Sunday, November 29, 2009

post 29 november

it’s been two months since the hunch came true since the you and the then and the whenever the forever the sense is coming if you can hum along through to the end of the sentence forgive the menace of misunderstanding I was handing you the keys when you said you don’t like to drive so I swallowed them whole and rented out the car to a flock of foxes they don’t like to be a pack or to pack or to track around in circles with the camera turned low there’s a window but you know there’s an opportunity in the next room and when you swoon over those fried eggs we’re begging the question of which direction we’re moving toward and ignoring all those other bothers the brothers and their others significantly chanting and recanting and please recall these details again in three or four or more months because I want to see these faces I want to know the chase is on and when you sing along I am surprised to find you know these words haven’t heard you singing them before but standing outside the door in the morning when you are facing your face and the window is wide open I am asking about tea and you are suggesting toast and cheers we clink and sink into a diamond day the way the song goes but upon a different type of sky and when the pies are ready hold steady and I will be there

Saturday, November 28, 2009

post 28 november

justwrite 28 november

musical clues bruise the ego the eggo won’t let go and I have got to stop the commercial urges the surges without protection the words with misdirection and no correction who says you’re the expert who texts the wreck of the century into action who collects the traps and starts three lines in a row with Cs seizing the opportunity to reformat to retract the offers I am coughing backward and hurrying onward backward forewarned of tomorrow which is yesterday and the way to listen at the same time as writing escapes me but it’s better than the soundtrack in the next room and the way they swoon into translation leaves little to the imagination there is a network found but I am building up from the ground and it’s a little bit muddy and the clothes won’t dry but besides that all of the sausage will fry this is for the others there are places this won’t go and my plate I know is one such zone and the time for credits has come the numbing tendencies away from dependency are coming faster than the blaster of last term with no sense to earn from each line though onward bored and fingers in motion this is my devotion I am straining the ocean the salt through my teeth keeping the fish in check and collecting the rent at the end of the circuit the court the district what’s more is there are grand juries in a hurry to go home for the weekend and to pretend that they haven’t heard anything any testimony that they would like to forget any details sworn away to secrecy for all time and this is what I keep in mind when I listen to this song in another time another zone the day it came home and onto the stereo and away I go to the past I mean the future I will be present

justwrite 27 november

you would think around this point I’d start to wonder and to remember although there’s a pretty hazy phase in between now and then filled with vague doubts and introspection looking into the mirror at a collection of parts not quite accurately arranged and I’d say the same about a picture you can’t miss her in the corner there she’s the one with that tooth that’s just not right but she doesn’t notice it herself and the healthy thing to do would be to smile with tighter lips but she never remembers to eclipse faults with a grin because without the within there’s a spin not quite qualified a chicken steak not quite fried and the moral of the story and the horror of the gory is to make you gladder that you’re you and not in the middle of some movie that ends badly although it starts okay and there are some parts in the middle that are probably not terrible although it’s full of faulty jumps like someone forgot to splice it right and this night I am telling you I’m thinking of breaking through to the next reel I feel like comfort is far off but there are apples I could slice without anyone’s help and there are translations I can frustrate without any dictionary I am scarying the text and pretending that’s what next is a ringing opportunity but what it could be is something like silence and the reliance on chance is not a good dance to step into to take one of I’ll drink more punch and think it over this white dress has not yet bloomed

Friday, November 27, 2009

post 27 november

justwrite 26 november

here we climb up the rhymes again I am taking my time my friend but I am leaving you yours there are chores enough for the both of us to call our bluffs and take them out to dinner and to show them a good time there are stories we would like to have written about ourselves that we would prefer to avoid living there are titles and songs and albums along the soundtrack that counteract negatively with the wavy lines that once defined the straight and narrow path and you may laugh but you’ll have to admit that the bit about the toaster was a bit far-fetched and the turkey in the roaster is too fast a football to catch I am trotting along I am tired and the fire is slowly sighing or something like a sigh maybe more like a steam a smoke a poke in the coals right where it gets you that’s how they bit through the chains the rotweiller remains misunderstood but from where I’m standing it’s not far enough and the tough thing to explain is where the drain leads to and when you’re through with the call does it all fall apart or come together depending on the weather and the knot and caught up in a situation where there’s not enough information you will find yourself facing doubt and wondering what this second person is all about

