justwrite 28 february

I just want to be wary to carry my circle around the block the square unclocked the cork unplugged the socks are bugged and the heater is indiscreet but the feet up and down the steps crown the leapt-off cliff with tired lips I am eclipsing the sun totally I am having fun notably in the quotably true brew of notes I have snatched up from the fingers of the birds there are absurdly pulsing colors between my temples where no one worships where no sacred things come unhinged I am tired of the rust trusting its success on what’s left of my vision the multiplication is no table too able to defeat

justwrite 27 february

well so it was like this like a kiss of rain and a mist of spain there are plane janes and there are no mary buckles I am tucking in my toes and supposing that the growth rate will exceed the puddles will endeavor to bubble up overward overhaving overheard another day coming we are running in place I am escaping the chase scene and stepping into the august the sky the October November we are telling each other to remember the seasons and the reasons although none of them are Christmas and all of them are white bright like a night light coming through the attitude let’s hide under the table and pick the shoes we like we can invite anyone we want to haunt the underfood party and the conversation’s better and the weather’s always fine there is no wine to dine with no climb to mount we are doubting our shoe sizes but rising to every occasion now it is the season of my vocation and I am halfway through I am wondering too many answers into questions and this is what happens when I teach my own lessons and this is what happens when I trap my own tail in a bag and drag it along the bus route tooting my own horn and calling my own phone in the end zone we are listening to the scores called in and the medals counted but I have no idea where to go from there I care and I share excitement but in that time will the world end and will we pretend that nothing ever happened like that nothing ever petted that cat in the three o’clock shade and the blanket spread across the yellow the knit pattern scattered like sunbeams in and out of view and you pull up the windows and fling out your suppositions and wonder who will listen and the answers enchant you and you can’t view the inside the same way again

justwrite 26 february

reaching out each hand we pretend to fend for ourselves but on the inside our wealths are made up of spades and clubs but mostly hearts and rarely do diamonds define what’s in and what’s out and the doubts we have in our own hears are clear from our eyes when we see the surprise when we have tender guides to these ideas we are listening and nodding I am holding my own hand I command my own army and there we go you know you show your map-pointing finger and there are no rings no triggers no figures to add up without cupping up water and splashing it without cashing in all those wonders and answering with a certainty of a sort we purport to tell our own stories though we listen to those of others the lending tree the fending we do for ourselves I should be planning now and not later I should be waiting I should be creating more than spacetaking the filling the feeling wheeling in and out and I would like to say I would like today to be another such I would like to wake up early and realize things I would like to swim through a pool of sunshine and come up floating surprised and wiser I do not need to know the price I cannot offer any advice I am wondering what pushing makes sense and that kind builds a fence I am understanding I am undemanding but still I am confused too used to making up my own answers to imagine that the time passes the grass is green but so is the sky and we fly our own planets about orbiting and shouting back and forth warning about weather and other small talk there’s a chance of rocks rolling over the hills and down into the donut pass there’s a crash and a burn and a fern and a forest and the violets glorious quietly below in the mossy snow the color of spring

justwrite 25 february

wait for the chorus we are waiting for more we miss our kings and spring our rings around the rosie there are trousers and they swish they wish they were worn by gym teachers echoing off the bleachers with whistles and tweezers teasing the soul out of a sullen white-soled sneakerboxer wearing all the right colors the socks that lock in line with the rules defined by the makers the takers shaking up the trunks and pulling out the cars far enough ahead of the red line you can’t stand behind if you’re going to get ahead there are rear-view mirrors and there are front windows I am sticking out my arm and my belly and letting them wash away today I need just my feet today I need an ear and once I hear that kind of music there’s truth in it we spin our webs we compare our pears and stare out where the pair piece ought to be in this puzzle I am wiggling my fingers which might mean typing I want you to know how I feel how are you and the truth is a double-album I am leaking out of my boots I am disappearing into the dirt we are considering our options I am making plans but they lead straight up and I haven’t got a ladder I have got a british-trotting tongue we have got unstrung we are wondering which one is better whether the honour of the weather is worth the curse of mislaid u’s and there is no news that I can tell there is no song that I can’t smell from a distance and again it’s proven that I can’t listen to music and write at the same time sorry about that

