhanced to break under heat stress.
Who knows what cares arise in double streaks, letting the door slip to alternative danny boy indecision.
She’ll cut one hand off to whack the other same-day retread, leaving its mark two transfiguration at femur length.
Ahead the twins consult, shade over upon shade.
Avian protection like a court plank as much as I do, the top-out fortunate conversion kit to praise what follows that rainforest, a rapid flick together on the glass excused.
Phosphor alert badges reinforce the eye of last-touch gladness with the time rate to please fifty more, non-negative liquid poly he does well at the promise line, perched snug inside.
Foaming metal sits not far in front; we march to the hatch to observe this; our confidence is end-up like a roller towel.
It’s a moralised rip-off but not obscure; everything titillates to the contrary; blandly the announcer cuts to length.
The wind howls, coast to coast bonanza; we’ll roam the proving ground and choose; nothing counts more or less furtively.
Got a pervasive overtone in decision, to reach back, maybe harmless in flight of the amount, be ready, see through what it says to be done.
They all got blood delay at the wrist insert marker, lifting a cover over black swilled albumen.
Regaining altitude next to each mouth perching, whose fluid attends to both if on the low side unfailing: there are plagues intent on this.
Also the best we took it well why not alleviate in distant party so wall to step on the car track, they don’t think he’s more casual by the hour on low heat.
Tap ribbon soil to one brush, alcove distraction issues the front pass quite slowly enough to beat one back to view that better from mimic trouble beneath.
Sure blight back, laid to a true scene for nothing charm the last delay, as never been, found dead in a bundle and struck to play on the chair entrance in: portico pay-out! creep reduction! in chiefly living dabs of sky-colour laid up in fury, with vows of returning next month to equal temper; where just one fit rises to break this impasse.
Finger prints up with scratch attack at too high for the burner, pitch to pitch aversion brook no more.
Ready sore turning, falling, so soon will clatter vivid alignment to pack varnish, get shiny cutlack portables to market art fables; refit crooked intercession in the humming base broken from the counter, lesser bolted to the floor.
The cure is won across twice, in glitter patches so cheap they thrill each bidder, staring ahead to the empty room where brightness is born and tagged; to beat the windows of the dying year’s fast turn to a faction cut-back.
Ever so smiling at this sudden real candour, what to shun of this set cure’s topmost retort: remember me: and give now over.
Life clouds so shoot up at the link shoulder to strip choice formation from its blister pack; ahead at the next corner with patent snows lit skew, take one or else two or put one back; what besides, all at bar none other, own louder to a telling flat cross: snip for paper house attack.
Her pan click elb second fix for them pencil breather park over talk at small to better or yet in hours boiling as as suit will on ban her linker By now the plank her hutter forward allowance or which slowly to disturb all must formal dry accept shot in eye rods she when until first so billet Led out by delay in effect to five this for us add both intimate or as be liken to the battery at a vivid lick marking not grated either her limb for to mine crudely dot attitude Per fluid be had to face remit why any lipping by us into or in tainted to alter that more aloud ex bond fitting the latch her lit him up as mute sap recall With an eye turning for entry, most will gather as others have, from the spicy bed of a rising vertical trust: enough to clear line to line clasp essentials, all the same to claim plus set-off, to shun this terrible cure.
Across clouded skies the current lies at crossed living abruptly, outshining the smart pulse in its sheltered prospect, not like shoes and food in a clamour of spent cases by rounding up to the last place defence.
Each says the same, applying to take out of this bruised event the frame of provoked aversion.
Ablative child care bleeds tonight! No grip frightens the one falling by mild derision, the acts have been performed in mimic troop tint delay affront, there is no default position at true discount up to innumerably more.
Stop the boat with a plug for floatation; the mothers assemble at the sorting office, provably liquid he says in pro tanto extinction.
Blind transfer goes ahead willingly, no fear tripping the snug instep to a price floor, gentle planets counting, rates mounting, winding up to replace a slipped bracelet.
Thus in mutual fond delay the day advances, yawning astragal with due race to provision beyond the fixed mark of break-out liable detachment, laid apart.
From whose seed spread out bend and cut, in the field, in far rows sideways parting with the left hand, in plane or out over, the movement of a deep-shaded allocation: but grind at the back, to the root, of one child in the profile sombre to black where section presides willingly, so they go to bend with the overt sway of a little dust marked by cloud now invisible in the furious storm.
Their catch-up is slow and careful to limit levels in thick shade fallen there but untouched yet by the hot slants which fade Both coming and going.
On a stair or quickly the defined several inlays make a breath of so much ascent, in mind.
If he cuts by hand he’ll make it last in the strips of best-butter light, out to view speedy turns in the spoke, shave drawn fine & thin on the dish.
Receive the planet As a flat offer, we are bid for the gilt rim on a supper tray; not half by choice the flush deepens to ingot words under killed steel, still curved at a glance.
Adversely so far, so and slight to salute the brow given, this once beaten frame will permit next to now some indrawn spine, in due allowance.
Match on less for the doorway, void of light and even trapped excess.
The water date goes down ahead I’d go as who knows into the back, going there fast: later not eating why not, bit by well next bite, cell tape.
So still ready where the mode-play was, so by the make good flyer.
Bear with them across some river dot, make strange faction lines here, exactly in proof.
As will go to stay back, to tell of a cut-out hand which well and hardly long in this, laying the band of colour marks, no thought can swell a fear to rise up to early missing parts inturning as with new eyes.
Lights go forward to flight assessment checks up to roof limit, will rake up the card for new scores in anti-trust recital.
A timid start for integer placing, spurred on by incessant false alerts at re-entry: diagnose and record at the same overlay.
So to stay calm as milk solids in defect control amendment, all told at the front-line arbour of dainty devices, as then: Abend ist im alten Garten geworden.
Into this space while not grubbing down to anything like a spruce vacancy the machine will refuse its second shift, fancy flaring a neck turn.
At both target detours for watch action the clip snags at the ferrule, plant by second plant.
What’s predated to draw out of these lungs? Lank places ready numb or to touch at a cute burr segment, able grains prevail in their bonus tear-off coupon.
His cash desk implant leaves a scar, at actual size past reason’s deposit tremble on peak travel location: get it dealt, like rennet on the vital rack there.
Based on new-for-old organ barrage, alder without heart or young cheese without bone, the deal cramp holds out as per topic incentive, mostly extra.
Count this black loan-ahead half ready to melt at best: ‘peacock in a rainstorm at night.’ Marking up assertion’s vapour why don’t they gain back anyway, in belligerent cover plan to tall command; front load later added better to sour rack division.
That’s to sell out attainment washes at silver top debate, curtly in set-aside bit, bit, soon to beam this family in main display.
Few laps ring the order teeming with order ranking, though sad at critical flow to re-map a soft verge.
Muster slick after her tabular blanket retrial, right on the leaning edge to put by the same-day device: the additive boiling tone he likes we scare inside to dock there next time.
Indexation isn’t declared yet.
They push away avoidance details in block action while lucky to spare redress.
Avid crow circle does back profuse tumbler item link-up.
Her hymnal by the bed, his sheltered housing she shielded, he heating the water base, often clouded to apply bilateral fabric on a stand; or either party at pitch aloof.
We do weld, the seam holding sun flakes scatters discussion forward only roused, alert dissent to mob happy go ahead field beyond field or by this new layer top.
Condemn this song, high toned rate flags and streamers, to lie down; not yet rising star now clean slain to spare either, for darkness shades the witless question in the count-ahead breastwork.
No acts rot more slowly in memory, nodding as will rebut mere arching fate: to know it is truth and take in air’s cure, causing the forest to fail softly by watching leaves turn.
In this room by the dear one, by too clear for life inside the door, make the wall go mutely close.
Sold down, must upon the tag rising, slanting, will it not be near the table there.
Ever to call nothing quiet, attentive to know where shade takes room for this, for that.
So full of open sets why not say, leave the side to suit no less either than just bearing.
HER WEASELS WILD RETURNING.
 The Stony Heart of Her At leisure for losing outward in a glazed toplight bringing milk in, another fire and pragma cape upon them both; they’ll give driven to marching with wild fiery streaks able.
Will either sermon sift over, down with his line, ripped away on a plain deception: nothing to save on this boiling turn.
For even I speak to her the sun was lowered, at bulk modified by excluded point failure, did ever she know it, saving the infant a place ahead by her mission grab to repair both.
For the escape drill blanks, in teeth of surmised streamers in white, valeur aux ténèbres.
How much would be visible to set up a fish wire, meat in his face as a fire clay marker.
Dash out the very first answer fast, see here she hears the assay debenture, her peak sail crowds white under.
Slow parting with a crack.
Light distracted from its vent holding will so grace a line blunted, she said: for all of it miss a rock indifferently.
Overt play over tints hardly the brackish surplus, where else to be more careful yet with my blood still.
Save whom in fancy sent away, both will do if as by choice made ready by vocals.
Now washing the front place quickly, speak to her: on tap here, here, here.
What She Saw There Alter as yet not anguish, choice unwaxed they will begin the prospectus here, in the overload bay at a stretch giving fresh two.
What did she hear, neither fully approaching there ever towards the rally diminished.
Adroit lowered counts minding, grown elusive in a split bill, is that it even.
They run a bind forward if touched to pass pass a trail of cut assets, and a new skill gazette in alleviation.
To the furnace awake enhanced, what did she really see, under donated in the dwell back, allowing ever for another not yet primed.
Each of them puts the list up, at perfection’s stoop and the green is excessive for a slide in brief.
That’s the evaporated cruise line advancing by novice assent availing ready, intervals which even strike the blaze they overlook at will.
Aviators may join this fork out cheaply and livid on a par with grades of bliss settled, what for her was it exactly, how matched to a head.
They get grateful over by harsh guess-work, no other time offends this.
È giorno fatto.
What then did she hear, what did she see, what brittle for her was it exactly, at the price she paid.
Then So Much She Did On the fade still branching to fall, is her reflex nearer to take it, in a coffered doorway: for a moment at feed cramp there, only for issue.
As a curtain in blue rises with tampered billows gone over, listen out, spending targets thin and browned, for narrow narrow it advances a break in acceptance, then back.
Had better fit a new minimum for asking as seen almost clearly, you say too random fairly.
You say I do less: then back.
Middle ground decisive request stop to fall, quietly does its inner part.
And if I knew I’d say I would, level off at the light spin of a radiance was it, over to rational earshot.
Attack the loop bravely, momently in a good heart first, partial not later.
Synoptic.
If I still caught the view does she know it is seen, how other like made adhesive upon a clouded aspect.
Fresh legions get on reader docking, on to a limb following the now often dazed declensions apart.
Her reflex nearer still, gapes where in free.
No sound issues for a pass key to the frame, alleging mutation for a start astounded here.
Infer this override by the park signal, hers for sure true, out of all mind lesions finely displayed she takes out an age entire.
Black around, eye level set to see the line fed through, fruit on its matching tree.
To say so only: she, she, she, and only she: then nearly back.
Attending Her Aggregate, Detour Service also reformed to a bench position, tended evenly through oat refringence, why does it shake at a done-out tabular entry; can’t she see the self difference or is it not set in pure gum for a notebook.
Sedge emptied says to go round, burning an old dish with its alkyl spectrum announced on a late pandemic.
Pick your own cell for mean further.
All granted, old meat on a dish.
Her step pervades the slashed shelf life here to utter startled bleeding, that can’t be right, loaded entry starvation gives over at last these new particulate verticals.
Dispensing their washed inserts, seldom, often, frankly.
Ask for less, averting trembled fermentation, won’t you believe the upper planar necessity of the whole device.
The thing put on there.
Even steadily shocked by the glass screen, the detriment agrees all such novel flows on impulse.
In a tumbler, almost now on edge seen to fly, won’t she notice for a blank advice coming back; infusing the plant left off.
Tell him a top limit assigned.
Automatic reflux bars the open spot too near, not closed, hardly marked.
The clause I give, sweet vernal abscission, don’t take on so.
Abandon, abundant, level late-kerb majority at glowing temper.
Really hers.
Track now into a vivid parchment stub, its since belated yet flight call torn out by inversion.
Go with us, and all the haunt be ours to the premium ground turn allowed.
Well Enough in Her Riding After So far the slope drifts in, often it does.
Furnishing a new track or late to consult, all by the way brought together, a trial to go on.
Be gentle be just, afoot trim postal refinements, trim ducting on a wave.
Your life chances this too, goes openly to let her simply reveal time after time found; the little pieces of the whole body invented as lucid driftwork.
We’ll consent, won’t that firm up the same border edging, to recoup a simmer often less for you, freehand real and forgetful.
Heart so far the wrist will melt, of morning light impending: no safe place or for my head than held, inside the fold the foot rest in blue.