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

post 25 november

walking toward more there is nothing in store that hasn’t been stocked no key that hasn’t been locked into place while the wasting hours passed and at last the end is reached but to seek and to find what you had in mind is to be disappointed or to laugh double-jointedly at the way you can free your suppositions from restraint the paint-by-numbers making us dumber or the colors making our fingers into summer when we are filled with mud and sunshine our grass grows and our toes know we are rhyming for no reason and by we I mean me and by you I mean me and this is a very self-congratulatory exercise collected and never neglected but the works of this art will not hang will not stand for this or hang it all around the mulberry bush in the park in the dark of a day of confusion with the light an illusion and the knowledge collected is directed at other goals like how to and wherefore and those kinds of scenes but the space in between is made up of gray and it’s sometimes nearly black when the acting turns to improv and there’s plenty of room for improvement in the movement between script and action the collapsing of confidence when the second speaker turns from the dialogue you practiced in the mirror and leans in nearer and asks you what you mean deep within and you swim with your mouth hanging open and your eyes closed hazy still with chlorine and heading toward the deep end pretending this is a new exercise on the next page and all you have to do is turn and the answers are already written and you’ll be smitten with their perfection once you find the right direction

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

post 24 november

would you know it was your author if he sat down beside you if she tried to confide in you that she knew everything about you and couldn’t help you still couldn’t fill your voids couldn’t help you to avoid pain what about that name and other considerations would you face with hesitation a conversation about your destination would you want to know or would you push away would you deny the possibility would you exercise free will are you still asking who this is are you worried are you thrilled what questions would you ask what task would you take him to what wringer would you put her through and what about when you were three and that didn’t have to be but now it was and then it is and the tenses get all mixed up if the future is already known but can you just stand up and walk away and what will he say and how will she stay away if you are the creation can you live without that pen can you go on without that song being sung to you along the way through lifting you up in the morning into a dawning without warning of some new something a humdrum no-fun or a thrill-a-minute cinemascope there is hope for Technicolor there is hope for no other escape but life but love and all the shoving has got to go but the flow is so easy to fall into like autumn but we’re meaning spring and stringing along like a guitar on the roof of a car and a tambourine seldom seen but between the seats but we will meet and we will decide and when you find the answer you like your bike will not take you fast enough to share the air but when the decision’s in collision with your dreams it seems impossible to reconcile all the while the time it goes the clock it goes and the rain it goes as well in the sense of reality not the abstract you see but the song in my head cannot be read by anyone else but me I thought we’ve got to figure this out as the doubts pile up and the cup overflows as well in mismatched paradigms

Monday, November 23, 2009

post 23 november

justwrite 23 november

when we dream our schemes are so much more reasonable no fees needing to be paid in full the cats and the kettles all called the right names on one to blame for allergies or the freezing of lots the pots and the tots all tatered out with pockets full of allusions in our confusion we are calling out to wake up and all of your verbs are useless your conjugation of frustration needs no interpretation we are smelling the smells from the nextdoor quarters and they are multiplying by four and again and the trend is to wear a mask but the task is to make it through and you can tell by the commercial breaks there’s some high stakes on this plate and the sauce not the boss but the cross purposes are clear from the fork and the steering wheel and the feeling of not being in a car being far removed from a license is a new one and the true fun comes from wondering where all the clues have gone and beckoning wrong lyrics from the next lips slipping popstar ringtones in and out of reality the tv we see behind our lenses playing pretense is the way to survive those alarmists and their theories we are nearing our destination but the tracks are stopping and I’m thinking of hopping off and up and into the trees to catch at the breeze and suggest a kite ride toward opportunity for I believe my immunity has recently been tested and those colds have all been bested the flu flew the coop and the scoop is that it’s all someone else’s idea in which case I am searching for health and originality and the echoes of news are of no use to me when I wake up

