justwrite 30 june

I had a happening this situation raised itself out of obscurity and existed what is real resists telling but I’m all for felling imaginary trees but the real ones please to leave those in their places the cabinet spaces have room for one more but there are secretaries galore and ministers and more the departmental heads the shredded cheese another shade of cheddar and it’s better to imagine that an accidental tragedy will have a happy ending will go back to tending rabbits and caring for carrots and beating the rugs in the middle of the night there’s a bite and a bark and the spark of a thousand ships running on air the static too dynamic to catch up with the fried and the smiley faces racing toward a yawning moon too soon to have an answer too deep to have a chance we’re ready and we’re willing and for now we’ll take top billing even if the pages don’t turn even if the keys won’t burn fast enough to top the locks and turn the chapters the adapters of dust from dawn of lawns to chairs of staring right in the kisser and missing the point there’s no joint in these knees there’s no bee in that honey there’s some money and there’s the change I’m rearranging the comic strip to trip over itself to put on a shelf the greatest of easy cheese and other products of an unnatural sort we are purporting to turn organic we are manic without being panicked and when I have a garden a porch a window you might imagine I’d need a house but that’s all about perception and there are quite a few more lessons I’d like to learn first I’ve been trying to rehearse the lines and rehash the potatoes the tomatoes and their secondhand gyroscopes the hope of a thousand vegetables picking their full from the vines the roundabout times and the unpublished papers the press and the neighbors and when we have a bonfire let’s conspire to croatia to an unexamined life vanishing in the ashes the trash is taken out and the doubts the green the stream the river runs and no one can catch it

justwrite 29 june

who’s to be dancing on the head instead of a foot paired up balled up like socks through the goal line over the river and through the hoop the book keeps turning the pages keep burning through the story but no one can keep reading no one’s heading the calling stalling out the doubts and waiting until the yeast works out its frenzy rising in the kitchen when no one’s listening I am waiting to play the waiting game but the shame is my own there’s no home like the place you are right now there’s no sacred cow and the milk isn’t so great for your sleep patterns which is what matters I have cancelled another appointment and the fly in the ointment keeps buzzing with suggestions he is teaching lessons to a different teacher this one this preacher keeps telling tales out of school all about fools and their troubles and money made of honey and soon parted from a golden tongue if we strung along our wishes would they reach each others’ sides we can hide and we can listen or we can pretend to jump the hurdles there’s no sense at the end of the race and we’ll just go our separate ways but everyone gets a ribbon everyone’s name will be read aloud everyone’s had enough of being recognized and the surprise comes when walking off stage means fading into the haze of sideways daze there are things I’d like to say there is smarter I’d like to be but where and hair and feet and the meeting of the minds loosely defined as park bench waiting stating a variety of claims and shaving off the results a close finish a delicious minute of consideration the contemplation roasting so many vegetables before the harvest the eggs not yet in the basket but a task it’s impossible to be assigned is already mine and perhaps yours what’s in store is what’s in the field and the yield is not yet determined the worms are still at home the loam the clay the straw the way the gold turns the air to summer are the strands of melody cloying slightly the scent of cloves radically refusing to be ground

justwrite 28 june

if there was an invitation the designation the address may have been misspelled but it’s just as well it’s dark outside there’s a ticket to ride but if you care too much you fuss your face into sleeping wakefully there’s a mistake fully grown and ready to show about there’s a stake and a tent and a bent shape making the rounds into squares we fare well we cannot say goodbye we try our cursive letters and we make the better out of the worst we’ve rehearsed our responses but there again they are stuck in our throats with hardly remote chances at dancing recklessly on the walls falling into the sky upward falling out of sense and I thought I’d mention a declaration and it’s maybe independence it’s some other kind of mendance that does not love a wall that is not a good neighbor I am savoring every other kind of step having leapt off of the calendar and into calamity there are other kinds of plans but in this land I am the tallest the falling pocketpicker and I am not looking for compliments I am not looking for continual support there are colors in the map in the lamp and when my fingers find the wrong letters first I assume they are right I’ve rehearsed frightfully long hours to strengthen the power to keep going to row a rowing boat gently denting only the keys the paper the page sage ideas cast aside and letters and sounds sloshing inside as the sinking overtakes the thinking and sometimes in reverse let is find the shore let us swim no more for this roundabout daisychain set of scenes the metaphor’s the meanest the between screens lightshow as the shadows dance as another chance to be good turns itself into a goon into a children’s song for camp into a comforter made out of marigolds and turnips and when the trump card turns out to be missing there’s a whistling sound as the tea comes down to size and we realize that the window isn’t closed and there’s a different day exposed out there fairly brimming with other choices rejoicing would be too strong a word but it’d be absurd to replace it with something tamer a noisy game for all to play and a pent-up room with no need to stay