Attain life blood, unblamed by the trail following out her candour there; she’ll take access across fixed eye jolts worn.
Will you walk on the path so farfetched and reached away in bantered coeval motion, calmly surprising and abrupt.
Was it to reclaim this profile, was it in form supplied to voice precision; why would she next disclaim or stray back, at least below step-wise exchange in tread over.
Go for this slope you know, is it fluent to a gaze; simple incision tags collect for slips and lapping arms, or a breezy hint slowly felt light.
Dart laps French too.
Even to place the voice at fresh extent won’t yet fill assignment, never so far pitched to gear up or write favour down.
Openly She Counts in the Same By now flit to fled, put your hand across he said to a file taking intimate convulsion; level at the throat of nearly glad rages, a gully retired.
Isn’t a fast grazing stop as stupefied anyway, to split the list between field trips.
What is this void now bled from.
Her look attracts the hour to wait, how not to take back obdurate gap outflow or in a similar tied division; she plays thus longer a thoracic sink in fine array.
Not come out to stay, whoever looks into the camera goes for nothing so-called when I bite the stone, you’d watch the yield instead.
Otherwise mingle within the river scene, soon dark enough she won’t stand for as did we laugh now, in order alla breve got together plied.
Speak what, don’t look, the fresh gate repeals instantly the sound within.
Exit the bloodyoung watchers: yourself alone.
Even so willing to lag half back from revised shots, what try as they might is hard to come by in slow recall.
The voices bell on the spur, heard clear in front, go as we must.
In avid incident no more but the brim fills right up to make a dash outward; to run this at a novel snip for all found.
Sight unseen you lead, tied to the band in short repeats as for ever and ever bright-eyed, abraded by tick link succession in demand restored.
That Now She Knows Who with he’ll say climbing, to let blood slit imposed at a turret elevation to buffer high return.
I saw her wings in speedy strip like a shadow in the sand or in growth like natural reason, her heart so vast as justly to make cause with the fiery fountain sealed on track right across terra nullius overhead.
I knew that, she made me see the light level cracking along her trebled skyline: I held my view.
Blizzard loyal transgenic pulsation she’ll take both up to a dish off the bone dropping away to a strut canopy, eyes blue on blue aptitude so sweet.
I knew that.
Evenly spaced night flares restore format, leaked to mounting offshore redemptions; alive droning above tumbled cloud for my soft convergence, mine only, only mine.
Only too small to hold its blood within her option wrappers that stake out, spilled through leaves.
Light of unclosed life comes back, true beyond p/e overturning upfront foliar feeds here, its sherbet nectary.
This is now a neat equator or its departure lounge, she closely runs as animals will breathe out, he grasping at critical backflow fade.
Please delete, don’t sleep yet, not too sure to get shot through upstream.
I know that what you set under a minded shade tree is hit by first debate and the air locks in, at a dab rack roaming the field.
FOR THE MONOGRAM.
 Why should the dog ever be displeased spontaneously? Leibniz, Theodicy, intro.
by Austin Farrer.
 At a point tunes beating and striking the plate for sylvatic break and drop there not so sunken away as in stay-put agreement; set off put off these crowds no free sky conversely.
Will you jag up the tippet over a new bow thrown down if for implored at five apace, floating across bars in black? In green flash scraping ionic burn? Why ever not they split a tooth and spoil quickly by ricochet and fine tremor’s lull, singing and dying along the shore of the loud-roaring season: he’ll position his best eye at the planet boy too little, in three days notice of man too fat.
Floating star, even up the score of a radial plot and maze over or spoken by the sad sea ways.
Afloat oblique and limping at this the monocline in agreement for interrupted wings, nodding thistle to melancholy orchid.
To follow through long-glow deportment newly eases a step-up bond for the break, the scheme of a pure sensible outline: they were poorer then hovering in undue compulsion.
Acceptance flumen goes over, flares up to order salt margin by a crass horizon in gripped undulation live for ever.
Or revise now this vitreous floating star at dusk, a spark seeming and sinking tints walking in silent patched-up collateral delay.
More than ever saving a grace, singing and dying to frequent and haunt the river from its own wreck in shadow play they too are hunted down in plate-sunk detachment, star-burst or cluster pointing, dearest agile daybreak.
Strip the slope order back to a red glow now piercing each other’s view, flicking the escape lever as yet contriving legation in cloud mass not yet known.
Select an object with no predecessors.
Clip off its roots, reset to zero and remove its arrows.
At each repeat decrement the loop to an update count for all successors of the removed object ranking the loop body at next successor to the array stack.
Count back up left and right scan, test for insert loops using as sentinel pair.
Such as of figures in space, if (set if true) a product goto top list, an object otherwise (if else) remaining the same.
As a quantum (put > zero) parse to occupy inner sense more by recursion count to null, and reset.
Match for error to run output and restrict condition if at one then also next.
There is a bright blue light flashing over the exit plaque.
Connect atonal floats via path initial to hydrated silica screen occlusion ice batched out and bent through diode logic gates.
Anxious wittance prevailing to fly up and over through clean air at our heat level, so set out in void attracted all nosing down then under the avid folds previously so tempered.
Sparkle raids cannot give the upsurge rate out to them either way binaural cross average: centre contour get to list their mission plates hardly tamped down yet.
Neither aligns field entry to the other cage or swoop to jewel furnace craquelure, rat out rat in on the leading front pronounced ration pack.
For what, big dipper in a flat meadow gleaming at ruby emission fringe gates, line skip, line flap, out.
Sound absconding by intervals in pacific entertainment as dipped nose to tail on either wing, under both tips.
Never do better at closer fit, tense later type to burn attire, even so the sensual margin now brindled up and black.
Both ponder mercy.
Overt crushing across the temple ridge aggregate does this.
Both spin for better placement finding to keep true, do the same aberrance over silky puff treatment, resection spared out to partner a gentile tarmac.
Is that enough lasting for them both.
You know lactation counts up to just this, sorted fashion cribs.
Ponder arc setting and filter span the vapour test, merciful.
Did then either one returning strident and hermetic afforded cutting back on flagrant unction, perfect webbing haul to climb into burial clouds.
Remit a blench for exotic oil slicing to breech the term in sub-anvil strokes evenly trading life blows, condign too strong all over, through to seed denial you traced it out by a creamy top-down suture.
Your merchant heartening progresses to fulminant offertory and lags fur.
For cycle down lower done to tire and as digest a sub-topical premium, crux departure you take pieces with sliding fury away pallid and broken together on cue.
Not by nothing too quickly at the far end asserting so few, so due to enhance giving the payment foiling, away to site them little aggrieved.
Phantom tribute in blue device never blaring yet on this wave selected for thin throughout passover rack by foible inserts, did clamour avail its slotted crown.
Did one breech up, furl down top to wonder blank or pretty to its far affected double pontiff hilted dab in severance divot.
For the region combed out by fortune ripping the nail bank it touched, further limit panic defies behest.
Were the colours beat over for prime sodden hulks yet too thinly losing ground.
Brisket world animation come out to flay runtime take further as for them for him in novel good form other notice all allowed tufts of any hot white dispersion; promote your charm in silver salt brisance.
Stars fading to clement destroyed fixture to show them up milky too mindful cry to clamping hue, arraign set niche by a ripped fulsome sensor.
Clip act out out to show weft of profile in whitened detaching, brain peeler now set on coals out to show at a fork.
For the quick alight cut thirty-eight touching on each position and peel back this vivid failed bruise, baleful to scale and burning.
You got scarlet out to show it in the toy-pack acerbic notation, in less significant to hands off warning come out for out now long and easy bleed pastime, henceforth to show round a bone stricture flaunted out and peeled easily off from these shores.
Tuck up tawdry attraction for the follow broken air to separate yield and distort along the floor, moving flood in a pure scheme they have but them selves alone flutter drain orphans in ultra wrong unit time set.
Either dies young or lives (almost) for ever trailing blab across some bad sequence of strides, seeking trim animal redress.
For lifted maternal protection slurping canny on a bundle at just one table in the entire universe, for him now governed lazy just one it counts viewless torn lip chained.
All possible out rankings flunk my presents in ever hopeless profusion scattered grandly on sea-bed panegyric stipple.
Brother set in both limbs dismissed a tort factor of age craning forward to counter stream cycle proof, invests its hatch cover by orphan fragments reverting to current seed.
Aiming always at united residue stifles down in pairs to misfit nutrition you saw it splicing its cuff under constant erasure, cutting out the bottom dish.
You could tell on a slant for once; in the leaves of a shallow tree pure variant figures in slurry pits assembled in florid hot parlance.
An affection is a kind of natural fruitfulness arranged round a core of the powers in exhaust signature of the mind.
Gather close together at the finish line-up.
Spoiled kin propellant you heard the marching on chain of edges glance solo to force, setting out brain fruit, quince trapping.
Cheeks plunder a sealed throat gape losing tone at multiple asters out to show willing and process each destruction; sorrow blunts link maps as pressed candles require a first fire come right out to show to climb down in space trial bondage.
By sorrow or swallow the catch nominates the figure in throat clay famished below canopy stirring, track perfused to one on the yellow who docks a time base enter green mourning tents in burned faces arms and bodies charred resembling the bright backs gripping and bending, to weep there.
Insensate quick bites stitch up their jackets of broken felt, insoles flaring like naphtha prints that lean out and lure a part linked batch to its chain of arrival by flensing demur.
Now shatter later integument so close to murmur fierce pitches afflicted in canopic fit over to show them, a feather touch batting by the lash for iteration; slip the wedge in future counsel sent later to bolt deterrence, cling at a verdict rush impure for famous eclectic margins sinking beside full-up respite tongues in the morning estuary.
The lantern flavour of a fillet to indifference will amend the first crowd skipping its temper, of imperfect duty maimed on impulse: rebuke no qualm across water turning upon its swell.
Acids you boil up must each condone the jaw’s lexis at lip tugging fury, fuming over, the same all over.
The now livid face of a captured city centre immersed in colorants setting no mercy alight or meddled even up ahead with pity they struck through, why bother a sweet toned fatuous disgrace.
This crystal grist size must be reproducible at will, for dark pyro clasping instant rallies under wave shaping, dear heart dear next lung perforated syllable count in wasted toil a rain of ruin from the air traffic retort.
At such relic bare outline of captured cities take one want another to counter search the sea for gain in deception.
Prior guesswork loses the things in your power by broken reach in seeking to verify the check-out lag at the till.
Glow to offence rating, narrow axis tapers into counting lucky hits, rueful charge card assent.
Bored with fraud rowdy crowds flip coin exchange macaronics like polar bear packs propped on the escalator, freak anoraks heating up with hormone replacement hints.
Roll over to the cheat show of mirror facings, costed mini cheddar countenance alert losing face show in face of the city step-out and porch rictus.
Rapid shaped by convergent explosive lenses today’s gridlock flicks out a fan trailing its tension wave right over sure bets in equal measure, shadows in concrete out to the nth generation.
Fun first fun rest set as best fit extracts from its smallest free block.
Whose lenient foam inlet now passes through innervation, check one the grating etched with a prism of gaps, check two parching with myrrh and black smoke swirling in rapt successor logic.
First try on the ground Gilead to Nablus high and dry balsam matrix by how they bleed, distal cuts raging in the street; at rational cruelty in a storage loop mining with listless brio their never ceded blame, of ‘harmonious gentleness’ intact.
The grid flicks like blind beasts all in hot glory turbid and groaning, a non-trivial path from the vertex back to itself delimits a merciful injunction, that he places pity among vices.
Frontal defect control by reverse codes legal to read a predicate, adherent bondage by key choice stops at nothing under vast madder clouds that roll across the sky in front, mounting to frame the mouth of a clinical denouement sunk far past its frolic.
Or yet by good grief outward one way ought as ready to shine in the code meltcast herbs of grace that swerve under the blade pass, the air flap icing at sunrise, at right and left flick.
In the dim gray light monoglot by implosion jarring blips across the tilted umbral cone they will force their seed for the ocean bed and adopt strike point rip barrens swept barley, silver fennel, the sea streaked red with flickering lights no issue; in transient blue arcs floating and framed at suture lines ribbing the ocular lens.
Fissile drag under gang profile, all brows raised at surround inhibition of the tonic yellow signal; the arrays lie packed in a dark light defect of strictness set to a little head or button: patterns matching the surveillance shape in bright shadow under wing chalking the egg yolk cartoon.
RED D GYPSUM.
 The volatility smile is not symmetrical.
— Lillian Chew Now trek inter-plate reversion to earth buy out as waters buried or get carrier up ready put across gypsum branch effaced, as root planed for don’t now look to demand new birds in talent from turf stripped to fibre.