justwrite 22 november

sometimes when the bulk of the time has passed we feel the glass is fuller than empty but not quite plenty enough to go around the brown paper packages no longer tied up the string unhinged the fringe benefits can’t stand the humidity and melt with timidity no one wants to force the course to change we are running in the rain and the slipping is just another step whether forward or into the mud we cuddle close our hopes and keep them dry while we smile our dirty teeth into the mirror clearer my face to thee and we are not as fresh as our bets were hedged but our beds are made and our spades have dug up artifacts collapsing piles of brilliants and chameleons changing out of character and into comparison with those other types those overgrown tykes lolling around the merrygoround crew the true blue prints from which stereotypes are lifted gifted with the spinning but unforgiving as gravity the scarcity of resources forcing a second look at the same box whether the bow on top is tied or not you have what you get and that’s all you can take and the cake you bake is the one you tried to make but not quite as tasty with some of those hasty steps in between where the recipe seemed not to know and so you substituted your own ideas so the flat spots and the uncooked bits are all your own invention but you’re surprised at the retention of intentions in the outcome a little numbing as you’re coming to terms with these sums and you’re humming to yourself in a wealth of melody but a lack of words

justwrite 21 november

today as we know a holiday we play our own horns we toot our suits in high fashion we are clashing with contemporary society but what do they know and how do they go about with their bread unbuttered like no mother told them how to hold their heads their high horses course off to the north and the magnet can’t catch it all you’ve got to fall back sometimes but the summer won’t catch you you’ve got to lean in between the warmer seasons reasoning that the colder air is thinner and you’ll swim faster and if you’re following that logic that science of defiance I have got to tell you it might not be true but the youth of the nation facing frustration are willing to believe are willing to deceive their sidewalks into beaches reaching for flowers out of someone else’s hand ready to stand on land founded by their own feet their sweets ready for tongues hung out for silence in between good ideas that space too precious to waste I have got to tell you if you’re looking through instead of into you have got to slow it down you have got to crown your own moments and own each step can’t bet when the next sun will come up when the last supper will be served we deserve our own rewards the ones we make ourselves the health we take from our own temperatures we are shivering into warmth and celebration

Saturday, November 21, 2009

post 21 november

justwrite 20 november

oh hi let’s fly over that skyline let’s fry that landmine in a distant atmosphere no fear of the fallout no calling out for the leftovers the clover’s too lucky and the ducks are too plucky to carry on at that rate on the next plate they are escaping from peking there’s a diner no finer than fried rings of onion coming on hard down the next boulevard the theme music you’re used to suddenly changes and the faster frames are flying the tutorials are full and tired the wired phones are left in pockets the locks are clocked at a thousand miles an hour when kilometers overpower and the conversion we’re urging is easily ignored and the door turns out to be unhinged but we begin again we scan our hands and check our rings for size we surprise our circles into rounds and abounding in and out of results we are catapulting through the tumult the tomatoes stay full and red instead of ripening backward an absurd proposal if ever I’ve heard one although in fun my sister said or maybe she believed instead that the older we get the younger we are and that she is the oldest of us all by far or four and a half years which isn’t that near but surely not far and the steel guitar I used for a car has been sold since the war came and the warranty renamed the clunkers off of the streets into discreet garages and abstract farms safe from harm and interested in the rearview

Thursday, November 19, 2009

post 19 november

justwrite 19 november

I am putting myself into a program I am raising alarm at the rate of a storm we cannot settle out of the rain pains itself in the straining but those clouds can not fall straight down the wait is too heavy too heady to knit into a pocked knot a locked barrel sterile and clean and in between the cracks the boards ignoring their own mistakes and quaking in their iron bonds the bounds founded on another presumption that they have not the gumption to keep it together without a forever pact the tract signed off on the land grandstanding on a columned porch torching the homefires and burning the wires so there’s no connection in any direction I am collecting this training and draining out all the starch I can parch from a wet throat there’s a ghost of a chance I will dance alone and the zone is too timely two timed three rhymes and no waiting for the stating of a claim I am remaining in the kitchen until it’s time to eat I am facing the nation through an awkward explanation and the cards we’ve traded have faded like so many notes into the distance the fence I want to jump is the one that keeps me safe the dogs I want to raise are the ones that give me chase and each phrase is swallowed by the next with the naturalist taking notes and the politicians eating votes right out of each commercial break faking it and making it obvious in the process

