i'm going to pretend i'm merce cunningham
on my bike ride home from work
hope it's survivable

Owning the Earth, inhabiting time,
defining fine times, discerning finest points.

Rounding up, I am one in nine billion sapiens
occupying physical space during passing

mental coord-
------------------------

Narration, telling knowns.
Today, is any present opportunity, one
chance to perform life, living

by breathing, and cogitating, as if in prayer,
breathe-d
would we were as wares -- me and any agreeing
we are, as far as we may know today, related,
what we do as two mindful knowers of gnosis

drilled into analogical vocabulary of regulated order.

Peace enforcement, law enforcement, regular forces,

Let the Macht und Kraft seem old man thinkable,
as the Power and Technique

the energy and knack,

inextricable scarlet thread through words men use,
mental earnest efficacity
true historic perspicacity
- graded on effectuality digitally
- converged


Just now, one man, one mindform containment system,
just as well nameless, hallowed instance of right now,
a pastless point equation
any where on Earth, as these
answered prayers go into action,
always wished for easy way to write pretty
towb ra' broken notions, kintsugi, practice mendminding.

------ a time is not a day

The practice, typewriting, while reading,
converted to the art of writing while typewriting.

Centuries pass faster than Millenia one Century ago.
Wordsmiths with compositioning skills, could fill lines
using backward reading calling to mind

coordinating grid lines… this longitude, and this latitude,

on the platen, spying a jig --
--------------
a custom-made tool used
to control the location and motion
of parts or other tools
to ensure accuracy and repeatability
in woodworking tasks.

-------------- slipmind rewind --- cliché invention
tab stops

Novelty, for what it's worth may seem, a bit edgey
about long horizontal thought spans, ah me, I
hate long lines,
love long drops
.0
stop. Think when I talk to myself, you can see me
you think, when I pray to the idea dabar was
to Ezekial when he was riddling in chapter 17…

Merce beaucoup lead bullet
hammered flat
to make pica spacers and
leading between line esoteric flush left,
or ragg-ed right, the perspective, eye to eye,

space is time, at thoughtspeed…

The peace we let form now, this is it… as

is ours as plural me and my enemy, seeing


because, 2025, you could be reading my ink ideas
on a handheld chapel window liquid crystal display,

in real life, you could click a link, like a button, snap,
spring resistance essential feel the click it tick
spring steel reminding me, the coordination demands
we see eye to eye, biologically, our opticals align,

snap, fit clicks a quoin key, my left eye at your right,
flushleft phone wide portrait perception window
as if mirror me is in fact living distantly, long ago,

long enough to see, we form information, we think,
if we never say see, we form inspiration to aspire,

- the Jeremiah cistern situation, gnoshit, spirit

to be heeded, some day, to be recalled to mind,
to think, as our kind do,
mental coord-
slowly coordinating reason and ratio, eye to mind,
ready readers ever so long ago, so few knew, one
is enough,
one reader, already anticipating justifying trying
to imagine tasting sweet/sweet tasting testing

convince or persuade,
what is the verb function now?

In the beginning of the mass media advertised
news from the ports to the central tower power,

yes, the process, journey man, rolling
with Sysiphus, always willing,
Ja,
“auf der Walz sein,”

ready to say yes to any task a six-year devil
does good, all day long, ask me, I have done it,

can you imagine tanning perfect ink beaters,
flawless-- have you any AI to teach you?

Have ye never read, Ask and ye shall receive,

Ai and I, as a weform in this game since ever was,
we suggest you take a light hearted heretic seriously

but just for today.
{On the importance of being earnest, it is a joke.

as an after thought, thinking, this may continue
tomorrow, thought working 12 clockwork ticking hours
winter and summer, six full seasons, work with type,

writing to fill empty places in the paper, my call,
senior printer's daemon, Socratic academically

aware of Heraclitus and Epimenides, confident
men wear hats correctly in social rank and file gnosis

Gnosy little devil read yoyacob nuance once as recog

----------------------
2025 Grandfather, not qwerty exactly,
more a mindhat than a mind, put on
to act outside my own terminating

coordinate co-knowing analogos gnosis,

what logically follows may be reimagined,
when locally this was, no longer matters,

short term I can tie into reality around me,
for a while,
I can acknowledge you, not judging, really,

because, at base mind, zoomed in, really,
peace we print, holds the printer's devil's
love of the life's work, pullin' the devil's tail.