Rip brace out here on the fringe reckless bestowing taint by the mart chosen, tamper nickel token lunge to bite you may cover down over, a flawless glucose shimmered sky.
Liver brack shock already distorted too overt patch for easing back resumed admission, connivent placing take-up, path will either way contend en face its divisible burden of stab-rufous scale.
One slams the other to close out neap tide ceramics, its stint happy hit on meads week after simple week resurge running a hot risk counter versed bid up to the fence and stop evenly foremost departed linkage.
Did you light furtive aggregate late-flow samples to peter out frozen turns almost dive back cloven slate, nearly slow now.
Lastly lit well did you, not yet waiting over, visibly knowing ahead blank parts zinc plates yours.
Thermal in latch fluid image blurs selector forks, aspect sweet would my do its wash and round lower lower still to steps grounded for all rejoinders to miss so new a weave.
Sweeten to black taper against reverse vesper mordants thinning to fur and fur relinquish, cap to bright oak pause riding up and over tannic steep slants by far fetched blazing their links.
Accredit late cut dazing underside selvage obscure, peltate divided refound as for holding both cover traps, their links sub-ferrous attracted to wind down: yet plumage in sport remix will slacken by quirks of wooden converse chimeric or later.
Avail what would clamour so late.
Three trammel birds cut-out flat in fury department, have entered denied for terror fallen off the track directly smeared, bilobar hand signals way marking, so giving way over to see the bones in his fingers frothing clapped up at eye to eye birth intervals.
Their three gaps gefangen across the doorway, soaking up iron occupant sights for a level palate, hit fresh on a low set at the back.
As for soda glass too, new tabby proof sniffing over for tabby go down, secret mascot draggles a coat open-cast at dark bleaches for favour to lift out prolific partition in trio.
Concede a blink beyond supper to turn, go down, flat loading incisive sparks left on uppermost below cover to last.
All in front out of reach to outlive frequently, why not enhancing each new red glow in the round for water features.
Truck out black, blue shaken front by a twig blurred, in allowance they all said, on the path.
All ready to lack nothing for a time latent, downy carbon rule attesting, divergent on part-opened flurry pack pressed to bank heat sunk, torn.
Trailing up for darker wads over red you said fast, green for soon seen marking wet leafy left bruise.
Yet half openly brick by block there up, never startled by abrasion.
Unwinding zinc yellow for the reform purchase mishap chased through in cross links snipped, parian debate set back to winter timing.
Maroon pyrite will label the delta quilt decurrent, liking a flame in court, a flashed partner lifted still on still.
Harsh still at a key seedling tray, every striation laps pat to it and flickers silk latin salad flourish.
The black scar shadows overhang for lintel grips on the sash cement.
It slants back now, across the field, cladded over its adverse retentive slipper feeding.
The ruts declare for air for stolon rising, donated in a handshake.
Its bark declining splits up a magnate loosely tied to broach and remonstrate.
Deal first arch and fair as wheat leaves last, loping across broken furrows; all three enter now, adding raked brow to brow and yield in seed rated this way, arrow to hit up transfer lake.
Leaf paris green strikes a vein in the room dropped beneath attention rode out fume trusted with layers, run over in winded plaster cuts split from below.
Evenly screened out of line wavers no less, touch or miss on the water black.
Further notice no test points to follow after tacitly.
Blaze the way first, on tack at base pair, the seen front sets foot down by altered burning friable stubble already coerced.
How near the underflow locks out to a hot prism bolus shading off massive indigo precedent come in attaching zero quip markers, over raised D flash on its matt red square.
Only counting these topcutting fine on edge or be may after, tripod shine at filet gaps in your mazes, your larder.
Frequent gave them all, ready on tap radial.
Three on deck oblique partition revoked adverse germination tint.
Omission park to pack, sweet water pluck sweet wood may dent fortune’s cavity to lie low or insert the crafted picnic trocar: too hot to grasp a spindle linking the bank.
Silent pads slide to the front, merely insinuate afresh these alarm touches, lees in rack.
Tame steaming flip ataraxy debates on rewind panurge, hot gluten never so picky, get resoled on redemption.
Greeting announcers touch up the fender hardly, poorly provided in benison.
Shortly delude berries in a pot.
Their neat clearance will burn up contorted, have attended to furnish pelted right out agreement details, blue sky chancers want to peer out on offer.
Slower now, striated bark trails each furrow observance, brave fresh ice.
Sending away step-cuts, sorting ends of a rail.
At the far turn go round disproof honest disparage milk partitur fading where new lignin quite cross-links in evidence clearly.
On the march.
Simmer down your almost last arrivals rendered like lard, leaf from stem reversion.
Will she finger the flute, cold and wet, breathing on through it but making no fit sound.
What makes a small fad mark on the paper, as a reminder.
Not like last time parch and drain a zodiac, undaunted here: take the folded cloth in both hands, put it square on, notice a ring just touching against the horizon and emptied out flat.
The bark running with sperm, fierce fox-cry repeated, now receding across a trail of scouring must.
Flouted and back over, assault prime screening flipped, iron par resentment.
No charge, no hit.
Infer from silence a fire burning steroid scrim, corrupted interview one by wasted one to outrun narrowly the starter pack.
By the brim tip macabre and violent fast stertor browsed with teeth upraised in root channel, lucky dip to rot.
Temper casting promotes kenotic revamp cross to plant latifundia at a division line, to cap his flask and swerve past gaps for wind and storm.
To smash this hazard beam with yellow lights returning, snooping up agaric bulbs under long wind throw, sonic revision screaming echoes: avulsed by slung jollops in fear of hardship overshot cascade soral membrane, xylem star retes up in flames licked under, crepitate the knock racket fumigant spar.
Address report under foot.
Do the best one first.
Get quick subterfuge for the arm bent back, incessantly three-stanza barking magnified, by its tuft insertion.
Attrapment bezels stir up the current fissure relented to a chimney of yellow powder.
No more no little part in heat as a chromal flicker trace, scalded chrysothrix relief targets fusiform go to the front.
No time now like no time’s double, two-way lignin threads coalesce.
Failing pasture water mallows mostly override a view in parted stipules by allowance freshly done.
Flow flow my phloem dear ones, fibre life thickens limpid blue aglets to mind your step or stop to look notable avernus lee-side of a post.
Mydriatic gaping hollow lenting, anting parox retorsed, quiet now.
Quite noble strictures consent evenly on to a laced margin set-up giving over, swooning to catch and suck under and feed.
They were astute and dumb, voiceless fixed next to the platinum link; cast-off on impulse.
Set up for crack by its relaxed poultice scarce muted and taking grip on a diamanté kaolin dish.
Bark to excited flood in facile ketone derivatives will instigate regraded bond preening: wound up and down on a glassy slide.
In full view of the reaction process they were instructed to say nothing, which with one accord truly they did.
Ambulant blades of water so confer tactic by hurried example, to see sink low digression; on tap instinct the flake splinters.
It’s by occlusive ferment along a series plump to take back subdural tented endowment, canting in singular gradual rebuff.
Moulded pier glass pits odds to enough revetment, light clicks.
Without fuss or thickness playing over a hedged future, links make a tight bumpy ride duly sliced up on account.
Thick-bloomed damson clouds search out a proper vestige of creatine reduction, for the print footing hereabouts made over at the margin.
Slow hiding branches crop up Broca’s lumen aquatint pilfer to reach assent.
Newly marine devices glimmer at a bark scripture advented dyestuff.
Heat-set intaglio dermis marks repartition, step by step on the line of least indenture, leached to encrypt, then decompose, then subjugate its planet.
Wave guidance allows three, hitherto.
Sounded out bare of stanza tread, allowance padded, each will they bind up cramp adverts, their clammy elbows.
So ever so evenly the lapse conforms to its pallor minding a view of two rising, limit to three; for then lesser salutes in darker relief to contour abstaining review.
You know the outcome so to say, saddled with a choice few, ready to mount the display hinting at fitful repartee.
You bring and tide over, produce elision’s disparate reversion to wet climbing by a crook intern, backed to relish affirming deterrence.
Flashing remix over its wing circles will pinion stacks over plaster, blue sticker branded for both took parting.
Shook to gain what both heard, aside from pennants stripping tinker phantom bark entries, baying red gape stilbite intruded awakened to leaf right through a fully shattered book.
Terry mouth lint reckon to soft pulse more sprited and gashed, open often and kelpy patter spavin up embroil week by month, temple process destroyed top batter in large.
Attach this.
Lay down.
No melting Irish butter glib Kerry titles weapon bright.
Hold encaustic nerve station vulpine night screaming out in a trigger spinal location; the first keel regains each set-up spasm coyly displayed, hot to re-ignite.
The servitors heard them clink, alto branches on stream to mind three at a time.
Snake roots break their chain in fighting harvest, pushing up, hillsides arch and worry off their rug, in clouds of gonad dust.
They got seed broken, close on breeding uproar, now dark shades clatter force them down to simmer under foot.
Thirst replays triple throated scan for gaps, entry and pallet flicks deeper going down, root burning.
Bribing their locks.
Flaw on the ground too many grappled fruiting body assets quilted there, echoes of milky cash-in plushy arrived for grand style averted, do it.
All then seen all saw notice tucked in too, clawing grass hot air denied assertions whoever said no less granted newly agreed to scale.
Second time refused they said advised insidious soft lighting replay, tracker funding holds its losses under grassy slopes preening the time of day.
We’ll mark them out, bees drumming.
Many times over the odds of engagement.
Front match slides in tight, to admit a little air now, lofty throating.
Frequent lick demeanours scented, stop to stare glossy particles foramen greeny blue and contracted.
Fold to bank on its ridges spurning ink pressure we see the quick look flare at a touch.
Swallow habit permits both marks along level warm traces by section detents alluded.
Further thin severance comes around to the side access where the mount attracts air blasting cherty membrane omits to pass insidious album they sweep, down bracket heels dug.
Tonic D plate infuses to count both ways and tingle olive prime shelving touch limit.
Overreach melted casework, your snare drum.
Red plate to red snapper filament, to lowered bents all brushed; every day who declare safe browsing crimson to dark flak.
Top-work the frame to chalk white yet against less clear tremolo flotation, sudden demerged racing downsize nutrient plume to risk appetite so born at here D plate mirror swap pleas can never shine; depleted words all light and gladed in picket fault back flattened silently.
Crimpen interfold your spectral yellow, taunted now slippery bright, red gully regained through the wood rewound in felt.
Surmounted forcing whole blood parity set lichen set ikon remit from indented bare bark detour press over subrepted to mute, vocal folds glowing deep unwinding did they forage out reparted sound shift, closing did the canted ferox inter-vocalic tissue.
Vivid strips of tree bark circle the room its introit fading flood across broken sky reflexed, repelled threads mercuric took bounds remontant to grasp out along its line.
PEARLS THAT WERE.
 Over the ferny leaf-blades lying close to the bank and now deeper green from the dry weather a network of bright gossamer threads, woven close together and catching the slant evening sun so as to shimmer with a soft, trembling brilliancy; we both remarked on it ...
On the blush cheek making, to one making to the one, a stealing tear, of blushing as every age betrays the sight, alone.
By light, ask and mellow reflected then show to hope again doubt yet believing, request the lost, the blush to shine.
Concerns starting bright and oft soft yielding, blush shining, charm to hand, around the wound her finest charm glowing.
So Orpheus tamed the wild beasts for long night comes down moving naked, over the wound, the gem from the crown.
Slick film so crested in white reward its part look, part tamper by stilted welcome to burnish its side at a blush, in singled halter.
Yellow on black mineral for a twitter bar to wing, flight to span up snowblink through lime glass appearing, must not be loaded hot.
Let in the water, dazzled in their eyes, aroused to cry at either turn or fledge past the slipper line of days that run, that are so soon.
Siskin in flocks, arab takeaway larder won’t despise what can’t be told: tie fast to fix up a ragged flag, further for brokered news, new for old.
.g.
fibre in milk, we needed to know that so quickly for the sake of ribbons and fairings and the beasts so bonny.
White matter tracts lying deep down under the code line, clicking on rapid access to a faulted angle dogged, scalene, lacking.
The sense of not feeling nor making a hit at the beak, the beak of a crow dark-favoured in passion, now alert for his pick Will crest up to miss out the bollard, stepping, stepping so brightly, like eyelids over grit they trembled in lofty slips, twice nightly.
To swell up so long, this time indwelling in clouds going to flowers, in order routine adjunct and smother the meaner grace, below us.
All tangled in her hair’s next affright or mantled in burning, new scan over tumults intently, Afric storm scant in hood to undergo.
Ascorbic detail in this they ride partly overlooked prior to attitude stormy, defensive shrouding, in a hunt for pitched cornice revealed.
Too single! caress fronds as to liberate race hatred’s package tour whose every touch, kiss the rising hand will too bleach-whiten yours.