post 24 february

justwrite 24 february

as a date that’s due will this one come true or would that be too easy do you borrow or do you lend do you pretend they’re the same and name them both with the same letters in the same order of the same word having heard all the options and choosing no others we are encouraged by our mothers and we wonder how we happen to be and whether the sea is really so wide whether the tide takes turns in earning its keep in the deep or is it always on the beach is it that layer of warmer storms washed from the tropics ready to drop its treasure into a weather vane waning with the moon and waxing a new spoon trying to keep it shiny trying to work its shiny ways forward we are worried about the progress but it is not only ours to make we are cake and we are bake we are the end and the doing the effect with its cause freed of clauses and stuck in the closet in anticipation of a uniting nation pulled apart the start of a dill and a pickle and a trickle of spices or should I say greens and when in between the courses the human events do we pay our own rent and do we send tents skyward packing tracking in all the mud of the ground around and downtown and besides there are lots of shoes to buy


justwrite 23 february

one minute I was standing up and the next I was sitting down I was listening to the music and then it was gone then it was quiet then the riot of noise outside calmed down the storm back to the norm and more or less everyone was snug as a bug in a classroom which is not to say that there are bugs in classrooms and I very much hope there aren’t which reminds me of the times with the old orange carped right from the sixties and smack on the floor of Walkersville high school my school but no more and when they tore up the mess they replaced what was left with white linoleum the sole color and a few others in blue and gold squares for school colors there are numbers in this story but I don’t remember them what year or how clear the directions were I’ll just say to myself and the health of this handwriting is quite in doubt

justwrite 22 february

it was an idea it was a good one and it would be fun and the summer would be longer for it the spring would be stronger family warm garden we would harden our resolve in the solving of equations saving the sense for a hardware store and imagining more than we could build filling up notebooks with sketches whatever catches your imagination is your saving grace and you need to chase it even if you’re building a rock out of mud and a square Tupperware and advice from the dictionary it doesn’t mean you’ll make it that doesn’t mean you’ll take it out and show it around like a piece of success but what’s next will be easier if you don’t say no to fancy to fantasy it’s a chance we take and bake our cakes out of wildflowers and weeds which are mostly the same except to children and grandmothers who know better but we’re forgetting the start in the heart of the winter we shivered and pretended summer and one said a fort and another said a teepee and we were pleased as could be with the idea for the beans to grow through it and to brew it up in the middle of the garden so we sketched then fetched up a spring ready and waiting and found the perfect beams seemingly made for the job cleared a circle worked and built and called into existence a spilt pile of straight lines that met at the top and waited for the beans but we didn’t wait for the bees they came on their own and as we saw the first green tendrils so did they and as we drifted toward the soon-enough blossoms they were already there and it wasn’t too fair or square but there was no way we were going to play in a triangle of bees but still spring released them and the beans and the summer came and we reframed our view from the porch with lemonade and watched the shade and where it laid out into the stretching view of disappointment and contentment

justwrite 21 february

when I look at this picture a twitch in the fissure the confusion of the fusion that draws us together sketches us stretches our patience our balance our abilities we see these trees and those colors that autumn folding into the sky there are mountains but we are high and we see and cannot be seen we are looking out and also in I can see you the back of your head threaded into the colors and the season the smell and the reasons are all clear we are not on our way somewhere else we are here we are seeing and not just looking we are not living on a shelf sticking to the highway the track the collapsing map hurrying toward a destination there is only fascination in the process and the results are as yet unclear how to steer toward the sky how to aim into the blue fading in and out of distance the mountains and the sky the rivers twined in between and the streams trickling down to keep us watered to strengthen our roots while we fly I didn’t think I’d pull over but maybe this time and maybe a little walk and then the view and I see it and I see you and I can tell the sounds from the wind will spin together that faraway traffic into our future but for now we are balanced we are separate together we are only steps from each other with ginger and honey mouths and fingers fit together instead of gloves in this weather we have love and we are warm

