justwrite 8 january

if this was my way my day would be clear the steering wheel would not have fallen off the horse and the leaves would still be on the breeze the trees having shrugged them off temporarily before pulling them close the most pressing matter is to scatter those ashes outside of the city walls the call to arms much less a means for harm than a suggestion a misdirection a correction of the white-out shouts I am falling and I am dancing with myself drinking the wall to its health I am standing in line for a sign and when the phone talks itself out I will doubt it will ever ring again those strings tied up in fetching knots having caught that wave having sat on top of the world I have curled my eardrums outward we are worried about the teacups but the battles are running loose no caboose will catch that train no engine will number those nine those paintings waiting for the museum to open so they can exhibit those feats of strength those spelling wheels running loose and wild faster than a child with a smile and a lollipop waiting for the clouds to pop and all the stars to fall I am surprisingly busy with these trends the fenders and all their guitars not to mention benders and other such puppets cannot take the last laugh cannot laugh best while the rest of the bridges go both ways an independent haze seems to vanish like a rock and roll horoscope really sloping upward steeply turning deeply into the minutes when you type you find more in it although wrists are meant to be steady and the words I’ve said already are not to be misread are not to be interpreted the worst is to pretend that all your friends are not and in the corner you can be caught with a cap on your head instead of a grin and spinning won’t escape you even if that worked as a verb you might have heard about yesterday but I cannot say it isn’t true although when you knew first you probably thought the worst I’ve rehearsed my reply but why and how and when remains to be seen at the end of the idiom