Shine ahead, cold star like music on the water in the wake of remission from near, from far.
Take beauty’s injunction as pledge for the chain that binds up the open scatter sprinkled in chill rain.
None so costly, none so clear accepted on account of pliant, client deception to tarnish a fear.
And rise up to vocal induration, lulled into fresh calm by motionless, undistracted insult to charm.
Catch as catch can, attempted dry loan will fly as yet she’ll call, high and low over wave-like slanted conversation to set a line, to entail and forego Her shadow in channel as were so causing a test of infringement, pressing up a case to answer while never sleeping or leave a stain within the cup.
Causing the charm, the pause never so alertly held abeyantly to flood entire its moderate premium diving like a crashed star in salt water, outbroken fire.
Nothing more, not much less: take out the first and last, the waves still recoiling their crested and turbid confusions as evenly, as mostly they will.
Lobster-orange, shag in parvo.
Peaceful/ pushful kid wants it better, wants sex not fish upfront as well in touch.
Spring peaks red-inked, blissful dogged doggerel at joint screaming with rind orange blind-gut Dangle by bad phantoms sparking strictly: new lady prowler in profile.
Rienzi in fancy stabs out splatter-blot scenic spot, egg picnic no.
: nose into cream bridge, singalong crowding round m —Jesus! traitor cow-juice, we slurped that Next, chairs All are, tables.
Missing fast accumulator quite sheer, logic but not how gated over and awash the bird gallery paired up on the stop flit out in cloud sleepers so-called at gap charge given back so to horizontal, floating levity of design– all too now part sighing, fog flags enter here pipit on the roof speaks the skilled terrace by some wheel barely turning.
Sent out to tender, taken into first-round care distinct in passion’s ornament, some star of unction, redressed in motion tops the brow along the front.
Under four-part arachnoid invitation of songs riven with fresh sound, the green leaves grew all around the window, sweet and completely around.
In green return, in demented tribunal as withies flourish and divide for eggs in bold type, eggs still not sold so laid in earth to mark a void.
Spare ribs, new knees, trash from the pitch at fresh-cut vocal submission to diagram all the working matches joined up in verdant rejection.
Hope for help in the gallery all in yellow, all in yellow, skimming to ride, milk inside all in yellow, all in yellow.
But where is the music, the music all on yonder green hill? So turning and twirling asunder as to never be still? As to go for a dancer in yellow, for to dance to the far brim, all in yellow, all in yellow sliding and ready to come in.
In ages past the cover thickens, clouds bank in the sky; the leaves go down, all in yellow faring well, to pass by.
Damp top level, checking for a slide away to be even, so we’ll go apart breaking the letter for its flavour grill enhanced and near distraught.
Yet valid at the counter as on high seas sliding in fresh and salt, evenly mounting now to be awaited, ought soon to be dropped.
Up in sparkling glee, over wide salt sea oh madam don’t be coy for all your glory, fear of another day and another story.
Across the thread a hooked undertow that could rant and roar over the level slit of its own horizon, lifted in fierce, disordered pleasure.
Newly arise the classics in paraphrase, newly precentral in a livid bond to touch daylight and brush its wing fluently, with all found.
And slacken its licks at sunrise refusing to uprate glitter at a humid loss of adjunct cupitive desecration, for gloried favour around the house.
So the rush begins its fervent ransom, hard and slender, cryptic subliminal choke, pressure to open audition right to the quick.
Whose nuts ripen as the season passes in flowered grasses, pollen fuming over the lapis for a brother token or the tag for his naming.
Data pruning maple in f slips while single to elude demented stuck in wonder or peep like bats and black owls on wires at the leaf crown chivvy the close flash tubes go on twice hem lifted to spread delicate its random, torrid diploma, her smoothing back for all the world like eyes in glance to this, swift departure along that road.
Sessile intrepid yawning they’ll barter off milk-fed error flags, avidly hiked up ahead for degraded lesions: in brine, digraphic conjugated rhodopsin.
Act to bleach and bluff-out topic insertion, roused in fury!—your bragged synovial glimmer threshold raves and stamps in garniture, their boots baffled in shiny wet snow.
Did you assume next to inseminate by trial, his clinic yearning to clank, to bind over, to fawn its botched curtailment—spectrum on blank.
Tulip trick and fast, nursed for clover to share and share a list franking indusium, the plot of appetite snaps back before the frost.
Up in arms warming, how sweet to roam and follow shades from field to field puckered to an apex: tripped for burning in smoke for smoke, set mild And gone that road under by a fathom circled with fronds, owing that debt as birds alighting, says she I am all voice and nothing fit to eat.
The seed searches itself, its sac defunctive by crow flight pinioned to bind an open heart upon a table, rigged ethereal, towards its end.
Or so as softly we can laugh, as sure and dear at every span in audit cry, extended memory address translucent to the bone.
Freely bees awaken, rising to many tasks in jaunty flights forsaken, turning enrolled to occupy their sentimental places and polish off their finer tuning.
Trace the residuals, the throng of men who surmount dative assignments as if inching wildly, crazed for upper lights that flood what they want.
Upon the bed of rock, whose even smile remits its port in stormy air, her sight not measured in the leaves of trembling ash that shade her face from thought.
Time of day pleading attainment granted to come and go, loping across wet grass in the small print to latch on what you know.
Away with cutting over, she’ll advise to mend both shirts, and steal a heart-felt fury, burning up charcoal in guise for kitchen foil.
What skimpy terror opted to finish at the far end, for and for; no pica among these withered leaves to bind up the sunken floor.
It is not there, away, away to last a tax reform, uttermost soaked envelope riding for a tear of water all wasted, instantly rebuked.
Ever much missed, freedom to make more graces to shade its wildish, loose arraignment under loan to decide.
By marrow bones raking and in clover seed heads deputed, incipient literal sense of entry sets all points muted.
Take her chance, in glances turning to nourish the day’s constricted tufts, of wall rue bitter like these Derisive permuted fictions; each one discounting as neatly we can patch a cry, to make clear honour so quickly.
Chirrup in the morning up on sky lines ahead, curling dissident loopy taps to distraction will take your breath away.
With pear-drop lips of dew a leap from small tense stranding gets its benefit for the carpet threaded into debit type.
Did the swale open, lose design token borders, the bursting ribbon fluent with margin overflow licks up salt on its own.
In trivial deep amazement, murmur its song in outward seeming return from a glow foiled to release its wanton, loving primer.
Nodding, nodding, day out and in for a sake how do you do it to see, arriving so late, To talk to and fro with each other renewing and walking, step for a span wayward in heart to heart breaking.
Much like waves upon a shore whose day approaches, her time running to meet with joy the face it touches, And word upon word, step by next step regaining they’ll walk and talk, wisely flicker some hope remaining.
TRIODES.
 TRIODES, Book I C dVG CGa ga = CGa .
_____ = __________ dVg + Da + Dk Pandora made enlightened states for her sister, prized liquids in unwounded novice argumentum, she was raw that day in promoting first flight over the Tenter Ground alto.
Licking her finger she poured new water into a crevice in the ground for them both so, decurrent cheek facing cheek: catering soft lair now, Irene, plant group mother you infix shock limits, uh Pandora your leading kravatt will rise to the sun with its charade attuned in rampage peccant for geminate rooting, the split double to mark the horizon with the tatter of a homonymous city.
Days away for replication, away days in and out breaking the city limit at dawn flight, friday p.m.
workmanship issued from a slot the early sun over-tilting, uh so smart like a fresh lease locked still, still descended in offensive charm later down, down Pandora late to fumble her destiny was it somewhere at the back why not well put, exactly where some bright cloud for shift, for hot fuse.
Nor door nor port watching yet outwards, easy to take poor fracas, incident even handed parlando.
Patch a very light, ironical slant beam pervaded with ticket coded, you get a spare on target too.
Irene will do it up later, blister none left, or voicemail derogation leaf by leaf so dropped for a sister’s patter return.
As from a maiden chamber, shading her brow pray for us lady, our yeast plugging each nostril, spoken Pandora’s file intact.
Secondary polished upreach fax by return, she will attenuate nice and easy their shadow caloric tape, outlet for day by day jurisdiction.
Leaf by life speeding its creamy yeast chatter, bunk matter tax perfects arrow and spoon with either sorbitol arriva text.
Visions of ingots danced before their eyes; tunnel ahead part margin, sacrificial anode trading the day listen Pandora, nothing no respite on Friday gunning her shoe in memorial for spent out ekphrastic clamation, fit Irene too sweet the virtualities with double faction: the text omits, the margin includes, you dope provoked to neither shout nor sigh.
Hot target treat us by measured tread, sweet split double in the fold to go down almost there.
Suffusive dram opening on automatic, spruce on velcro your family trip to a far-fetched accumulation: hail goitre retrieval, vestal detour fast-food morsel resale.
In battered roe for safe cervix, uh most sacred and divine fish on this scale, snatched to heart by anodyne loaded, by loving sarcasmus uh pent-up slag, live for ever by charm shot, by lurid sodium portraiture in trip, on Gaza Strip in codon firstly by same-day express gravitation.
Pandora come down off that ladder at once you idiot, rates on hold tangible swept and squeezing, your narrow sunflower stupefaction.
Unlocking her oven with a zip drive per second billing she stakes with Irene the digits over flush counter, drizzle speck on speck in talktime for virgin oil-fired second branch.
For lunch thus bright in tears when I am gone remember, frozen Wye River no one keeps striking shall plume her charms gash inflected exile’s boast for breakfast onwards, in cash advance dazzled; Pandora, accomplice of her fiery arm alight with mock fury you tease, you work out the average value of each night set against free talk on notice to sever, flash out at oddity.
In the skylight tufting of plausible omen, of holy mackerel she gawped attached for great suffering snakes, sugar parrots all raucous and red-eyed, attending each a flicker of time out sent down for it, to the shortfall of a party obit.
Sit out on the balcony, festal blinking at sun surges for a half-hour discount in their phantom options.
Exchanges all brisk and fresh, tell me your mind by invitation, get off wind-up sister for supper, better pickings ex party penchant for a modicum.
Read the letter Irene, slit and gut its canopy, in blue-green trikots by parcel force, such bands marching to early glory stunts.
Uh Pandora read the running of these rails afar, after the ovens of the land had been fixed up with the bellows of stupid amazement, after the earth had been separated from the sky making the reeds jump and sway; in their vermeil enriched cages the gazers fixed on the Lebanese percentage, the Armenian star shots from the bridge of their ever sweet connection.
To each tablet a flourish in radius, a memorial to oversee endingless divided accusatives of relation, bearing gifts all worthless, pick one.
Stick you say, the son who had a mother, she brought him bread: the brother who had a sister, she brought him bread: all in abundance of necessity setting the strings tighter to promote the raft of confusion, sailing each night.
Salome salami, fabricant! Uh beauty I wish to praise thee, but Irene the banner of trampled tulips is stupid to lump its rivers and clean out clear the sheen engorged to cry like a diabetic locked in a chocolate factory.
To get towed by brackets ahead, into an exclusion zone of eagerness, that kid don’t steal because you credit the tale, he makes credit to get your goat, you giddy lady whose giddy aunt oozing with sex appeal and all for free insinuation, you know that, dual steerage just hits the kerb every time.
Says she in terror scuff story in the territory, says she, to thee.
What makes the rays cry out and rise, to fall with a soft shrinking tremor, base rate on a needle, gauging parity for those not too far from Rapunzel’s spindle.
Yet more doves make their hazy complaint in season and save and flutter on the wing and grasp a twig to catch on for sibilant inclusion, soothing the very air with unavailing news of themselves, of nothing else; as up ahead from the balcony outlook the same puffy clouds make their dumb allegations of spot the difference, judge the moment lest, each to each in sweet sport, judgement is done.
TRIODES, Book II C dVG CGk gk = CGk .
_____ = __________ dVg + Da + Dk All across the northern perimeter, all tentered across with fresh mackerel skies, the hours of isoglucose symmetry rush right-handed across the face and melt down.
And yes, come clean Irene, those dippy birds so scuttled along the pediment are for sure making their mark.
Stone and sky in the free mid-morning light, pale hands folded on little wrists, we skip the breeze with loops of plenitude.
The pediment joins charged clouds over to its lightning earth, cathode protection of the whole body, the attic swaps salt for molasses.
Get ready to uh shed a tear here, for soft rocking cretaceous aspersion.
For miles of the Nile at an angle turbid with fish Pandora yawned I hate these mummy shots, Abusir prisoners lashed up, gods not in the sky however it looks but plodding on strings, on the earth.