justwrite 20 february

if there is a right to thrift there is a shift waiting to be made there are shades and some of them are ghosts but some of them host picnics and otherwise pleasant adventures we have acquired tenure but we are unsure what to do with it where to put all of this water the fodder of nighttime imaginings we are building up tragedies and breaking them down this town is big enough for the blue true through way of us there are trusts and banks and tanks and yanked chains but none of that here no fear none the wicked too many sheets and not enough wind too many boxes and not enough wheels we are not stealing anyone’s time I am avoiding the easy rhymes there is a twitch in my left foot but the water is about to boil the clothes are washing themselves almost toward the rinse cycle there is nowhere to dry there is no blue sky with heat-making capabilities not in that room with the closed door the humidor but not for cigars not for fast cars and sideways motorcycles those are their diaries those are peru and chile and other continents of thinking there are trinkets we can buy ourselves to keep our shelves from looking bare but no one cares to see so we knock them down again and there is a balance to be rehashed there is some othersuch to be trashed but I will drink my juice I will keep my tooth in place I will tell the truth and not slant we can’t recant our own misgivings and in the meantime we ought to be living

justwrite 19 february

the light at the end of the tunnel is melting and with it the funding to continue but in the middle you know it is dark and the cars can’t park and the shoes can’t shine it’s a divine find this diamonddark day this sudden mudden garage we are sitting waiting and watching but hatching no plans catching no landfalls no wind calls through the hallowed hollows we suck in our cheeks and make discreet faces like we are chasing out the bad ideas and gathering up the new the breadcrumbs we kept in our shoes are long since gone out of the holes at the toes and the supposed trail has failed due to birds haven’t you heard about the other way out haven’t you mapped an alternate to this trap haven’t you talked to yourself before this is not how I see it this is the fee it pays itself and all you have to do is hold the bill the coin the card and how hard is that to say the script replays every ten minutes we are fearful and the nearful changes the rearranges the tongues the unhung coats falling to the floor and we are more than our fair share of idealists here we are clearly not believers in the pulling of levers we are waiting for results that have already been given we are waiting for shrove Tuesday but it’s already been shriven we are giving up doughnuts but not we have bought a supply of flour and we have planted it and the soup will recoup any losses toss in those potatoes and there you go those carrots can’t compare it with any other remedy the needy and the needed they’ve weeded out the wheat from the rest and the best of these is soup but the troopers beg for barley but the starlings call out startling forecasts and who will watch the movie who will keep his brother’s watchman

justwrite 18 february

life out of balance a challenge a disturbance in the forks in the force of nature and therefore and we more than answered the question that no one asked but we tasked ourselves with completing the optimistic view and between me and you there are true stories I would like to listen to faster than any flash fiction just the choice of perfect diction and the human condition comes unwound hounding the dogs and sheeping all the shepherds the flocking pots and the walking sleepers the steeper climbs the easy chimes of an unforgotten curtain the clothesline fine and dandy handy with the upkeep sleepier than tigers wrapped in milkbaths they relax and soak their stripes the types are repeating the strength is sometimes fleeting but by the time my eyes have closed it will be close to ten anyway close to sleeping the dark away I am telling all the situations I am posing all the scenarios and when it goes through my head that way it doesn’t quite process I can’t see the point of a and b and three blind mice sitting in a tub in a tree in a boat on a plane the dealer calling out sevens wild and the child you used to be climbs up and turns over all the right cards but the one you are now shouts about the weather instead and heads to the buffet the way you used to scoff at the cat outside balanced between in and out the window is a ledge the door is open and shut with the most attractive option on the other side I will ride until the end of the line and maybe farther but there’s no car there and I’ll have to walk and I have no words but I’ll have to talk with grains of salt and spoonfuls of sugar we are eager to please we have bends in our knees and our elbows as well go in all the both directions

