the clouds bowe over the lake-lens

obvious

the first force seeks

the lamellating crow,

and where the formal hide is vain,

a white line transgresses

the storied otto

to punitive leer,

let the teeming echo

be drawn

to the wounded hand,

the smooth wooden duck

bobbing in colloidal seas

of wine

and crystal,

'cloud-veiled'

grows the table

obvious

the oval mirrored knight

become a kinder klinking

ici

ici là

ici là-bas

ici là-haut

direct the blok any how

you'd shoes

for the tree grows face down

and the boots

are ever-flowering

grim total

laughter 

joy

the drift wood wind

the daisy halter falter

and lamp laurel lace

a handle

come closer to the word

its pale jade fang

like a transparent chair

will hush wide crescents

and doubtless 

the radiation more supple than mind

will meld

the furred amoeba-boar bear

with silver reindeer antler-helmet

never let my cry

go forth in vein

force finding

furrow

along its built

cadaver thread

the wedding's summer

the summer's bole

the path's tender doubling up

and helium

grown so sodden

in white pants

the stranger's breath

fell and crumbled to the deck

hong kong

surrounded by plants

#thewhiteforest

or exploding bouqet of furniture..

when force feeds the box

compose

yourself seem sentenced

to the thread

now at constellation head

out clear gannet

out lyrical scanners

imagine their war

like throbbing veins

in trembling stones

lovely are the footstep

for plankards

your moment,

his,

mine,

the gift foal

shifts for the dappled courage alight

no pilot

its concrete wills

blaspheme

for daylight

into coming 

cry

force fills gestures

obvious now

the open hand

whose flutter

a vampire

a vampire bird

avert your eyes

from the gorgon stutter

(flutter or flowering force)

and so

I charge on you hoarse

with the lamellating crow

the sweet fleece

of its pitch high gel

in tow

where the neck goof

flanges

an overly soft hyphen

give bellmer his due

give zabriskie

give unica

seek for force in the flowered V

bricks of white flowers

stones

of opium zombies

the tide is right

and strange

and all growth more

correct

(hat-thing-chance-change)

the crow's foot

like a blood-plow

is a tongue-lyre

and the longest yard

horts a pebble

to the dryest pose

give back your lame clear daisies

to my boiling gelatin rays

and i will meet you at the feat you

roiling bollocks old flame

the good taste

in poet

won't a light

for any photograph

unknown

(towards)

"itself"

sky-gravy comes from Pinocchio

wit is a hoard

with winter

thick white paste

its whipping coal

I've built no cloudy candles

in flowing black tents

obvious

i saw (was) the chog of heire

each thin button a computer

each bracing whisper a crown

and the greatest wish

our mule

where the meadow

meads

the town

its great and happy climax

a vortex

virtue

(obvious)

so occlude