justwrite 18 november

a day that disappeared into a chocolate too late to be saved too raving to be mad I am glad this will be justified later but the savior of the matter is a puddle and jump away and the play is no thing like this stage is the rage is the time to go alone and there is no haven on the horizon there is no stripe to follow all the way home no stone to roll no gathering of moss and the floss and the mill and the toss and the pill will all make sense whether our busy is too fizzy like a soda that oughta be water and what’s the matter when all the data points to a different projector what will the director be suggesting before yelling cut and will I have the back to hack into it will I be able to pull myself up if my boots have no straps and the collapsing is of more than lungs I have hung myself out to dry I am waiting for the sun but have undone the top buttons and am asking for nothing but space and stars

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

post 18 november

justwrite 17 november

I am finishing a book that someone else wrote before finishing my own my wet hair feels long on my shoulders and all of these things are true except this room seems darker than the next which is not a fact because if you subtract the light from this night and add it all together there’s still weather to be had if you’re interested and the pain in my tooth will not compute will not multiply any times or tables and the fables of self-interest are not cautionary enough there’s a tough fence to jump and a lump in my throat with a remote chance of self-improvement along that route so I will tell myself a different sort of tale I will begin with a different tomorrow and the sorrows carried along in pockets have got to go even though there are stories to be told easily sleazily to attract attention perhaps to collapse confidence and to divide potatoes by internet to collect the debt left in relief the fees we’ve paid waylaid yet again the scans too retinal and the cashier laughs at last I am waiting for the tension that has mounted to dismount and the sunset to come up on the back screen the inbetween sleep has got to be deep or my hair will not be dry and the fish already fried will not be eaten by better citizens the healthier wealthier wise with mispronounced surprise chapped into their lips I am tripping over the letters and I am sending them to myself for the post office is lost and the phone won’t start so I will take this piece of heart and I will build

justwrite 16 november

once there was a blank in the tank and when the car started up the feet weren’t enough to measure its treasure in travel the meters were neater and the story was longer several floors high and the surprise of the day is the way we’re caught up I was brought up in a certain way of thinking and I am blinking in the light but it’s just about time for dark and when we park our dreams together it’s a drive-in forever and the dubbing’s a little funny and sometimes there isn’t enough money for popcorn or some forlorn puppy goes bumbling by trying for sympathy but you’ve got me and I can tell you I will never sell you up the river you can have my paddle and the boat too there’s nothing the wind blew my way that I wouldn’t say is yours and the chores are done and the trash is out the dishes are clean and the clothes are too I have weeded the garden I am cooking the sunlight for dinner and when you are back here beside me I will serve such a feast I am pouring out pictures and sharpening the breadknives when we arrive we will depart in peace

Monday, November 16, 2009

post 16 november

justwrite 15 november

as we remember our roles we make our chickens into goals and hatch them one by egg by hook or by the book the crooks have their straight and narrow paths and we laugh our laughs but catch our deaths anyway the cold the folded dollar bills stuck into our pockets locked away within easy reach of any chill the filler all down falling around your knees so the sneezes won’t get you so the juice won’t bite we are out all night and in all day and in the way we say our goodbyes you can hear the hello of a welcome surprise along down the tracks we have visited the station already there are tickets to be bought and even if it rains that’s mainly on the plain in spain and vainly speaking that won’t be keeping me back I will let those bulls fight it out themselves but I will keep my health and my skin intact packing only enough bags to take in my hand carrying only enough command of the language to budget a few minimal conversations I am not uniting all of these nations but I would like to buy some bread I would like to buy some water on the hotter days and if I get a raise I will think also of cheese but for now these fees we’ve been charged are large enough to block up my calendar the view in the twelve-month frame claims only one year of time and it’s no crime to steal a second but the bases load themselves when we’re not looking and everyone’s going hungry if we’re not cooking so please to keep the pace and face the music with whole notes written with rests between the lines have spaces have sounds have found their tunes and when I see the moon I will ask which task it finds most amusing and which one seems to be most confusing although really it’s just doing and really aren’t we too