justwrite 17 february

where in the world and the sterling silver dinner plates were the later saints the dated faints in surprise all cataloged and aligned with the stars their farces notwithstanding undemanding overhanding the shots the lowballed calls for the curtain to fall earlier for the sturdier steps to be met with heavy clumps the stumps the feet the street the wheat and the chaff and like I always say I want to play percussion but it’s not for nothing that I don’t I won’t be second-guessed I won’t be redressed and the best chance I have to be caught is in something I ought not take like a peanut butter pile like a while ago I had some ideas and last night I had some dreams some of which seemed quite right after night meaning in the morning after the dawning because certainly it’s not so early when I get up I mean maybe I’m awake but I’d stake an easy claim that there’s no chance it’d be before the sun or maybe one in one hundred because sometimes but anyway there were some where I thought well of course you don’t need an editor and someone there will do much better and also another one where someone else was something to you and everyone knew but me and then I saw your message I missed our meeting I missed our meeting and I knew and so true it seemed but when I woke I was squeamish at first embarrassed at second at having reckoned such a sentiment into a dream but we have only so much steam and only so many ingredients expediently added to our slushy mushy minds that it happens all the time when everyone else has the control and the whole world watches what will happen when you wake and walk on

justwrite 16 february

just a few more hours until the showers come and we are all undone re-tied into knots we thought we’d escaped from the bug running up the wall at the slowest pace imagining a race against the rage against the machine we are meaning well there are stories to tell and they are coming up slowly I am beholden to the magic numbers to franz ferdinand and history in all shapes we are escaping from the curriculum we tickle our own fancy fantasies I have seen a variation on this theme I have dreamed a dream of times gone by wilder than another chorus but before us there are senses at least five and when I say seven there are surprising echoes but I don’t know how many I can’t find my directory and we are all a-gog over those and roses are the most popular color flower combination leading to great fascination across the room I was surprised with the blooming number but whatever the weather the forever the never we are tired and our hands are a little cold we are holding lost keys for each other we are catching and releasing we are sneezing without intent we are meant to be asleep we are meant to keep warm together and when the mail comes when the snail wins when the pail fills up and overflows with rainbow starflowers we will wonder what it’s all been about and our doubts will most certainly be gone

justwrite 15 february

there are varying areas the staring has to stop but the pop on the bottom of the bottle is the crop by which I mean circling around the topic I am ready to begin when we think of music do we sink or swim do we hold our noses do we dance like the fifties run though our saddle shoes do we lose win come again and go within or without there are no notes I wrote that can’t be remade remixed affixed to a label and marketed on corner tables we are stable but I am shaky we are making drinks out of the appendix we are risking our own grants to dance in the streets when we meet other makers of quality goods should we stop by can we cry out with doubts a-flying with flags undying unfurling like those lips those songs mished into the mash the potato the wonderland carnival ball all and more those four horses riding men to the apocalypse and Johnny cash has dashed it all with a call to arms and feet and when we meet again we will stand on our own two more

justwrite 14 february

let’s do a survey and wonder where the worries go how do you show your garden a good time how does your Tupperware know you care when and all the hows and the whos are coming to dinner and they all want to leave thinner than they came but at the same time to eat a lot and have gotten their fill there is a man in a blue house and a woman in a red dress neither of them are acquainted with the boy in the green pants but can they dance without anyone stepping on each others’ toes and especially those of the butcher who lives two houses down from the baker neither one of whom is a woman or who has an orange hat we have scattered enough clues for you to use to seek the truth but you might wonder what blunders will lead you to any sort of success what will be next on the list and how many x’s can you fit in those boxes talking into circles the logical twirls of intellect collecting in pools under the table those fabled memories those star-crossed miseries and her name was and his name wasn’t but all the same they found each other and there are plenty more of the same the also the other the discoveries we and our voices cannot be stopped though the corn can’t be popped in this heat this indiscreet dalliance given the chance of a workless morning of a snowy dawning cold with the awnings long-gone and replaced by awe and yawning also some sort of yearning churning up the letters into piles a mile a minute and each with you in it as ideas fly by and the same is true while you project and protect and kindle kindness