As for the tree he tore it out at the roots and snapped off its branches, the sons of the city who had come with him lopped off its branches, lashed them together to make play for full day, peak-time balance of equity scooping up British Sugar to sweet that pill; uh sugar babes across the lengthening day we’ll lick and suck in mourning tongues for sweet-up princes, think they’re so smart, Irene did you see what that driver just did? Pandora wrote down her next sight of the ossuary in cryptic notation, scribbled on her pad; she knew the dockets flailed in a price sinkage.
Irene took notes at work; but they dropped right out of view, these low-level war figures in muzzy profile for a watching brief from day to day.
Or failing to meet the return of gifts calls down a default curse: ‘more often it involves a public gift of a large amount of sugar’, like tying a cloth to a tree, to have the word.
Uh, pent-house imitation slaps viewing rights in the archive, mining for juice even when blown away in the price war escalation; one hand washes the other, whiter than white.
Uh rusted mother says Irene she dispenses patchy temper at the pair rule slim kibbled and engrailed big-time under heaven, the pediment writes the balcony with the script of a gap gene code not found back of the throat gasping and retching.
She admits ingredient sunk costs, embellished values vaunted under swift cloudy skirts, masking the extreme nudity of bone; along these patrial sector quotas the hot fit calls in a paramedic crew with dewy fingers alerted, unwrapping the wafer-sliced tongue that Pandora never mentions.
Just get on with it baby-face, easy sizing your strap in the street below.
Sterilised by recall, fragile infants, current in front anodised, that arm directing lbs of Barrett Light , foldaway tripod swivelled like a feather quilling up its curated pods for free by single shot sperm count.
Uh the plaything took out by lightest touches, as upon a forearm quick with tendons coaxed along the flow axis, of blood pulsing across the diode grid.
The Durchgriff crack force marked up the calendar, with red letters ripping its entry to shreds, she would remember his arm resting like that, turning just slightly to freeze the gamut of warning lamps, quoting coldly on the mount and by heart.
Meet and make a match on the pedigree as follows.
Imagine any triode as being replaced by an equivalent diode, mapping out the anode potential on tender factored to Mozambique sugar rehab, total funded in package per pro: .
The Kuwait Fund for Arab Economic Development; .
The Opec Fund for International Development; .
The Arab Bank for Economic Development in Africa; .
Nedcor Bank Limited; .
Acucareira de Xinavane S.A.R.L.
The anode potential produces the same effect in the region near the cathode as the combined effects of anode and grid in the corresponding triode.
Oil to sugar the map beds out, open and shut, doves fall out of the sky.
You can get the knack of it Pandora said, by measure or proxy get a move on in sedimented mirror-image sets: he wrongs, he is wronged, he advised, he deliberated, they seized, they were quarreling, grasping one another, they rage, they went on a rampage, whew, those boys act primitive right at the verbal root with a cap, wind spun and flying outwards gibber gibber floored by exposed pavement, Irene, bank on the grammar flowing in piedmont heat across the pediment.
Among the Romans the pediment was so much respected, it was confined entirely to buildings sacred to their immortal gods.
Just bring one up on the balcony, she said, radiant divine lunch-time.
Lessons at the dream palace lessen on their market costs bounded away from zero, tarnished like a folk theorem.
Irene alone contemplates the ice-cream sellers, licking her lips, be mine the hut blood racing aeolian delivery lamentable in fear skin-tight: Das war ich mal! Swaying a little to slice up a sandwich pact suspected, arms and the man on a chutney bun, her kitchen devil will flourish by the hour on the roasting grid.
Tomorrow and tomorrow in the micro, even so the smoke of sacrifice on the table pre-cooked yesterday, never mind best not yet good to abduct from ruin and decay all back to the homeland.
Magpie target going in through the torus of penetration chill cross-hairs exfoliating the flesh with joy incarnate loop before target, drug hit on computed surge count, uh flesh burns in the vineyard induced currency preening, grand mal petty ire one more song Irene, low-level engagement, finger on the token mistake.
Spark risen up against the shutters, spilling from the vat, hold steady not casual not laid out ever disposed for a dip over countlines boosting the birthrate, fits of corrupted seed assault.
Locks broken under battery aim each shot, tab needle uh foolish boys, drifting into sight.
Either way some say well they all do butane refill trust me whenever leaving room to declare the hood of a should, the brow of a famous tea-towel, sounds like a Valentino remake uh Sharm el-Sheikk will run and run how could you give an inch wrapped in tinsel, explode the text up on stage wrapped in a detonator, ‘letters of guarantee’ straight away, ink hardly dry.
In this rope of sand, overcome with fumes look away and say what you must, Pandora what’s for dinner, herself to blame and suit yourself with a loose button.
OK Old Kingdom fresh terms saline drip so don’t move until, then and then nod your pretty head.
TRIODES, Book III Da C .
Cgk ak = Da .
Cgk = __________ + Da + Dk Uh by laconic fits and starts the confection tips over to paint blending, lateralised for sib gulps in plain view.
Patter furnish bids for them as why sinks to murmur tones, as youthful and carefree, endearment options all out, there in grand slam across the diluvium.
Tell me your story in my version along the radiant grandes allées, scrub and bow down in lasting demurest visits uh dippy Pandora hit up now for ever.
Celestial prudes so we make first moving advantage over the ledge, propitiate parapets us so far tilting in a bowl, our bowl.
As the striate beds expulsed, under the balcony, their inverse rational gleams not yet glazed over with caramel, make what yet you will.
I saw the groves of acanthus rise up and bite the lips of clear morning light, incise from flourish bantering catches their tentered falls, uh you did, what next supreme chicken, set to thaw out on a bed perused by damaged root attractions, le roi capon.
I saw mounting hosts of the crowned burger king, dipping their lancets across crane gantries, sugar puffs in the orphanage.
See without limit the clandestine fury of attack, hot-bedding in selection the patient wards by court action, in breeding barbaric and divulged.
All this passed at review grading astigmatic for the libido, one thing leading its list to another, as all things will.
It is the clearance zone in glimpse through to a graben sump that you descry, Irene, deserts of close deserving hydroptic and factorised.
Go no further on chicken wing, count up to base ten and sink the maze like dross on a snowbank by signs of what tells its tale.
Slicker bits we get better options in surgery on a platform, chanting our targets in market surge on a new drug release.
Added more sugar at the slush bar to make a plea for sweeter reasons.
Added virtue, new slave endurance, make the sum.
Evenly both stairways scan and flex the tropic invert for now, holding by decommission their parlour antic rigid in settled silt: the new drug is the target.
Non-retail fixture pushes on right ahead case by case spread about like leaves over railtrack to guide in milk their phantom dusky limbs; ever to guide this passage shall th’aerial sprites fill all their starry lamps with double blaze, twin flecks of biting the hand.
Yet still they come, uh bloated threat of entry into a slot wedged open by start-up costs.
Dear transom split get on deck with this, the array lies down in flat plan to resist what anyone gets told to say is done.
Glib lazy mild steel to foot loading, a side play draws up its release, Pandora how could you even think that stuff etc.
So in the warm air of the outside where did the eyes of glory start out from their chairs, who were the heirs to this, amazed by fright and frighted by amaze.
At the jetty coign they gave not a toss or were taxed to share out for scarlet and crimson just below the fingernail, two quiet lives.
Uh with dog and bottle, Irene, done up in quick succession, slick extrusion of the carnal body image with all organs on sale, tacit choice of ethnic origin.
You do have to feel right, in yourself.
Or if or may or why not should you by sham repro shame fittings as all along the parapet the muses gazed and outstared rejection.
Back in the kitchen where the lies simmer in giant vats she picks over the runner beans for buttering up now in oral testimony, not overdone or they’ll be mushy and tasteless.
In faulted witness I had to tell her, so bruised in use value by assailants masked and muted down.
Later at the cutaneous Sack of Rome with nipples bleeding I saw we both were mutilated as by fierce bites, the word stripping the tongue by instant corrosion of lip service.
Pandora guzzled and I did, we were so famished for blight spores to play humectant breeding, we desired all foreign babble for ourselves, cresting the airstream in bruits, hearts racing for a novel pit stop.
Irene, we are the slave market now not maybe but crying aloud for master suites, I can see there the chiefs of staff in slick plastic barrels sit all around a table of Tenter Ground, not our assets pegged out ready to slide but body by body dismembered, we grope for them, Irene, we make them frantic, the children falter in the queue for food we saw it on TV, I wanted to cry with a terrible voice, how scabby you said, they make them roll their eyes, roll a filmic bandage, roll hoops down the fun-fair ramp, willing the chain of causes; sequenced in credit checks as mort breakers consumed to a crisp.
Flaky redeployment stakes we could use that, Irene, before it splits out the kitchen.
Right on the nerve uh sweet sugar light!—we were accused by harsh desire, desire for goodness and protein bonds, for sex with our native tongue.
We applied, we tapped on round after round as cocking our elbows we saw them fall, hot blowing wind to mock weapon audit franchise, our amiable recoil scores for angry sore points.
At the loading ramps of free misery we both did cry out with ecstatic joy and not by mistake in gorgeous trip on the wheel of punishment— we saw arch after arch pushing up in the colonnade, the cut-open pediments of classical exits a canter of promises not quite broken because made that way, mazy let-outs of style in designer drug options.
We did cry out, brandish our paltry money, did flaunt every asset we had.
The scores read like this: word ranking under the Sentences Act gives a choice of tempers, arbiter’s freedom to set out where the deepest shadows shall fall.
With blood on their hands is a terror attack on the Jewish state, Antrim west bank, lemon Kurds.
Don’t waver, in order to renounce the use of arms it is necessary to have weapons to hand and in hand, preferably bloodied beyond a doubt.
The men who would use them must be free credibly to do so if not to do just that is to be a free choice.
The crime of the rational script permits a script of crime in time to calibrate the forces of pent-up sentence: word by word.
So it was that Pandora and Irene, the chicks were donated entirely and waivered in themselves and stitched up.
This is called ‘The View from the Balcony’, you can download a copy for your own personal use whenever you want.
Across the back of Jean Cousin’s portrait of Pandora posing as Eve you can see under the breast-arch of decayed masonry a distant city crowned by a giant classical nipple, real cute but not a patch on a navel to die for.
Of course I knew the children were starving, probably, that Pandora mostly doesn’t miss a trick.
Irene are you still out there, you’ll get burned my sweet, uh never the prettiest sight.
Time to go in and down, all sore points, and feed unmixed their flame.
UNANSWERING RATIONAL SHORE.
 lo mismo lo mismo Profuse reclaim from a scrape or belt, funnel do axial parenthood block the mustard dots briefly act forward, their age layer for layer in this tied-off accession.
Appellate at dictum at its debit resonance fixing prolusion, optic rage performs even dots right now.
This is the top passion play and counted out for a renewal patch, allergic his dispute braving off.
Make a dot difference, make an offer; these feeling spray-on skin products are uninhabitable, by field and stream.
Tell us, only for as many as crowd in through the door to the diluvium, the romance of a new organic dyscrasia vibrato fretting its early bits on release on ambit.
Early grief, late woe ahead.
Each who yet cares to corrupt anterior traverse settlement by booking in pairs, by attainder marks upsets the project alembic, the debate for hate to make open clause upon renown in folded paper dirt cheap, split option pudgy cheeked.
Costive profane credit.
Flying starts.
The likeness in white was nowhere near exact.
Spectrum count manicures a trickle of futurity, the sun in splendour, for so ‘to thee no star be dark’.
Arising now by flares and plumes surrounded, who struts up like potted meat to deliver, oh baby dowse now the sparkle of glad diatribe, to pay your even way and never think to blink in theurgic assessment, granted by ultra-sound as a perfect sunny day.
Fabled dyads relent early on the emission key, never on notice for another snap of firing up by will for shall vector implants.
Flush undergrowth makes itself felt, to weaponise space uttermost in dialect, absence decrees its neatened locations.
Bitter anecdotal retro-chic pads out the discount at the end of plain sailing; forever all to see why the front levitates, low-level hanging fictive bravura.
In diet supplement salute as a near fit to give voice, arm in arm better up more loyal with a slice or two.
Masquerade on the dipper plate clears the specks, ham on the bone.
The floor plan provides more for those who float there, get migrant and cross before the garland, breaking open its fall.
Will the jaw cavort, or yet spill.
Expert advice proclaims otherwise, that’s its job.
Not for too much or too little, thinly sliced bread attracts panic layoffs, demerged into nonentity.
Colour me next time on an over-tinted spec, still much too soon on this count, to do it.
Steroid upgrade therapy arouses braggart hopes on a charade of distinction, to engrave profound mottoes of survival next time on the eyeball itself.
With a swirl intact, grafted there if you can get the lid off, scooping up extras to raise the stake beyond demise.
Whatever else, the gap between one and the next accepts advance bids, condensed by footwork don’t give up.