justwrite 14 november

when you think about symbols the clanging goes straight to your head the fed can’t reserve such notions about what deserves devotion is it dove turkey eagle or is it dopey Sherlock beagle when we make flags and signs and colors do our numbers add up do our dollars make sense and from whence have we come have we strung along our theories have our fears melted as we belt out our anthems our national stratagems and white white houses but the car won’t start and the apples come to peace with their pies in mind their pious offerings the sacrifices crusted over and the statue taking liberties from the French not to mention all those customs those officials we’ve been missing all those lessons we’ve offered and the dogs made hot we’ve got to keep our noses up and down to the grindstone round and through the corner store the nickel slots and the casinos bought and sold for a song by the popstar renegades digging with spades in the middle of the plains changing names with other countries and adopting as we go we will grow by consuming we will zoom in and out and shout with confidence for the eagle is the baldest and the turkey is the smartest but the dove is the peace-iest and when we see where the list stops we wonder when the job starts to get done when the race that we’ve run comes out with a winner when the starting gun fired and if we’ve expired our welcome or the other way around if our milk wears a frown when our moustaches catch together we are the red and white and blue and through a river we run it all with our wet boots and head colds

justwrite 13 november

now I will start the flow will go forward we are together onward and the words too absurd to be heard aloud crowd onto this stage the page turning itself forward and the motion to which we’re devoting so much energy pretends to be important in itself and not just the goal too hot to handle too cold to hold in idioms in metaphors in scores of lyrics you hear it in your head and you can’t say else instead just propelled through the eighties and the nineties find me substituting lines I find in my mind instead of fresh correct original language at times I’m behind the curve deserving to be rebuked but to stoop to conquer to divide to hide in lines too small to call a queue too presidential to seem residential although white the house and at night the mouse will still come will drum up the courage and pay off the urge with a venture into the booth to vote to promote his own agenda to eat and to find to seek and to rewind to a better time than ever found the golden crown cast by rose-colored glasses with tasks to be past like the blast of air the glaucoma unfair staring right into the light and my eyes water no surprise in the simple consideration the uniting of all these nations by which I mean sensations and the facing down is more than half the battle but the prattle goes on in the commercial background and I have found the bottom of chins distracting beyond measure when there’s a television in view and same to you

Friday, November 13, 2009

post 13 november

justwrite 12 november

more or less the fence I am climbing comes without directions except the general suggestion of up but we are wondering where the bottom goes as the height grows higher as it often does as the fire expires in the place meant for it and ignoring it does little to keep the warmth I am making up sounds instead of words and we are pretending to imagine that everything makes sense I am mentioning something of the kind I am behind in my catching up I am getting back into a groove that has all to do with records of time and place and musical space we spend together like our last dollars calling out foreign currencies and putting a hurry on the curry factor we are detracting from our suggestions we are making lessons not worth learning and the furnace keeps eating up the heat the rain puts out all doubts of drought and the suggestions we mention are washed away into the sea not the ocean for you see there’s a difference and the fish can’t tell because it’s a secret there’s a tax you have to pay if you want to play that game there’s a stain on the wall and I can’t tell you how it got there but it looks like a circus with three rings and no waiting there’s a statement and a rebuttal but our nothing is more than another answer just a dancer waiting for a song and the strongest stage will not hold the whole way through