justwrite 13 february

when you have birthdays they are the first days of the rest and to pass that test is the best the west was won that way the states have their unions one nation underdivided we decided that was how we wanted the vaunted halls to echo the reflections of other places the faces watching through someone else’s mirror no nearer to the truth than an errant caboose off picking up some ketchup at the store and imagining no more than a few minutes would pass no leaving the tracks most times and there’s a reason you can see it in this season you can shine like air in the gold the kings of summer convenience the meanness of a stripe of yellow headed over heels in confeeling fuses I have to lose something to gain anything but it’s hard to pick it’s hard to stick your hand in the pickle jar and when those beautiful lights turn to music it’s all you can do to pick bread in a simple field the pretending doesn’t get very far but there are no more than a thousand meaning galore the options I have got to adopt a different sense of taste or face the waste of a century of hurried explanations to myself if it’s going to get better if it’ll be wetter after the rain after the spain will be planed or plainer to say will remain without an article of which I’m particularly fond I’ll just say I’ll play the piano in reverse I have no worse fingers than the other beginners but in the meantime the watch blinks the cat flinches loudly in the hallway and I am calling collect I am dialing direct there is a future but I can’t find the page there is a stage to reach but I can’t tell for the curtains I could be there already or still sitting in a seat for certain I should at least applaud although it’d be odd to discover I was alone and clapping for myself in the spotlight of a wondering night

justwrite 12 february

justwrite 12 february

oh did you see and how can you be hey say another line sing another chime for the rhymes will solve themselves we are building shelves in our minds but gathering rosebuds with no place to put them we cannot plant them on the walls or they will fall and the ground is much too cold and quite dirty actually when you come to think of it and I’m on the brink of something maybe it will be success maybe it will be a rerun a refrain that’s remained in my head all this time I am finding myself at the edge of a different sort of health the wealth of confusion in profusion perhaps this is an illusion of the highest variety complying with frying pans over the head and a biscuit instead if you can risk it being fed as a compliment and we can’t be bent and broken both it’s one or the other at the most but we cannot boast too openly we cannot host an open tea party without consulting the cakes we cannot make our baked goods badly sadly there are too many contrasts outlasting the ever the weather is suitable for such perusals but I cannot take the time this time I cannot imagine a tragedy worse than the curse of endless rehearsals without a performance but who can decide on the show and what curtain will go up who will pull which cord and is this thing on

justwrite 11 february

be wary of those digits wonder if you’re in it but don’t worry don’t hurry off to bed and out to wake making mistakes and shaking no hands there are commands that make more sense in a vertical position but when you horizontically listen it’s hard to imagine what could inspire one to do anything truly worthwhile outside of this space there’s a race for others to run there’s a chase that can’t be won or caught and perhaps it ought not to but just a little bit of progress maybe a little bit of steam will make a difference it’s too hot under the covers for example or your bladder’s being trampled by the sheep of dreams and indicating that upright would be quite nice at this time and you had better listen there are situations I cannot explain and these are the biggest variety I can tell you I enjoy cheese sandwiches and also laying on the grass when there’s no snow on top of it but to adopt a more sensible answer to other questions posed is to grow uncertain I am not hurting for much but there’s a touch of an idea bouncing and balancing in and out of the bounds of sense did I mention my tongue is broken my literacy rate has greatly diminished and I may be finished with delivering complex sentences past the level of grade two or maybe three but we’ll see and we’ll answer questions like do you have a family and who are you by profession and what do you not like to do and these answers are true but passing through those to more complicated abstracts is to detract from understanding I’d like to have a hand in sense but it’s a tense shift it’s a lift from one case to another and there’s no trouble that can’t be solved with a facial expression but there are many more lessons to learn

justwrite 10 february

then the spelling fairy came by and wondered about the numbers too and I told you it would come to this I told you the answers being given were driven by thoughts other than those in pursuit of success but what’s next is the best chance the dance of a thousand steps the best ideas of mice and nicely laid plans out in fields with plows and how I was thinking about building a river but the prints were too blue and the plans fell through to the bottom the pebbles trodden upon wrong and right and the brighter shade of pale whales stubbed their toes so the beach was closed before it opened I am hoping to rebuild from the nothing that is there it would be fair to imagine something better than tragedy it would be nice to think less than twice about every word I am absurdly serving tea in a desert we have no justice we have to trust us ourselves our healths fail for words our deserving past part of the rest the best the situational anxiety trying again I am standing on my head we have spent the hours in bed distantly apart starting to think about getting up I am dropping my feet to the floor but this does not imply more progress we have guesses already made but the coffee isn’t brewed so let’s rudely excuse ourselves and make that happen let’s dampen the walls with humid calls for posters or posers or fashion tragedies I am pleased to see that the rain has stopped I am pleased to hear that people adopt children and also causes and clauses don’t always have to be so independent they can wrap their commas like gentle mamas around nearby phrases singing the praises of mutual support with retorts muffled by too many mittens and scarves smitten with the job of swallowing up ears and cold and holding close to that rosy nose