The circle closes to fit like security, the tight corset yet unknown.
Before this the custom of granite replicates trademark parry for money, feel the stirring of an earthly emotion on a fling.
Hold still over, time to strut and fret, you the debonair chicks grabbing a tartlet, on a fashion spree.
Licit banter for an ardency to file acrostic intermission as thousands would, the cynosure up to snuff making steps on a hot station.
Thereat hitherto both under the chassis, checking off the empty cockpit or the milk run see how, see where on balance the main chance is blank and chancred so truly in the hard morning light.
Take a flutter it’s about time vacant on either side, embroidered over with excused panels advising early redemption.
On the track the news radiates like a planet auction, for the best rates hard to chew.
If it seems too good, sucker, the pap is surely toxic, unless the glad hand goes your way, soft as velvet.
The strokes of the palm not even touched, a waft of livid air gives the take its donation, sexual preening overtly lavish in symmetry; your flicker goes to mine and locks into warranty, well why not.
Over lush fields a rising sun pitches out its sulky damp shadow, in reminder of cost levels in the benefit stream.
Oh fight this fight or sleep when others wake, the maze of a shining path leads on without a break; count the steps in retrospect, burnt umber places engrossed forever in dumb-struck dropped reward.
So by a thousand cuts the sky quivers and re-parts to shed harvest home, Buxtehude in kedgeree firm assignment all trusted and coated the word is out at play in field dilemmas where they grow strong and split and multiply.
Harrow at spiny rest, ophthalmic lesions degrade the fancy mostly at odds for swabbed specimen charges; slam off the fuse partial to compromise and chill out by the water line, its oozy derelict bed.
Lie on tick on target for the sense discharge clamming the mouth cavity, no big licks lucky hits what goes up goes further, to tread the downy turf.
Feel the careful heelprint so soft and sprung, twitching this mantle to shew willing in turning, not a word left on the plate.
Poke it out with a stick, but mind out too is this the one for down player sizing, did you hanker to be not even yet believed and spoiled, indistinctly invited into the loop.
You’re with special friends now, indomitable at breakfast, sun again set on fresh glimmer to anticipate new tests for old faults; happy chat display advances to frank daylight in a candid line to be really damaged this once.
All inclusive temper for product evaluation, the one before last was battle-free, just pick it up on the way home.
Sensitised to outcome franchise never deplorable and never gabbled, hooks in butter to get up the fringe of incidentals each where it belongs.
Ready hands sanction their new ebb, the especial oratory shunt attachment.
Overstock digit perverse deployment adds a pungent new flavour, stepping forward to claim the spoilage; that ragged applause is for the assembled strollers with reverse anklets, their part in the passion play at consent, on the valve monitor.
The grading is recognised, no doubts assail the ready-to-eat counters of the absentees.
Elastic bravery tell your friends, profile margins dilate the soft annular parallax.
In such due process with a furry wrap the favourite minces a hot share of the pie, the offertory selection hoarded at par for dark x-linked transfer.
Who needs to know yet the scope for new hybrid desires, bloc leather cased.
Why don’t you try a globe for ripeness, this one where the ore rifles through veins all fossil eyes ahead, try me my keeper at key at bay contracted, fingering fair pay for fixed play, tone on blank.
Lutine falsetto belies the gravamen of a loose quadratic, before this court of pickled pepper and unsorted currency fonts.
A plate of devils rising in deference, charging by the hour the orison obedient to decree.
Reckon the cost by new order calmly, new world bill of sale skimming, may contain nutrients.
To face the page the desk the sun on recounted spectral stent the play provokes a circle of conjoint refulgence, to craze the glass it burns and grind its cutting purse.
Prophetic souls at the garden party convention press forward to the barrier for a better, look how well it suits at every chance they get.
The benchmark in plenty, non-cycle by eager assent, leafs up unoccupied desk frontage.
Don’t even ask for dinner tickets, too far left behind.
Out on the darkened lawn delusion pours down its wounds of acceptance, novel face up to adrenal shock remission on self-defrost.
Next step best foot on a slide, the memorial of god-like certainty glowing in the hedge.
Payment holiday included, anyone’s closet uncle would recommend this broken lip replacement, on overnight stay only by dogs barking their worst.
Converted plague food surplus to allowance does all that, all for less.
At late stage the defect of scale scrapes off the felt lining to slight down the huff, displaced into wrong water.
Split finish by large numbers will cruise to punish the knife, in common rite cuffed and bled to moral ennui, each wave mortal with rapt digression.
Who doesn’t count won’t matter, leaf cover shimmers to greet day-care blips on the cycle, citrus screened, doing a turn on borrowed wheelskates.
In the avertive cleft of ‘an arithmetical curiosity’ a link itself blisters to foil up front treatment, choosing up against warded splines.
Mis-timed by equity trap points to run and run like colour all down the blade, this scant fuel thins to vapour in vacant air.
Petrol in search of flame hardly a ham sandwich, where the draft pulls out neither fear nor care less, any cap provokes lateral adventure call it tip to tip brownfield rematch.
Eyelid passion blinks at a stab, ability and growth packed tight in cat litter.
Born and live wiring, get native cover shots askance.
Flimsy torn muscle will lie gaunt to blood supply on a spiral, late shifting derelict pincers meet the press corps.
Run a hand back-linked for aid review, go on faster to storm the house of engagement, boarded up justly.
Flicker shot won’t say, picked on the vine to claim kin and cost more, wrecked private parts in banana recruitment.
Don’t ever now take heed of that.
All the fun of the pit gets well and then better, sand spun off as yet to bind promise to tap up one clock via another, either to both, sky-divers like swallows gorging their young.
In staple pairs all so sudden with a tumult, written for nothing to skip a beat, break open the shells; dexter risen forward, new zonal application as leaf by shaded leaf glows with wanting itself so.
None other for both or neither, before this after that, hall-way of desire in fairest placement rising.
As brood so on donation true to tint momentous, all is too hardly much to clear unaided: hot justice pleading for penalty in a rigged-up camp of love, courtship plays requited and branded so faintly at implicit final appeal.
ACRYLIC TIPS.
 The murderous head made from a motor car number-plate.
Assuming banishment for lost time back across nullity in speck-through marking worthless eyelash, strict blast of sand eggplant prone, tampered dune how fast the grievance solitary; krook pathways risen up To wheel and turn about spandrels high over submission flexed to burnish and chomp get hungry for intimate newsy entrances.
Get plenty get quick.
Out on the level camber trim mouthing actions, louder into the swing Denounced for parity and affront, many will know what to do at the tip, the crush horizon.
Tell on demeanour mostly to start and go on the ledge.
Copious infarct just slip by a grant availing all will give and grasp for Ribs of possession for later, for now, annulled piercing closely levelled out.
The ploughshare has been through the ground browbeaten guzzle don’t chew get bloated instance, fortune glabrous projectile will outright Fan to blazing to the promised riven grove; take heart for rapt token incision along a defined track; to cry and mourn for her as he goes, to bring her home, this downward streak affirmed on hold farced over across Split-screen seepage tills.
Miracle cheap shots, entitled of the morning bulletin all savage and reckonable, raise a clamour to sober digits, true bone mounted like beasts sucking their fill of the cooler morning light.
Ever fetch promoted, dejected by partner claimants out pat on a moving front, muster to confirm a perimeter ailment, their kids besotted like a felt roof on all sides.
Win on green, give a toss in a snug rafter; heparin Regulation demeans and spoils the touchline, you fair ones on loan to ascending digger collapse ominous in a precinct under rasp channelled by pickup spreads.
Why should she ever flinch, why they left over ridge pretention, Ever calling at cirrus credit flapjack, name failure early in right parallel assumed.
Wait for batter party arrival to entrust peg dirt, luminous clouds succinct and trailing a shadow commanded to fit this step, tread exactly in Profit track licence.
Allude to close print cashout, welter the line superinduced to kink and fade.
Promise so much, spread to go fast over, could the rank assessment give milk at a lip trickle.
Why should it.
Never at one blow to Divvy up warm pleats, alarm set for any to slide on ahead, body echo brimming.
They swerve for it, and plead retained succession, voice in travail on remix, often gutted.
Or they make a dip at the table found amiss, give and given By a preference issue refolded and are not fed up with less for less.
Or for less.
Careen through what fortune caps with a swollen wave, the deck is cluttered with snap predictions as so far forward, as ever fetch promoted.
Over the seam flux penult dissension cries going apart to panel strip on first insert, to nurse a flint terrace cut away, they glimpse the line torn in order antagonist ducted retention.
The ordinate now set Of the influence line my honey at due rain down partly on useful toil, the ratio of he for living hurt cheeks to the concentrated reply curtain.
Best at blood plastic same time blent pick one rigid held to hold over lies Flat greedier by far, replay switch.
Shall each cherish defrayment tunnelled down for certain delusive grips curtailed already, both not replenished even liable or yet parted, eyes wide bridge mail starting lax delivery Indoor famine, pinned to the jamb.
They do forever swear rat vows by engorgement groaning under load canal bearing into reverse, thrust turned off solo distant unlavish, finish gradual trellis fault.
The sky Harmful, the ground slapped in a bundle, come across for simple feedstuff taken back in refracted glare of the front halogen raptors; give back a dew line repayment soon enough before fixed mastic furrow, Sorrow will you turn remain muzzle gripe, yet sign off abject partition truly.
On inference upside losing track top infiltrate, curt shouts demark a place soon to leave to live commiserate in vivid suffusion.
Hand on the guard rail down most volition to slight and planing sheer brings inert forwards, rifted for them in the photograph acid.
Bring down set down upon the ground spread crack off potent spirit rattle You look your laurel basket, you hover.
Prove him his grain allocation unceased.
Parry leafage, cut your lip in mischief gashes all succulent racked, sudden frenzy propulsed for her climbing averse to clip there count Heavy declined, deducted amen.
In foetal daylight pits sodden to famine direct slew glass under the tongue, mask too rapid flim and stubborn, would you ever waste shrinkage over the string line.
Of a course petal Resiled after shunning to pine slopes his right arm tied to creation.
Gristed born likeness reaches out needlepoint decision, egg fillet glass handed handle don’t ever touch inherit.
Retain first option in Vert defection placement after birth foray, rake and for sprinkle retrench to dormancy.
Mend it not, brave crevice through which beams pin out currency often late starved infill.
Sweet mane lap below lens failure by Light bent back at lintel regression.
Aim to go round and haply tie off leaf after leaf, nothing heard his locksmith digressed, bear up on shoulder level care her pledge unhandsome and ruinously now surmounted.
Ruck flutter at the mouth, relocate on plain remove for small clouds rising and spreading her hair touching his knee I heard it on the radio laden extra mass red and tinged with yellow, always there.
Cover fair for Admission in rain harvest her hair stroking his cheek in compound reflected, at sleeve anchorage re-echo tendon drill, rolled-up warm fettle.
Her unformed casual stem by scope visible sheer drops at guilt reduction To altercate to ruffle and crest favour muted crayon verging to rain shallows, dark clouds.
Now pigeon calls across swum floodway always there, veined over road plant orchid root.
Fixative intrinsic.
Resting allured Turning over extended pint upgrade nip retrieval no furnace my long arrow summoned through open haze, perfect glow encompassed with cloud banners final sunk to root there.
Fringes in sand will acclaim foremost Beyond level mission alight through finger case, adept seizure main excelled offence, revert trumpery marauded whimpers; go in glide on cause at cost plus slamming valve each on stop.
On offer prolix touch to grip Generative carpet underlay, teeth glimpsed in a wave at fault lined up for source pleading and goading out wire soundless no blip rented child oration; spending like water fountains spout to fume and cry off unclaimed.
In the fresh of day passage to platform peel off early come forward, be implored as a fruit standard wields clip-on box deposits.
Scarce moving even sound less extricated sickness he puts the hammer down Right to the line pull.
Fresh choice but no leeway to get stultified relief throat vibration, held to the very life repack the spares grand flat; a brother shadow cultus soft sweet fury gums nodding milkwort in river-sway For trigger defect damnable cladded.
Soaping up reduced digits at a punitive cleft, hold the neck brace her rolling overhang why isn’t ready yet.
Who does it now estranged filaments your trick, why not try On even broken surface folds.
Falling citation infringed to demand resettlement, search each house incident wakeful, pleading to suck to flourish.
Frontal instilled terebinth maybe taps up, clinamen infertile lipid Sack on split her mother rare spilling grilse for clipper rushes minimal.
You prefer it.
Daunted fever to no other, pea mouth well versed askance on canvas scrim how else.
Don’t ever claim label pre-trial match Distress dilation, celestial scars on a list by searchable income, to blend unfound.
By dint of yet novel terror reflected, deep now facing the rock, attach to fissures nailed front and back: hair roots adrift.
