remoticons 1

[from:    the Loss Lieder]

the worst are full of passion ate them in tents, itty

bitty nonsense yawn stabilize   worthless values?

valse use value, exchange in yr free marked-up

systemization branding flocculent & leaving

in ranch barred all howdy dust poured

into intro P:  reality show as 101,  digital con version, meaning

cross-platform bland-creation, oops, stepped between

the 3^rd rail at who?  everyelse,   allows for social

media utilization, loud scream gifts you

that soldier’s  triangulated narrative Dis coursing thru the

vanes the whether, the don’t need a man to fish

in a bicycle rust ammo dump truck sleazing

that’s how everyone knows in the city

emracing the new domesticated violence,

monuments exist marking grand geometric lines

leading from twitters to contempt for twang

lug over to where ya spill yer guts

patrol on a dim wall,  mentionless to menschen or

measureless to mammoths at least, oh and while yer at it

art in public spaces reeks of Samonite locked elitism

or is that a satellite licked E Lite schism?  well,

i’m sure where you’re listening, the walls ring

almost as much

the snail’s dodering across the lay of the land

the whine of the country cricrossed by loopy & oblate

babble-lines Oh let’s just gavel that session forgotten

shifting gears into cog nightive daylighting—

good for a lark

[from:    the Loss Lieder]

they laugh, but then the choir fell thru the floor.  it became, or appeared, a moment with odd rocks arrayed for the public.  a nearness twiddles its thumbs far away....and slow beginnings, introductions with feather-time, heap up here all over the understudied.....if you overstep the bounds,  then the hare will lie down with the film makers.  almost the eternity that they shoot for, slithers into the one regard i’d seize.  if electronics replace the scoreboard, then fire on those who wait, buried way inside personal life.  the state of crying slings right past, and then you put your foot on the accelerator, or a mammoth pike of sensation you barrel down.  when i have all the echoes, i’ve heard some right at the beginning, right at the start.  a toy  by definition’s broken, and quietly led forms to glue there.  laughter distant while calling up the, almost the rapid fall, they’ll come toward you with those papers.  an explanation is halted, flim-flam amuck with time in this jar. i’m going to drop it (right now). all frozen the one letter, and  if it went astray i found new gestures, a something else (like something opened).  quite right, then i changed font.  the big one, with appalling dark lines, it was like a painting in a dream.  or commercial in a dream.  forest scents while being stalked by animals with ownership, credence flowing out the everyday....  stunned managers, you’ll find your hats where the cards are.  punch this one, this word, it won’t ring only pay out with clocks under my adjusted “no”

sonic transport, social aspects

[from:    the Loss Lieder]

blown for a kind of sting,  on more idiot lacking halves  or a stack of

old records, just blow out the reference,  to text as next

it keeps glowing works w old haunt from carriage return

all creepy whistle as a smile now i’ve gathered in blasted software—

you got a counter reads the smile ache

or just wiggle   faced w a dream gambols pun higher than chairman

of the bored    a quick flood alters when then

it slithers thru veggie snow time    all alert is lichen

stolen from a werefallriver law ax or sue

looking once at time in rain capped by our floating hovel

i can build anything out of words

not a quick solution

always it faces a crowd like the stiff breeze in sun

try to square hamming it up with a nexus meaning registered trademark

that’s open way to leaver yr

don’t know what i mean in the stranded canyon,  hold

order,  an evocation of twilight begin    echoed flight gliding over

purple valley mounts in a deposed majesty

green gives to deep glow indigo,  lots of cows on a hill

high lawn

words only have written existence   otherwise process

it’s ten or alto   or one in ten

rather than representing quality in the Belgian biscuit trade

what i’d trade, vigilante groups conjuring up sound on a wax tube

every local order social violence    viol:  ents

a few  ways of saying,  go on down the

hill to where the old model A disintegrates a bit

more each winter  .. technology has a way of creating meaning whose

stupidity    you can really see on a day to day basis

stealing some silence from the edge of the beach

when you got spiders crawling all over you

they run into words that’s standard practice

shock mool

[from:    the Loss Lieder]

long at the state goes a finking loud-system, interviews

varnish  toggles, with match heads flaring up

and idiots twittering far less integral than our birds

crank flop overhaul mists to a rip where crying madnesses

all gimply ballistic major funders     hey this is fun

if not funds, a slapdash systematizer

muddles thru, around, over, somthin’

as to then lucky, if yer fingers shift

over miles of the grid, sparkling solar rime-storm

ab solving flooded plain miters, cracked fleecing

& gotcha remove tacticoid sag-a-roof,

slosh over yr sloptic nerve, holding unclear

at the point of an imp   on the side of the mountain

contraction of a continent or two, is not that

underlying a push from gale force unagree,

slip casing the joint, or the river area, drop into

flotation device for a normally crash-landed

childhoodlum

turn,     manages sharp reddish inks