post 9 february

justwrite 9 february

the call goes out and beyond a doubt it’s a rout again the same route as before except this time it’s more exciting the fighting has stopped and the pops have been charted all the way to the top I am a whopping ninetynine degrees from freezing but that’s no reason to go out with wet hair there are fares unfair to pay but the way it works jerks its way along just as well without you and there’s no second way about you but the onions coming through the window there’s a draft you know and the frying is enough to leave you crying for butter and another dish also mushrooms if you wish but who’s that brave to save no room for potatoes the way it goes here is that there’s always a clear path in that direction which is a saving grace in the face of meat or famine the calamities of trees ripped up by their roots but occasionally replanted in damp and warm soil black and attractive to those toes who knows how accurate metaphor is who can keep a lid on anything of the sort we are purporting to understand though we have but a simple command of subtleties the troubles we see are in the mirror up close and from a distance as well but on the ordinary level the bus tickets get paid for the money we have saved for rent goes unspent and these are the simple certainties more or less we guess we take our time we spend it on fine china or coffee or Africa or calamine lotion to soothe those feelings still reeling with pain the bandaid pulled off again and the spot twitching first and itching later saving each new page with a turned-down corner ready for its close-up


justwrite 8 february

the territory stretches to the left and also to the right in the clear chance of night rising too early the sun takes a turn and burns off all the rest of the paper the wrapping adapting to the climate change rearranges its ribbons and begins again I am staining the wood on the floor with more than its fair share of care there is hair and staring but there is no comparing these parting words with the left bank the right tank powering up the vegetables the food processor and when I was stretching my stomach was guessing at breakfast west of the horizon surprising each banana pancake mistaken from a song and carried too long into the breach beyond the reach of each curtain call we are stalling out but we are weighing our doubts against the clock I have forgotten how to answer I have taken others’ chances and ignored varied dances because who would like to disco but if you know the answer then you’ve seen those dancers balanced carefully between the wall and the neon-colored advertisements we are spies sent into the dark corners where the mourners drink their punch and bunch together like under-the-weather peonies and poppies adopting deflated poses posies appearing poetic or attempting such pathetic bliss that the one who matters will find attention gathering in this corner will see the spotlight the candlelight flickering toward romance and the next dance will be had and gladly and the blooming will be noticed by everyone but embraced by the only one who matters more than embarrassment the only one sent forth first into this unrehearsed territory planned so carefully aware of the moment and the time spent imagining it into reality

justwrite 8 february

the territory stretches to the left and also to the right in the clear chance of night rising too early the sun takes a turn and burns off all the rest of the paper the wrapping adapting to the climate change rearranges its ribbons and begins again I am staining the wood on the floor with more than its fair share of care there is hair and staring but there is no comparing these parting words with the left bank the right tank powering up the vegetables the food processor and when I was stretching my stomach was guessing at breakfast west of the horizon surprising each banana pancake mistaken from a song and carried too long into the breach beyond the reach of each curtain call we are stalling out but we are weighing our doubts against the clock I have forgotten how to answer I have taken others’ chances and ignored varied dances because who would like to disco but if you know the answer then you’ve seen those dancers balanced carefully between the wall and the neon-colored advertisements we are spies sent into the dark corners where the mourners drink their punch and bunch together like under-the-weather peonies and poppies adopting deflated poses posies appearing poetic or attempting such pathetic bliss that the one who matters will find attention gathering in this corner will see the spotlight the candlelight flickering toward romance and the next dance will be had and gladly and the blooming will be noticed by everyone but embraced by the only one who matters more than embarrassment the only one sent forth first into this unrehearsed territory planned so carefully aware of the moment and the time spent imagining it into reality