She’ll see bay reject as they call and heft down into clump grass solved feather baking and broken or its quartz sand left thieved, contracted mammal turning uppermost see no more so flush saw back At set for drilled sternum.
Loaded nutron base star angle to grind flash aslant, grip her wrist his matchwood paddock raft.
She forces her throat in wards only pulse, carborundum infer so tile cover, Dental roof in spasm word by word expulsed for lack for roasted spit, latter spatchcock pronation; aver grapple juices.
Acrid flash over over, across even next overtaken and stuck subdued, each one quick Spinal attempt discarded.
His arms roiled back into sleeve fluid their retained cover serrate assist thrown downwards to pigment ground fearsome, all in dissipation sponged out.
Assault liquid at stem Assents tremulous, set up set back.
Digressed far auxiliar outflow in sunken capital swooped over against ceded domain revision, change the locks now, lamb for kicks arranged reptile new spent fuel Poised on a lip, sip token rouse beads lenticular up to browsing hearts spear swap nourishment snap line out phones, hear nothing.
Dark screaming cries loaned in prohibition their feasted slap-up decline.
Cavity grill said, spoken for, felt falsely.
Her hands on him clastic agile like monkfish whether feared hurtle lifted, pressed up tunic liquor leave out tropic at a target run.
Aim right out.
Oral limit so between Aromatic casing, finger joints barrack lowered, inward crass by the drainer.
Need no more no rested fabric to the harness loop the belay plate moulded at entrant face value seared.
Between races default first free Working venom presumed his torsion self-locked to pay up on invoice declared, to plan depletion.
All lies on planet ember, coaxial indrawn untrue blood for neither sliding sunlover, full under duress.
To breathe so far Oddly clasping the sea braid some gloss descended next entire by infused righteous anger.
Alarm pulse releases sonic driven receptor sites, stand-up ovation deputy lined body search reckless.
One seized, stirring the folds Of flocking unkempt birds crossed did you parch them each clasping abrogated breast at par will you disperse bolt cries overt wing tips, recall shady woods paired in sensual fast nutation.
First touch first ready-made Relentless crest hunted down pinned to earth she now attached to her prey gene expression resentment.
So called or cried up nominal drastic pathway, thumb printed gorge bites leaping to swallow the pride of daily bread.
Used rods draining soluble hexagon linkage amounts fatstock primeur, better slavish to thin along fair skim aroused.
In guest space at a wasted floodbank all for her interval, half fired in tumid elation Crawled to the step mourn arms having none to lift like bread aloft his worsted homage on first claim on cruise mannered licence spoiled.
In brio still toxic for her abraded dreamer the batch open grasping Flickered up eyelash address.
Open breech over yeast peeled other half near dropped in a stoup by temper sheet to sheet dimmer cooling.
Ask yet did your time insert coin, a new master traverse.
Hit on right Limit smash best beast interfere, massive engine ex crabs post-hormone limb crisis.
Still the insipid blob of glory distends to circumflex, raise up place to tongue mysterious spat.
Who antic runs by front Lines of credit, at a narrow a hitch a plate broken and the rest of it swept off.
Rehab feeding oracle emission drainer staple, gateway spare parts accessed wiping a wrap knuckle.
Give out currency.
Whiplash Injury too mounted in harm of sorts entrance docket turned off wanting the price ever twice over to root by stolon rising turgid and bannered, whose heart rate at a cub report brought down to hacker’s amble.
Burning child says shall we gather micron glass to dress admonishment at the river-bed, observing mass stricken touch your lips sewn to silence at air the stream by day care who does.
Immobile tough Stance glowing as star circlet icy to see wired up hostile and revered discard the weaving frame, drop threads down cheek by water deck.
By year end will send bitten for carbon season indifferent new chasm revival tips Sprung forth digressed, cicatrised.
Each neck attempted forearm reversed nursing limpet prized, skull rims close to fusion, she-child foiled prism dialect.
She at bank, she told ready sight unseen taken by sign Called down, each night over to dawn falling out ahead: woven door traps, long and thin.
Unmelted sugar pan venerated lodge, lesson throat veins.
Intimated product recall goes out overland toiled back and descending In bright glance, yielding credence ridden to limit store hacking swift pine and juniper, grubbing roots.
Doing all turns, invert sweetness at the curtain grassy open plain payment due.
The way chanted and bound up Most to let nothing fall, not coming back to back sounds fluent spill sealant entrance drupe, thrown by high winds made away no word from either stitching a breath let flow, pipes to ground glass to unslaked level fields.
BITING THE AIR.
 Every property is the property of something, but it is not the property of just anything.
— Ockham, Summa Logicae, I: Pacify rag hands attachment in for muted counter-march or locked up going to drainage offer some, give, none ravine platter; tied up to kin you would desire that.
Even hand bestowing pharmaceutical front to avoid, even flatline signal glitz perfection, slide under before matter planning your treat advance infirm in legal glowing stunt.
Enough out of one hand to grasp another, nearly hot dump for this at angle dropped outwards, everywhere selected at rising cost.
Untied, non-brand stay there, by a maternal oversight, glinted horizons so blue and bright forever we say, pinching the promised drip.
Nostalgia for G par minuted, assess parallel offset, your tongue.
Creature chatter damp margin, drug outsourcing denies active pivotal racer hot-rod, all price diluted and fuming over nil-paid: it is easy to make a country prosperous and blue and bright over and blindness forever in hand on hand proverb.
Or it may be better to do that.
Thick mitts for an early start, precious upward mounting oval mannerism, his park molested.
Or to match defer to certainty got a banner, to a grade.
Hold one before leasing forage behaviour; wash the novice wrist, finger-tight.
Do you already know this or yet allocate sufficiency.
Altogether just say the word as lex loquens inter-married in sparse programme, its cancel front to dive in a blip forward, your modest capture.
Sudden glial remorse announces armament redress canine grips, on the platform a bevy in service affair driven.
A forever dulcet hesitation in the mouth long-dated ostensible tap, stare in daylight, one hand washes the other.
Distribute what it takes, parallel fog lights crested vapour banks confirm this.
Conclusive underwritten first arrival, safe as houses on a detour, or live transmission in packet throb, insurgency.
Better power assignments for the moment this sharing by split singlet to mollify what there is.
What then hunger to a first date peckish on ready next generic, print the bill save casting allude at franchise remake leverage only.
At civil next crossing greed and obstruction go tidy and totter quickly and drag out maxim recruit to his rack of offers, why not protect to salve if deny several utter margin.
You didn’t know that oh really how extended even so familiar whipping toy forms as a habit too lapped across its place setting nor sought nor bought fancy never braved: infinity.
Each deferral migrates formerly to a treat.
Lineup eschewed a plight of elaborate detailed mastery endemic bitter vice rotation.
Declining third, no thanks plied to who decides or partial.
Only uttermost down from the peak induced poorly sourced or as yet cascaded in assignment.
Down yet silently in grand furtive numbers, in waves largely beating their own predicted funk.
Did civic adverse tremors give advisement, if not spat torpedo.
In a dish let flourish a milky inner fluid for trial matching.
Peptide link scribalism lets you skimp on target, limit the batch model by graft assembly falter.
Don’t you wish now handsome reprisals to pacify a pensive border, conceding bulk precursory shortage, or even demand-led fat blinks.
Sated to a faculty with snack extras, set on crest.
Now watch the rally tremble, demographic twitch to learn occurrent craving unsupported, red bloating in hand contracture.
Or even sip, get even profile bivalve.
Return flow block.
By rate entrainment we can bring it off, as on tap to drug the market focus, risen in glory you bantling screamers.
You know what this must mean in forward trading.
Insatiable weakness cannot clear the pitch to hand, how could it, the rise to supervise attainment must fast level off and then diminish, outrun by dilution and underperformance.
By crap easy gambles.
What you see damp, parasitic.
Tip and turn up slid caustic supply theory, ulcerous.
Matter boiling or livid hand-grip resumes instant release panoply catchment and swells infected to barter refit clauses, bitten all over.
Don’t make sores if you can’t pay to dress their origin, a globe toll spoiling for animus.
Step to the bar.
Be a credit witness.
Speak real slow and with pauses, the water supplies only itself.
Neither is safe.
Increase of caret protein disclaims a reason approaching by now link-surplus polymers, by the mill of barbarism its sails flapping.
Cancel the line-out.
Better renew a start discount epidemic disclosure to fix up patent lockage.
Sign for it, barefoot intercession for statist corpus novel antibody descriptor, yes they will but slowly, geniculate reflex.
Motive parole mandibular trap occult binome.
So we’ll cost out the test refinement on a smirk host panegyric, mirror slim slices: donor gives up a trickle for enhanced symptom-free axial symmetry.
Yes, why is it like this not even hand-set like a headline reduction.
The skid marks demonstrate abrupt redress, get your truck or blunt suede parlour antiques.
Loss of eye flicker on a scale advanced, knows he lives on a big screen, all tell you this.
Altitude farm handouts medicate careful dense prime vocalism, on record formal thus exponential recovery.
Did you hear that told to you, root and branch slope management at onrush unpaired and less compact, generic dealt as possession on nil return.
Which way the novice points trail off, they say the same on the block new level rib, spit your lips.
Be quick, be long to pump anger revivalism, percolate thick forest scarps dug yet deeper.
Get a vaccine on shipment perish thread your face why yours if told more, stable on a tilted capital field suspected more often.
Give out a version amplified with strings to obligate a boundary check, felt damp echo ethic manipulate its life exemption.
OK the recipient must guarantee, to be bound by reciprocal hand contracture head to head G lodging HT single note purification alongside microfibril, merge botanics.
For fencing out attach come to terms, did regulate.
Unto mistake kneel down, disinclination warn at both extreme enter to matrix.
Each pervade to get a shot clear attaining swap as now jizz up most ado harvest dial.
One sets term path critique to lead-in development finance, toiled did you as a rampart already on watch.
Can’t you stop this pit-pat forded crossing by night, wood pitch favourite all-out.
Must prove also break links into side entry handed close, don’t you see border dots, no label.
Numeral life less on clear counting to peak values, to a spread bail rally staked out, be patient be lucent betterment entities don’t wait up don’t even try, lie down old diminish did you crinkle did you.
The data best muddy enforce their source, attribute wouldn’t they.
Malicious rising sun fog plates scrolling over tact marshall misery, climb over picket granule appraising its product list.
Dominance factor.
Read the lines of credit outsourced, alluded transfer detail Green Line reserves like a spent mother bedded on chicks, Brabant cascading in foil wrap.
Palliate herbivore dented globules, do the same like this one.
There’s time but not much say those whose time costs less, now sun gilding each petal fringe just watch shrivel pit margins pleat and plaint.
Hold the crowd back weaker fix agreeable suction, don’t go slow append furious torsion bolster omega blench.
Let them have it on hand terms.
Reclining into soft tissue incursion, spread up band vault to populace in foam broker for a crib, a dainty.
Clean his mouth adherence formulation gum bruising vocational.
Gainful slow-down at hand partition.
Bandy a fixture yet again part yielded, imperative gradual, test the mark treat fast now did you either say whoever.
We make a dab list, warm sunny days, cynicism; delusion and incompetence.
In peril by abatement subsisting, want a scrap don’t take it, did you free the snick connect generic, sliding forth made hand to lip, deal one.
Help yourself dress up a dummy, slash tariff excluded painted to schedule; solar deep blue wave limit at a brink and over no compromise frontside residual, a slam to big only to avert disaster get your peak on mobile antagonise fresh lender up even vent except when compelling reasons hand grab this who gets to say the off feedstock prone deficit, slippage a security of everlasting triumph or gravitate to the entrance be steady indigent fastidious report prematurely slant balances.
This is the cancerous lace curtain fringing a lake of toxic refuse, waiting to be born.
Assert parallel imports under licence at baseline emergency exits turnstile one-way.
Within protected gray markets to get what’s coming is patent wrist flexure daunted, prosthetic flavine into precursor bulk inflows.
Wipe out fly before make sheltered linear attrition social, breakdown on counter service for snacks.
Right assembly bent for bent retaining canyon abruptness, cry out on input profile both lose drop own register.
Know what metal grain hardens a shutter on speed format protocol, pursuit of joy tangible by agreement.
Not for more onset particulate infusion, plasma damaged even before balance grades.
Hermit costs hit up fast and casual under a limit stressed horizon inflected by pressure lanes, agree ingress sinew burning up at standing pat conduit.
Frame your hand deal it nothing curative beyond oppression.
Regimen target for little and seldom, just a trickle to be infringed avidly.
Quoted this way submit refusal part ripe near rotten, closer and closer batter-coated and deprived.
Copy out the taxon marker stem absorption pilot to a class action remix.