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

post 11 november

justwrite 11 november

ready to aim I have fired a rocket made of juice at the youth of the toothsome nation we are stationed at the train and our main frame of reference has been hung on the opposite wall the vokzal goes on like the beat despite the quarantine you can buy a ticket for wherever you like if you can hear the words the absurd syllables delivered in alternating tongues from the same mouth we are heading south and to the right and on the map we’ve left enough time for lunch but my hunch is that this interview is used to brew a stronger tea a cup of coffee can not wash itself into black tea there are varieties I have not yet mined a quieter life I can not find for myself on this shelf with all the dishes rattling with all the kettles calling themselves on the handle holding a candle to their past hopes their remote glances changing the channels before the commercial break the hot water starting to heat itself with a concentrated stare where there are no holes in nylons where the car always starts where the cider beside her tastes sweeter than mine from this angle but I will bangle those bracelets chasing its natural conclusion I will close the door and what’s more I will be able to hear my own fingers feeling the letters on the keys and adding them up to meaning

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

post 10 november

justwrite 10 november

when is kapusta not kapusta this is when it’s cabbage not soup when it’s cooped up with other words waiting to be heard it is hurried off and turned into an adjective we are living big here we are dreaming of conjugation and coughing into declining health but the wealth is in the endings pretending we know the differences the cases with laughing faces peering down from the wall hardly peers to us all but lofty and scoffing I wish toffee was hauling itself toward us and stretching out its sticky length to comfort our teeth our tongues hung out to dry in the inside heat can’t compete with the misty haze of autumn days fading into winter no hints of just how cold and I can’t say that it’s getting old because there’s no comparison there’s no way I can see through to the other side of somewhere without a more complete map I am ready to adapt but the traps of each moment cling closer and I am hoping for a bazaar more normal than the next I am collecting data and photographs I am reading the signs and in English it says stop but there is no top there is no bottom just a crosswalk waiting to be solved and I have resolved to find the other end or at least to pretend to be headed in that direction to the station without information but ready to buy a ticket

Monday, November 9, 2009

post 9 november

justwrite 9 november

sometimes we see the lines drawn ourselves but from the shelves fall all those other ideas those sensemakers those noiseshakers and in the next room the soap opera that you don’t even follow starts to call you and you are thinking wait what and shut the book you meant to read heed the wrong advice and spice your coffee with curry and whether or not it turns out well the spell is broken and the token gesture that set this all into motion is lost in the ocean of details where every fish is a red herring every spare detail is carved into the sea the sand hands it right to you and you store it in a shell that crawls away when you look backward or forward and there are more words to warn you with but this is the way it will usually be and we rarely can see the trajectory for more than a perfunctory glance and we miss our chances by stuffing our faces and winning races we don’t need to run we can not sun ourselves long enough to tan our smiles into permanence we are waiting for the right commercial to tell us what to remember to tell us who to vote for what to love and how to live our lives but the commercials we see are not the right ones or if they are we don’t know and who is holding your remote who is controlling your scrolling through the information from where your fascination with language comes there’s a humming drone of some sort of mechanism turning the gears fearing the years that pass without accomplishment just measuring in the astronomical the fickle view of youth and old age and all the stages in between no one understands this point no one has ever lived and I will be the first to figure it out and on you go and you do your best and so do the rest and then what?

Sunday, November 8, 2009

post 8 november

justwrite 8 november

the bell is ringing and the machines are singing themselves to sleep the deep end is drowning in itself the wealth of information up in smoke poking the clouds with rounds of billowing the pillows we sleep on sweep up the leftovers the dream bits screaming wits’ end and pretend imaginings like the showers we are taking have taken will take mistakenly when it’s three in the morning and what we thought was dawning was really tosleep was really the keepaway game we named tomorrow there is no bus coming at this time there is no situation we can explain with the limited vocabulary we have acquired in these few years the weeks that feel like lives the knives that cut the chapters apart are dull and so are the brain cells that stretch them together firing and doing that synapse thing to sink or swim in someone else’s story I will write my own night I will take into consideration my own fascination with language with dropping off baggage that I don’t want to carry to marry my words to my thoughts and to have and to hold the colors from my tongue strung up like so many laundry flags fanning the afternoon when there is a breeze when the trees let in the sun when we have hung our messages and we do not need billboards we have stored the clues and we will use them as we see fit as the sizes flit back and forth from small to large and when we are not wearing our shoes they choose their own paths from the front door and what’s more they are not confined to our minds they travel freely they should be followed and not hollowed out with doubts to fit our own fat preferences or feet if it was up to me I would wonder who it should be up to and I would take charge but we would mainly be walking alone together and the weather would be fine a find no one would mind mined from gold

