THE BEIGE SUPREMATIST                              



We made some drawings of the volume lengthwise.

There was a typewriter key in the sweat.

What of the resolve that curtains us into a solid trope.

I see him loosen what's moist,

   and acquire a mute pathos.

"That", says Kazimir Malevich, "makes a soap man."

On an island of noise, attach

the sockets to a mucuslike substance.

But what are these wooden pipes on the floor.

Points of beforehand in Deanna's basement.

In the end, though, I came out on the square.

He said it was white and felt cheerful.

Our smooth shapes angled off in flakes of noun breath.

They have the inner beats.

Seems Tim swam off, forming two domes, whose crystals had dislodged.

Put literally the cylinder seems to striate the flicks.

The box that holds it has a burly dynamism.

A sausage-shaped ball roosters about this.

In constructing it, what I say breaks

   into heavy props.

Basic plastic strain exhausts artistic feeling on the roof.


So language, stopping, creates a square.

My sharp eye out, the size is no break, it words the interstices

                          and creates a split.

That chairs be ladders, each chair rescuing a flake.

Chet bakes the fast eye.

It's ridiculous to gargle the lance.

Miss Betty fit the armband, paints, bird mask and a powder nucleus

                        into the stem.

As butter spins so does the powder arm

   against the scape.

Space rebounds from the brink to be gendered.

By the time I get there they have built a new bridge.

The spilt hope of a writing is taken as payment.

She farms the silhouette and I rain.

A gentle person blunts the efficacy of this tool, throwing himself instantly

               both back and ahead.

The brief world peels an alto.

Her sister slowly added a radio to the place and watched the redness of moments

                        but would not participate.


The thought behind it makes a non-balloon on which the feelings

                                  are rung.

Chances are his chair, the sky is the plate, to tune among.

Of course anything can be used to sling shit but the larger structures

                     are generally more full of it.

They clutch up each around its own excremental figment.

The rabbit has perfected a flag.

A pencil that big will bore the Martians.


It hefts an ego, or a testicle, or both.

He came to, a sky or hole.

Evidently thought was tolerated into runs back past the established wedge

                                   of consensus.

Then an addition dates his grasp, something uncertain sort of parallels

          the attributes of technique.

In the heat of something mid-afternoon additions

   write up.

Awkward meanings settle beyond the contracts.

I began to smell the set holding sound itself like a stick with the hat on it.

Onlookers are not always sure if the man in the street has

                     been indoors.

Work flung some distance from a shoe was in

   the hills.

The remaining white says put.


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