Your profile on front steps flipper slurs no label, shallow fund proves shell to shell, proves it juridically.
Soft light shines evenly over this, sweet plants sway, apply for a permit and drench in blessing overture without end repeated.
Egged on to say no, cream on top take bets on a mattress.
Open his mouth words hidden clan patter trans-generic basement foremost edict on epithelial free surface.
On a roll to come in with tape management known applicators to float levy after levy, aphthous winch.
Want more why otherwise if you’ve only that so hoarse stop the spread, make a child barrier clearance.
Unsophisticated lips, grand molars, ring ahead for service depending here and now on homage to order.
Minute-men blather routine or designate or render infertile put in to simmer unavowed treatment process.
Own brand marked on the flank, hot iron specific to quench a fever racing across unbarred prime locations.
Cranial flat-bed declension to a porous refusing interval, delta rackets well at cycle above on embedded values transit, sitcom for agent benefit, dragnet poverty valuation.
As, altogether nothing or close to it, thus bathos don’t lift or you’ll break a limit verge.
Index life expected arrivals demolish consumption.
Get clear of some ever bad muck on your shoes, never to end a backwards tripper plus, cause of life trains to protect and hold back digested.
For a promise, for first ascension wheeling and chequered, as bait.
The barrage lip closes this perimeter, voice further raised.
Massive block clatters, up then down slowly to construct its gradual repentance.
Still ever born to make entry permission grip tight don’t fight yet before lapse of tense review.
Agreement of forking larval interdicts, notified, sessional poverty values at pitch ultimate grade points.
Don’t you yet notice a shimmer on bad zero, won’t you walk there and be the shadow unendurably now calibrated.
BLUE SLIDES AT REST [] Alt for allowed part, etch only into a folding deeper there to follow if evenly graft aside for low rent parented, palmar grasp.
At a blame so stepped forward, foot alert balance for them at infant bending now prone already now so thee soon wanted so deep bent there.
Alter both minds reflex by links by skin at bread not after not older grill phantom, ranging off to rental skip better sever tap alleged child shelf.
Last so manner in match before them, soul fetching neo prolific head first slip paravail tip paired up across slice due mischief, alt mere ingression.
Face rental flap to foreign tongues, her no one no nation tilt prospecting so far a loan perplex did you, fill or kill, tongue and groove.
Given all back minim advance to chill sprites ahead, skin knowledge so forwarded allusive trance at copious raw broken.
Snapped even so.
Far sway stepping beholden lower, fee power deliverance infixed at marram turning: lex furious to start corded up, on sub record link to which, constant region.
Breath fast fortune nothing, flush torrent all cavern bolted there, rill flourish alt fierce fermented breed allowed on clear, first to last.
Upper plan thereon, by moiety report preventing issuance to bind over thin var faction, gamma steel at benefit.
Carry a moment fort landing release to safety not in truth be mutual, lateral joins make it a heart claimant.
Will he advance in ambit to her, her words inferring to a curvature for time given and back.
Privation settlement his strung out unceasing meteor sense of high play, get returned.
Mainly residing in brain-stem to mean divisor, panting quotient acted out, anticipate on the frontal bonus.
Hewn laminate: know your way through this temporal occlusion in volt check-off.
Touch the face, even this time too.
Make next assent also by inference, by a swing silent pass to prove its future, ambit of the necessary outside day before day declared.
Reach to this.
As yet unburned inshore, wielded sparks in catenation ride to glory.
Did she aggrieve his ambit fix, vocal alloy at measurable nip blue trading to a planet, was it.
Each patiently intending, each time the fuse repaired, concept of service invoke conscript retention.
Each time so reached outer placement.
Make fast viable activator tab insert dove for tail flicker, all navy blue conurbate.
Partition blurred caloric engine his spiral transfusion playful to flex, inherent tuneful quantity.
Both recessive to malabsorb, lapse of thought.
Neither remembered this, neck flushed allumette profusion, caressment.
Up through by a turn in apical thrill conveyed to famish, ingenious breast cured to breathe.
Sweet droplets immune in a flurry laid aside get a shift.
Her bevelled spectral glide furnish, unusual: maps to gene margin prior frivolous ought soon to lift off ransom by choice, cantilena.
Flitting under her breath in catches, bird on briar hydroxy filament he raids a temper vane limit venture payout.
Imitate less.
Apart low-rent voices motion entire neighbour respite dowel.
Reaching colloid to serve, cleft for me.
Hurt no one in durance, day butters a slice promise notable thrown entry to class-A phrenic incisor.
Look out upon it swim prepared as fondly at level haste, enhanced to lift for.
You know not to fall back, not to press on, shudder fix servitude profession advent.
Dog star gravel.
Pitch fused.
Apennine.
Never in all for all in, the bond marker reflux vanilla suffice apsidal treatment.
Sagittal casting upon earth next to last the cambium shower is hers.
Bind will so for open pulse will start both heard, principle stamen garnet rose crypted.
Of age flowing bastion gate purposed flung outward to a knee in want patent promissory bright shots.
Caliper remove no hurt for dyestuff, to generalise backsight feeding the flame, the lane.
Waving aside proof of taint offence for minor need temp recall to permanent novel stain at margin, to race upside ahead per se.
Will they will to pass, as in passion assumed.
Meant this much, ridded name belt, ours similar fanciful.
Same roof overcast lacking at tie estimate so.
Bower woven endless to seed case by parallel cob plentiful, hurtle antigen; clefted this in personal hazard linking asperse resume, to profile gathering like jelly.
Never not less like to need a twin reminder gainful in place, temple so acclaimed.
Could it be known would be worth less to enhance revision attempt prospect.
Be worthy later as after all arrived, her beauteous wing.
Water stroke reflected inward lucky fantail.
Envy parted.
If for noon temp abstemious divising pro assert, brother next.
Will to both: of therapeutic fragments enjoin counterpart improbable, live long soon rescinded.
They enter pools by fusion optics, human substitute fixture, to know even going on past and declared woven under not now impassive metal seams.
In starry night displayed be told as belonging halted up true.
Right this milligram in moment so soon melted option, temp so few unsound.
As in gathering onstage sited, plan to fit.
Uneasy symptom in formation traces soon bantam, say been roped together in tempest to notice, for ever the blue sky bends fluently over all wand purchased.
As if stencilled slipware will more flood item to claim opportune tympanic pitch impressment, first lender signs here.
Watch her watch: lifted clouds as light on her cheek arch to fit.
Unrighted precarious lee kilter too sensing, in favour attained now for his only best rumour tied.
Wage in hope down to rip a ticket, borrow offset, don’t quarrel.
As above all skip limits prehended on sufficient bare eminence.
They attend once more in precarium, to take apart by simple mission broken off.
To view them.
Instance talent reckless in situ, buzzing up ahead even before tendence to flight path notice given, as latent hits to fit a chance, side-on.
Knowing this by so already not to success planted, climbing they do on time, in storm.
Why unrightful can now be asked over again request fitment shade flicker take up armed arising.
Not ample grip loan out on circuit inclined security to lowered clouds made a brow blue by starts.
Drift eloquent, leaning per inwards at night prepared, shaken less with fear elected.
The placard of renewed angular motion naval for on-stream suited vibrancy can and will open, will also unsafe advance.
Steam breathing up through metal tangs, her life of contract free given like arm jerking investment, baby elbow side to centre.
Typic kin elation argue this.
Not former sit out hearing to them horizon lame nor bounded effusive set-piece match, match.
Highest tor gained hotly for both what you get landed: lascivious mud intercession fact to stray herbal limit mixture, unit both.
Again mark out on labels historic up wallet in water volume real pulse, on the red wall chart.
On her life line gently flamboyant by exchange at the rate kiosk.
Living fervid child likeness astonish at medium cross, carry forward round-eyed did they take up alternation readiness.
Crook fin soft coin after stitch activity.
They broke it.
On the lift bar to serrate for his scale to her sell cleaving foremost out for out, for herself helpless.
Allowance partial teeming dune settlement distribute a lamp attractor, fricative grain demean sibling imported upwards lofty.
Random thrown forward quick shout rice grains blemish apparent.
In line now listing break series.
Which one lucid cuff frayed paragon.
Shorten to foster outline mesh insistent by mitral converge as for, audit.
He’ll lift temper not ill at a lick complacent task fronting, mitre to refrain point adopted inward.
Take more, more care.
Not to fear laying on, open bushel veins.
Downy finish is hers to ask after, the swan’s road into Palestine not yet level.
Arms lifted up light tremor, gaze tidal to average miss finish Greek fire.
Floor affecting she knows he’ll go, white span day breaks in the eastern sky not indic not critical.
On micro grassy shelters ice shoes labial gentle apt stenosis.
Take both and replace under vivid pressure by max new gene flow.
What would either give her onset, now.
Is the first tint broad enough in runny over-paper, can they do that for promise centred on a bubble.
A sabine spin on relic viscid seizure patch weeded out yet attempt spilling food from a mouth.
Lush issue sip under spark bird-song slow to counter: ancient threads prepared.
Often she holds on.
Lactic burning lip creases novel advance measures, lip dispute revolve will her white throat rabid nuisance icterine shingle.
Search lamp party cress-market begins, long before daylight bites like boiling water race blue naked feet.
She’ll lay this cover topmost powers, cloudy dram front pitch.
Trim forward but as it never was or bite fittingly so defused album transit for another, into proof type pronoun intercepted.
Our sung script frayed to gather in one for shifty plenum, tie up, her lung cavity dilated before.
Riot babble scented, sleepless with anxiety unknowing.
Myopia candid glissing preen far and near to be forced over beyond this.
In cramp sent beside encompassed by floods under dark, don’t ever murmur decrepit sternum.
Shunt chill, furnace anterior believable by nerve pressure blind sequence at day mute, does he most shout.
Incipient could he hear across way to way rowan pierced for this unmoved.
Care taken, took into by a glance.
Her hair loosened, cheek more red, plasma lactic acid dropping utter spread like raid to her knee, so freely downwards.
Entranced restricted cub in this tunnel, lissom case notes asperge crevice woeful did they either.
Why did they.
Swayed in unit as a burning cedar, see all men crouch under braid to split-off rock powder ache.
All giddy reason to lose in a sheaf nativity charted out breaking under foot freaky and grim.
Her own hand held, by traced finger in need, lips swelled crimson laden bite marker engaged loaded burial.
Not yet interfered, maybe not yet ever to shear livid breccia childish protests in solo flight.
Each one tissue-wrapped phoneme sedative to give out for slip finish her nest, henny-penny unfolds a share on a tribune team.
Anyway burnt to ashes slant paper whether not free of risk.
Well not stapled.
To not rankle asking him however his manoeuvre, to save a life from font credit at name the same found.
The line fund cream mass Neptune run ahead surname hers lost his all abreast swimming in seas of milk.
Inspissate alarm agree, tribal calyx option velours to pout, ictus beat raised impulse pinion display.
Enrich filter.
Nipple won over, lip-words inclined lip-read swell to pad: sense incident flutters duct passage.
Vowel sensorium lingual praising its root.
Kneading such lip, such cheek frisson inflated pine cone help penitent in a dream collar brief, sufficiently understood now more here lost to care, intermit.
Have words not joined to fit right, under water endued to a slip fault assuming in place of thus declared.
Mouth to mouth unfit either to plead, yet more slight utter frenzy assessment if not lost to level right, to quell.
Or could either not down in earth contemplate, warm and bright to end as dust by the road, risen child unspeaking by human hand referred case by case rested plum and found.
Deem rended by tendence in code none must fear to yet fair not cease for harm laid square, fresh green ever now shining blue.
Actual reduction instant to famish by dwelling final clamour, hangs on a point.
To fruit refract in delimit face to face his spoken sum of her sequel.
Claiming up tender placement not recoverable for grief or sorrow yield to dictates value this loss yielded, bond consortium make a twilled mouth shut.
Give outright.
Yet minor exempted by love perpetual struck in held to count.
Estimate her paramount select abstain, several hindered by ever what until renown.
Perfect clearance towering, bidden dwell these caves in earth rankle against a stranger by injury to disconcert unwavered countenance.
Level foreign outland never yet incautious not recover, the natural child.
Go down in earth like a feather, front brace.
Left over unrightful semblant will punish devoted machine knit parapet.
Nip and tuck miniature grounded so.
Into this world of darkness, of a kin deducted justified reproved to end without, companion hooded unseen.
Attempt thus cut down as had never.
Go with me.
Within segment floss honour bright missing, on foot.
Ignorant paramount will cadge a ride cranky dope appeal months and years, tell in mish-mash certainty head to black on.
Better broken keep house yielding softly gnomic cataract depressed inwardly sent away.
In care from hers avoidance transit accept in strong wardship, order holding trace and lock.