Saturday, November 7, 2009

post 7 november

justwrite 7 november

today’s the number game the same fame spread across like nutella when a fella has to say his part and the departing lines are too long to fine much less to find they are exchanging other peoples’ ideas and we are making our own this is a zone I am falling into I am calling back with room to spare but there’s a thirty minute limit and with me and you in it there’s no time for listening to the space there’s a race to chase the ending but we’re pretending it doesn’t matter there’s a shattering outside my glass but it passes and the classes are all teaching themselves at home with a roaming fee charged in the enlarged sense of a lack of progress we are messing up the eggs no one knows how to buy in a plastic bag dragging cracks on the floor we are performing our own dramas and our mamas want to know when the snow will reach our knees when the breeze will be too unbelievable to allow for leaving to cost forty griven because everything must go at these supersale prices and the nicest thing is the replacement of pop with the stopper of classic rock I am talking about listening and you are doing so and the flow goes on the beat is strong with this force of course we are the good guys of course we will never be as cynical as them we will never become ourselves in other view there are three rooms and no waiting and I am dating this entry to remember part of forever and to know it doesn’t last that way know the celery will make it through and nuts to all the crunching

justwrite 6 november

you might imagine I am capable of cooking up more than imaginary scenarios the scari-os in your bowl in the morning churning up the milk the freshcaught bilked from the ocean there are motions here without fear the steering clear leads to veering nearer we are wearier than our feet but our hearts go on beat by beat and the neat thing is the straight line the fine twine binds it all together the feathers and the bygones the singalongs and the campfires and this is an offer that never expires I am asking you I am staying true and I am listening with glistening eyes there is no surprise I will not hold in my pocket I will lock each piece with a golden key the ticket licked into place pasted like a space full of stars they are old and they are far and they are cold and what’s more is the story has more than fourteen the quarantine is unsettled by nettles in the side of politics the quick and the spread of the cards the hardened water which makes it ice the paradise of the right answer and encouragement sent swiftly I am posting no pictures with these wishes I am filling my water bottle again and the trend is toward ringing phones the zones are out of whack off track from the train station leaving a destination the imagination on a windy street meeting in a red bridge too big to budge too fudged for such a budget can’t be moved can be improved with a closer view or a truth more often spoken no tokens for this ride no way to hide the smile that styles into place when and how and thanks

justwrite 5 november

set up the steps we have left our feet on the ground floor and we are going up we cup our hands full of multivitamin juice and we boost our immunities with impunity we do not care how much it costs we do not fear the weary road for it will never find us we imagine it far behind us and we go and we go and we show no signs of slowing as the snowing takes over we have fields of clover in our brains and the stains of grass on our knees but our sleeves are tied behind and there’s no one to mind the chickens while the cats are out to play on the dock of the bay paying to play with the clock and to stay on a rock not quite Gibraltar but this one won’t falter there is questioning but there are lessons and the value-added dimensions are the ones we cannot buy these are the ones we need to try on for size and surmise whether we will survive in the same shape or if it’s escape instead while headed in the opposite way the stay is long but the road is longer and the feelings stronger than sense or regret and not yet but soon and when some other moon appears the years will melt away and anyway there are people not so lucky there are songs with no audiences and this is not the case I am riding the bus I am causing no fuss with my face wide open I am not covering up I am certainly drinking tea and water and your matters are mine and I own nothing worth forgiving but the living isn’t easy although the food is here to stay whatever that may lead you to believe