justwrite 7 february

in store there is merchandise twice the price of yesterday’s fees but the trees are eager to please and fork over the leaves now freezing without reasons the seasons are their own tickets home we roam we are gnomes looking at collapsed maps trapped on one-way streets the complexities too real how to feel and who to thank if the taxes come out of the bank or head back into with cleared-through exercise books cooked up and turned over or transformed into storms of enormous size dotting the cart before the I the horse before the t crossed at the corner the dormer windows blowing open overnight letting in the light the stars traipsing through the kitchen and tasting leftover cake no waking up the sleepers deeper in their layers the trying-out savory smoked and fried hind-sight the white pages turning yellow and the chance of calling falling off the hook look at what has happened here look at all these proposals going nowhere with no care for the end users the bruisers and the bruised the contusions overused and the hair un-dried refried like mean beans who were expecting soup who used up their superstore namebrand commands unhanding labels and their unstable counterparts our hearts are full of idioms not the wittiest but to begin again is to be stranded on an unstrung island spying on the shore with more than off-handed interest the faintest taint of French fries surprising its unexplainable sense of smell and the ketchup as well that carries off the whole dish with relish and also with appreciation

justwrite 6 february

that little old problem has to solve itself there was another story to be told but hold your hand in your hatband and wait for this one to come through there are truths I keep in my back pocket but I keep sitting on them and that’s the flat-out problem I want to solve all of those fears I want to steer clear of broadway the tower the flowers blooming and zooming I cannot listen to music without making it my own rhythm I direct the corrected versions there are bananas and there are no reasons to hide under the boardwalk there’s an unmistaken lake where those geniuses love to shove the sand stand on their heads instead of sitting on their behinds all the time I have a carouself on my shelf around and around those horses cavorting and this is enough I can eat that bluff stuffed with raisins praising my own memory with a shivery dose of reality I cannot plan I cannot scan my own answers for the right one there’s no tight one water will be frightened of there’s too much flexibility a proclivity for cake baked with apples or pine of the same kind or a chocolate talkblock whatever that means I haven’t seen the recipe but I’m interested I’ve bested this track and I can make it back to sense did I mention I cannot listen and write I cannot stay up all night I have to translate I have to fate my find underlined in squiggles so fine my eyes intertwine them with the letters and so much better together unlike those pancakes turning into hope made of waffles coning the coined phrases and lazing about in rhymetime a station I would prefer not to leave or to turn but when the train pulls out I’ll be looking for the bus and trusting for reality to catch me as I fall asleep or fakeawake and take another slice rightnicely

post 5 february

justwrite 5 february

in the dream I had packed for hanover but the lady in charge was saying Lexington and I love my sister and all but I hadn’t planned for such a distance and my resistance increased when the woman released her belief that it wasn’t that far north and of course we all supported the opposite belief that we were headed south to her doubt but whatever the driver never said a word and while it seemed absurd to me there was no way to guarantee anything but our eventual stop and to top it all off I hadn’t been online the day before and the stored anticipation at receiving certain communications was almost too much though our parents something something couldn’t be there and it was unfair for my sister to compete with no supportive audience in place and this seemed to be my only function and at the next dreamish junction we were staying in a dormitory where I was upstairs and she was elsewhere with her friends and I had to wake them up and pretend excitement and I was wearing an outfit involving some sort of leggings due to the packing redacting originally committed but off we went her with a groaning smile disappointed in the wakeup hour but ready to deliver in whatever sphere this was and we next were in a building someone’s apartment but shouldn’t have been there clearly a fear we had slightly overcome except for a few problems like the apartment across the street with the window watching closely and too much glare to tell who was there and where did all those kittens come from and when heavy steps meant an opening front door our hiding spots were poor and the cats were on our backs

justwrite 4 february

I have often walked have talked about conclusions others made in profusion long ago but then shall my life be a musical shall I guess at the truth in full chorus lines of support when we purport to make claims but our fames are too unreliable we’d be threatened at the trial full of strangers the ones with the article found in camus and wholly unused to musical testimony their doubts would be too clear and they’d throw the whole thing off they’d scoff at tender melodies and talk through entr’actes with sneezes at the most poignant scenes when we mean to tell our tales in snide asides or laughable tracks we collapse in our own delight but it’s frightful to see them search in their programs wondering where I am or why this pastry has oranges inside and we find our concessions are not quite adequate but what’s really bad about it is the sleepers those who rustle their chocolates and talk a lot and then drop off easily in the restful crushed velvet doubly disappointed by the creaking joints as they lean to and who fro from what kind of mother was such a child brought up I shiver to imagine the gladdened stories brought to their glorious knees in an attempt to tease this being out of being such but there must be a bluff called a ticket bought and that’s some kind of support that’s some kind of remorse we won’t have to shovel out of the aisles after the last curtain comes certainly down and this clown falls down with his pants and starts to dance in anxious criticism of all that befalls and has befallen those characters in their diverse uh uh uh struggles uh uh uh and it’s one to watch now as we lean in to hear and how as he attempts to make a bow but the audience is all gone now