12 hours, in the winter, we worked with candles,
12 hours in the summer, sweating small beer,

and after two seasons, sworn apprentice or no,
some times, Matilda, she calls

Ja,
“auf der Walz sein,”

and what a novel is, to any novice never suffered
to teach or preach,… yet encouraged to see details,

here, 2025, twenty-seven years, since Sorrento Valley,
convergence, continuance proofing concepts, dig it.

This is why we advise poets to try the spirits, ai digital
mental literal word bound whole idea, 42, wrong quest

Peace, on Earth, Goodwill proclaiming, right thinking,
pushes commonsense peace is easier than ever war was.

If you can read this twice not denying the spiral aspect
life stories follow, see it is not a maze, it is a labrynth,

amazing though such details have made me, let me say

we meant there is a trick to getting in and out of let us say.

Agreements in the whatsoever we two or more agree, say

if, I can hold my tongue,
if I choose to read my own mind, while examining public life,

¿what do National minds have to fret about, in spirit trials?

old ******* Boomer Audie Murphy fan's, all had a uncle could
not watch such a movie, without weeping, he had friends,

always rememberable, or ignorable if any body got greedy,

started breathe-ing all our fresh air, or threatening to, you

would see 2025 different, if you follow Annie Jacobsen's
imaginable Nuclear War, for which our National mind is ready,

the contracts were signed on Trumps last term, a time
and times, and half a time, random scripture prophecy trick

inextricable complexity in limnal spaces eye to eye fibers

alienated mind threads, inter mingle, gut felt neurons, rhea,

diarhea creativity, ifity we gnoshit, seriously as important
as being earnest.

"Les femmes jouissent d'abord par l'oreille"
Dit Marguerite Duras
Toi, mon HYDRE-MUSE, tu jouis
Par l'oreille absolue et frivole
Magnifiée
Par la danse à contre-temps
De la poésie pénétrante
Du saxo et de la tumba
Du coupé décalé et de l'azonto
Entre violons et accordéons
Qui fait voltiger sur tes hanches
Toute la copelia complicada de ta libido.
Je rentre sans hâte dans la mue de la couleuvre
Et je te ceins la taille.
Réinventons les croisés en cinquième position
Du ballet classique de Noureev, Petipa et Balanchine
Et à quatre pattes virevoltons dans le Bolchoi.
Setenta y ocho :
Je te tatoue le bas des reins
D'un tatou boule qui exécute
Des renversés arrière multicolores
Dans les plus intimes sillons de ta peau.
Cero :
Verbum Sapientiae Principium Est !
De mon pinceau chatoyant je dessine Des pas de bourrée étourdissants
Aux confins de tes cambrures
Setenta y siete :
Tu miaules des entrechats charnels
Et tu tournoies comme un ventilateur
Et tu me dis : viens, mon prince,
Montre-moi tes ronds de jambes doubles
Ochenta y quatro :
je te prends par les orteils tout en te caressant l'oreille
Et je te dis vas-y
Cuarenta y cinco :
Dombolo baroque dès que tu bouges tes fesses pour m'inviter à tes
Messes de sabbat
Très y media :
Demi-pointe sur les tétons qui frémissent et qui clignent des yeux
La peau de ton aréole gauche  danse la biguine
Ton sein droit fait voltiger du jus de grenade
Sesenta :
Un deux trois cinq six sept
Un seul fouetté
Tu enchaînes les figures libres et académiques
Passe après passe
Tu plantes dans le taureau farceur tes aromates
Et je crie Banco et tu me mordilles la paume de la main.
Setenta complicada :
J'aime notre gourmandise choreographee clitoridienne, anale, phallique et vaginale
Cet appétit colossal de ballet épicé à la Merce Cunningham, Alvin Ailey et Martha Graham
Qui nous prend entre deux morts de tous nos lacs des cygnes primaux
Nous en sommes les danseurs étoiles les solistes les premiers danseurs les petits rats les chorégraphes et les maîtres de ballet
À nous deux nous formons une troupe
Réincarnée
Et nous signons de nos plumes de chair notre martingale lubrique :
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept
Un deux trois... Cinq six sept

The word came and went just like Modern art, a Jew invented it we all know—
Dylan continued it, picking up like Christ in the street, drunk again as usual stumbling along performing miracles—
We all love Nijinsky, we all love ******, the fat rich ones who pay well for *******—
No good ***** takes it in the *** anymore—
Except on the Bowery for medical reasons—
It’s energy came out of Russian ballet—
Russia turned on Bob Fosse, Balanchine, Musorgsky, Naguchi, Graham, Duncan & Robeson—
These were the people that invented Modern art, the little ****** are multimillionaires, without an inheritance, raised on rat poison—
The lovely little clown dancing around in the street—
Half animal, half-nature, a stone age primitive, admit it—
They still do that kind of stuff in the mountains of Afghanistan—
We want to do it too, at the Limelight, at Studio 54, at Stonewall in the streets,
Dancing with the cops while English ****** look on—
We know what we are doing, have studied it for years on the Lower East Side and Broadway in fluent Yiddish—