Thursday, November 5, 2009

post 5 november

justwrite 4 november

forever remember we will tremble in our stockings when the knocking comes to our door and wherefore and whyhow and whatnot have all got to go for the flow just cannot if the scot-free litany of sins escaped is draped across our collective eyes it’s no surprise that we fry our stockings in the windows we blow our noses and suggest roses ought to result but the tumult of a thousand tired hares jumping from the pony tails fails to move me to groove the usual suspects out of reach we are teaching ourselves unnecessary lessons the dimensions of these fake students are often in keeping with the deep end of our own pretendings and here they raise their hands and there they have commands of the language unlike our own bandaged tongues they are coming undone in the worst way the words stay out of bounds resounding in the corners warning all comers of the quarantine the mean streets meeting in the muddle of doubts the middle of scouts’ own promises in the quiet woods I imagine should help but they are far away from this scene and the television’s mouth doesn’t connect just redirects from the waves saving time from other uses and kicking it in the caboose as we loose our minutes and spill them all over the stover and the ovenl the baking of mistaken letters added in like a spice too nice to waste a taste of irrationality like sprinkles the rainbow kind the opaque sugar ready for a cupcake and prepared to make its day

justwrite 3 november

elsewhere there are elections here there are corrections in my directions forward I am going backward and to the right I have left the night and am on into the day straying into light the bright the correct neck of the woods good enough for generous understanding with little commanding of the language into the right angles the ninety degrees we need to make a turn for the better to the opposite side of near to far from and a sesame street demonstration shows you context clues to use where the monsters are near and the monsters are far and here where the wearing of masks is a task taken on or a suggestion scorned by experts we are wondering and wandering into the cold air wearing down jackets and heels with the walking talking a good game and making some mean claims where the numbers sort out purporting to doubt but doubting the strength of denial while the trial drags on with evidence not in evidence for all and the calls being made by referees played out not in open court but behind columns with theme music and the truth is on in the next room the soap opera gloom lifting and falling with the daily strands I am ready to buy in to the story line a little hard to find but attractive nonetheless more reasons to move toward rather than the general the massive attempts to understand all to accomplish all to be better to wear sweaters that match although that wouldn’t catch your attention if you saw the list some spots missed but plenty more to go and so on

justwrite 2 november

we are remembering our manners and our minds and our loosely defined norms have warmed to the occasion we are warning our phrases to stay within bounds we are hounding the moon and the phases are soon enough to move toward close enough to lines to color within like finds under caves and in the waves saving other surprises for when the sun rises brighter than today for this is all we can manage right now thank you and our tank’s a lot fuller each new year and the old fears keep clear we are steering forward and to the right and across from the landmarks we could find in any dark except those have disappeared here the prepositions are all that remain and the frame is black magic marker on a flipchart page all the rage at this stage of development we have sent our post-its packing and all that’s left on the stack is the smackdab middle of a recently released novel there is no introduction but the middle is juicy playing fast and loose with the end we pretend our teeth are in easy reach and we smile the miles across the floss a tightwire conspiring with hilarity to stretch itself into better health we are masking our faces replacing each taste with mistaken identity the plays we’ve seen before were more or less fictional and this now is unpredictionable by which I mean made up by which I twist my angles trying out the view

Monday, November 2, 2009

post 2 november

justwrite 1 november

I remember yesterday like it was today the way we save the dates is too late to keep track of we tax our brains like spain’s own memory in a hurry to scurry through Europe we’ve heard it all before and what’s more is the store is closing early here we have some fears to be addressed but the next best solution is to remember resolutions like to go and forward and onward and backward nomoreward we are making pledges and they are lemony fresh like the tabletop as of some minutes ago a flow to go with a growth to show in piles of dust rusting their way south hand and mouth and feet discreet enough to head the other way the body parts display is enough to turn your stomach as you wonder why they’ve done it and again the scan comes back with negative results the overall tumult leads to quaking earth and flying dirt I have been sitting at this desk I have had tea repeatedly I would like to walk and talk but these are both out the doubts have been routed directly to the top to adopt immediately and speedily we go along singing our elementary songs playing along on the recorder straightening up disorder into chapters the adapters not quite aligned as finely as a tune might be spooned into the mouth of a baby but these words will save me the space aloud the crowd allowed ought to be proud but the shrouded terms take their turns in describing how surviving only fits the fittest and at the cost of some small remittance you too could be truly listed