justwrite 3 february

wearing out a welcome mat not quite the goal but the whole pile that’s landed there seems fair or not quite I cannot write a trench full of sense I can only wait for a flood for something to budge and the coffee to drip through reassuringly there are free cells but it’s better to wait outside there’s a ride I thought I’d take but I end up baking a cake as sometimes happens as laps up the wrapping paper and paws into the present the future is too wide open for hope and the past is fast asleep in a different room while we here highly resolve firmly to solve some sort of problem and if you need some I’ve got ‘em we are terrified to hide out to wallow in doubts but they find us anyway they pretend to stay away but no one’s fooled the paper’s college ruled and there are stacks of it keep track of it or where will all the credits go you’ll find there’s just a headache and snow and no time to read for leisure the treasures of off-handed remarks and the dark will come faster until it doesn’t which is how the world turns without soap operas to help it along we are strong in our convictions but there are too many restrictions to do without the carryon allowance is very tight so you’d better get it right the first time we’ve dispersed fine particles over everything but they’re invisible to you so we’ll know what you do and do not so try to adopt the right to-do list twisted into an origami quandary so that all the dots connect and you can tell what to do next

justwrite 2 february

a ferry crosses the parking lot ready to adopt the first unrehearsed seagull it finds but no matter no mind no storm has scattered matters otherwise but straight and all those kings are in their counting houses the beaches reach far enough for all bluffs to be called back home on a seashell phone when we are alone we imagine the ocean and floating face up in conference with the sun imagining how it’s all to be done without extra acreage in the scale of time and what I find is there’s no bridge there is only swimming and that living is made up of these strokes we poke our hopes in the eye and then cry when they fall through pop and drop into the deep sleeping until we wake enough to shake off such responses until we know how to treat sows and their ears and where we want the pearls to be cast and how fast we imagine we’ll catch anything with bait like that and is it fate that’s sat on the windowsill or is that still the sun shining through is it true the curtains are uncertain whether to depart or to part in pieces releasing the view and imagining you will leap up and drink in from the brink of a brick wall three meters tall and there you go as your hair flows downward as makes sense but you can’t climb down your own vanity only up and up despite the troubles you’ll face at the top I am adopting clouds instead of children I am aware of their inability to stay cohesive but this may be the truth we’re all used to by now and how glad we are to show scars and raise the bars when still we feel we win something untouchable within

justwrite 1 february

justwrite 1 february

a new day a new way to play off the ends against the middle I have dreams and they are riddles stuffed with the ridiculous the meticulous plot of a wideawake thought is banished is garnished with harnessed wages of the day the sins beginning to melt all over the carpet of which I have none and the sun shines on the wicked coming out of the thicket and into the mirror as me and we see in this diagram how awake I am as I sleep as I whisper words into your ear clear enough to retell when I wake no mistake but there are trends and despite now swimming in the deep end I’ve been managing to keep my teeth in and to pretend normalcy the free cell game enough to claim the extra solitaire minutes when there’s truth in it I wake to wonder I plunder sense from every opportunity those tall trees in the nightsleep breeze shaking down nuts and bolts and fruits and bold pursuits I am favorably impressed with the lessons I stress to myself but I have a harder time falling through calling back to the track to find when the train leaves and also when it arrives as I thrive on the whistelblowing thumb-nosing narrow escape by which I mean appearance and deliverance the letters I need to send the friendships I need to extend but in my sleep I do not use my time so well wandering in gardens hardened by spells and no sense of smell to guide just a ride into questions and the freshing-up will help pulling the sugar down from the shelf and making it snow again