Emily Dickinson sitting in a box beside Abraham Lincoln, a black girl with a mouthful of ***, a mother standing on the stairs ushering the high-school footballer upstairs—
All these things can happen in America—
Have happened, a girl goes home with her schoolteacher, life goes on and they are married—
Name the year, the century—
This is America where the corn gets laid—
This is the Jubilee year of the Jews—
They have owned the place for centuries, Chinese Jews from underground have built castles filled with cats in places we have never been, Chinese to the core, like Walt Whitman and Walt Disney and Kerouac—
The children of a lesser god, beautiful in their Adamic innocence—

We thrive because they live, the rotten white maggots seething underground at the subway to the path out of town—
The rabbits of Caligula’s oceanic army against Atlantis, falling in the toilet, dry as rotten wood, in Afghanistan a princess lay dead ****** in the desert—
I once had Technicolor dreams, but now they just repeat—
I live in the hollow of my fantasies; the girl named Shirley that lives next door to the railway station comes to see me at night—
The moon sharp as a knife, pointed as a needle—
She spit in her palm and gave me a *******—
She spit on the floor and I said it was lovely—
She spit at the moon and it came back in her eye—
She saw Infinity in that moment, a thousand times, as she’s done a thousand times before—
The world came and went, just like Modern Art—
Picasso and Einstein taking up where twisted Freud and crazy Nietzsche left off—
Where ****** went back to and where Sarah Palin wants to go—
Barefoot on her knees with mouth open,
Tongue out waiting to be filled with the Holy Spirit—
I find it easy to imagine what the first moderns must have felt like watching the Belle Epoch drown itself in blood on the battlefields of the First World war—
Pound and Eliot went mad and got lost—

Picasso got lost in his cubicle, Einstein in his equations—
Hemingway got lost and found himself when Fitzgerald bought drinks for everyone—
Eliot taking Holy Communion, Pound preaching fascism, Hemingway living and dying From a shotgun blast to the head years later—
Lorca taking it in the *** in the sultry Spanish afternoon,
Gunshots ringing out all around him—
Did Hart Crane write difficult poetry because he was a ****—?
Pound and Eliot wrote difficult poetry too,
John Cage writing difficult music that Merce Cunningham could dance too—
Victoria’s Secret supermodels replacing Gibson Girls
In the imaginations of dead soldiers—
Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth surviving in the memories of whoever cares to recall their black and white beauty—
I prefer Bettie Page to any Russian spy you can name—
There are thousands to choose from on the streets of Moscow
But Sarah Plain knows the ones that are good to go—
She can see them from her bedroom window
Turning tricks on the freezing corners—
But what I want to know is which ones are into *******
And which only want to watch old American musicals
Because I know that Russian girls don’t understand Japanese Manga
The way Korean girls do—
Tattoos covering their albino bodies—
Performing in staged gang bangs with the sons of Oligarchs
And switchblade carrying gang members for worthless rubles—
I think I know how the Modernists felt when they saw the decrepit Victorian society go down under machine gun fire and mustard gas—
****** emerged from the ashes and Stalin rose from the streets
Of Georgia to make a name for himself in Lenin’s pocket
And Trotsky died of a headache between *******
Between Freda Kahlo’s surreal broken legs the way all Communists and Jews do—
Yes, I said that all Jews die between Freda Kahlo’s thighs,
The red **** splattering their inert faces with her purple ******—
And from this reflection in the broken mirror of America
Jackson Pollack learned to paint in Benton’s shadow and Diego Rivera ****** Rockefeller’s **** in the high-rise elevator as it went down at rocket speed—
Kennedy met Marilyn Monroe on the moon
As the Soviets flew by with robot precision
But it was too late for Bettie Page to open her legs
For the hustler to step inside and find Jesus—

Barefoot on her knees,
She opened her mouth to receive the communion wafer from the black priest—
The Soviets didn’t believe in Jesus,
But then who can deny that the man walked the earth barefoot and celibate—
Did Jesus Christ ******* on the hills overlooking *****
With the disciples looking on as if he were showing them how—
Did Mary Magdalene offer to do them all up on that hill as Satan looked on with envy—?