justwrite 27 june

while I’m waiting it’s safe to say that I’m considering debating the sides but arriving at no decision about whether to think about it so in conclusion it’s an illusion to imagine I have a made-up mind in other words that’s a fallacy a made-up statement of misplaced reality so let’s return to the truth today it rains tomorrow it doesn’t today is cleaner than yesterday and also more blue a cordorouy jacket too as I thought I’d find if I had the time and today I did and instead of walking away I bought it and a scarf with pockets too and there’s a story you can tell to others there’s a smell of onions through the window as there often is and probably potatoes probably some salo probably a hallowed combination reaching its destination the fork the mouth the stomach and south there is no final resting place there is a cycle and today the dogs were chasing two bikes like they were bringing either dinner or disaster and by all that barking they could somehow be the first diners or the defenders of the rest it’s hard to test those hypotheses but instead the boys said shoo and the woman nearby said shoo and the dogs temporarily reconsidered my favorite view from the past few days though is the way a wife chided her husband as I passed them on the sidewalk he was turning back and picking up his ice cream wrapper and she was several steps ahead pushing the stoller and shaking her finger at him nuu nuu nuuu as my cousins do when faced with naughty little ones having fun at the expense of nature or some nurturer or eating beads or something else wrong and I thought what a strong stand and I know it’s not just a man’s problem this littering spree but if this woman could be freed up from her schedule to meddle with other would-be sinners I’d imagine the litter’d be thinner and it’d be an excellent beginner and hopefully the stroller-seated listener has gotten the message too

justwrite 26 june

when the sun comes up it might be time to cup my hands and wait for the honey to fall for the dew to call home all its juicy melonfaced ideas and bite deeply into something colorful when all the letters written are spelling places never been and names never tasted let’s take another look at the map let’s cap the trades and fade into something curried unhurried and slowcooked it’s a cook book of geographical intentions and history lessons intersplaced with literary meanderings and artistic scavengings only for the living only for the breathing moving thinking dancing let us lift our hands and faces and take a look at what’s above it is only what we see it is only wheat we grow and when we bake the bread we take the cake we eat mistakes and give them as gifts and when the perfect loaf is made we rest in the shade and consider objections we remember the sand paintings the imperfect stitches of traditional quilts that nothing is perfect and nothing will last and even this craft of wrinkling my fingers of lingering over blank space and seeking to fill it is transitory I am telling you a story and you are not listening forever even as I am speaking you are seeking an end to this tale and I am not even at the middle you are twiddling your thumbs and I have barely come to the main character’s overall desire the overarching fire that drives through the rest of the plot all you’ve got so far is character development and a bit of scenery some of the meanery of conflict the challenge thrown in but there is no reason to swim along with this song if you haven’t caught what it is she wants and will haunt the rest of her pages days stages ways roads and all the epilogues in the world won’t reinvite you back to this point let me tell you now let’s take a break and have tea and at the next chapter’s beginning you can decide again if you’d like to listen I will make faces and also voices and if you choose to follow the clouds instead that’s okay they can say whatever you like and so can you and I will make my bed and make up my mind and make the most and make toast and mountains out of molehills without make-up without making broken deals I am stealing all the idioms and I am flushing them to the clouds sending them to rain down on the ocean instead of my ears so all will be clear and the fishes will have the entertainment they’ve been wishing for like the sudden English singing of an unexpected quartet giggling along the rainy sidewalk outside the window

justwrite 25 june

I’m remembering the titles exercise I left behind wondering how surprising that was I had an idea and I thought I’d use it but I breezed through it on the way to something else and here that else is really something like blank space filled by blank words I am running in place I am adding up the subtraction and wondering about the results I have divided multiplying from the equation with occasional hesitation when I feel like a fraction an instant a forgiveness too deep to step over but not enough to swim in not enough to begin again I am waiting for Lawrence ferlinghetti’s poem to have been written by me by myself and this is something unlike a new birth of freedom this is something like again nothing that will be and when I write the stories I will invent new glories enough with the gingerbread houses what would you rather find in your mouth and would it be soft enough to make others lean in to hear to watch your tongue unlock the words from your beautiful mind having defined your own ideas as sacred but flexible we are clay in our own hands and the sands in our hourglasses as we toast and drink deeply there is plenty of time plenty of strawberry afternoon plenty of cool evening and enough space with enough to say and the right one to say it to but no need to say anything just a feeling that filling emptiness is already taken care of there’s a repair of missing parts and each start is for a new race no one chasing no one facing insurmountable obstacles but here beside my desk a mini-melodrama ageless and intense the spider I thought was gone and the little bug who figured on a passing-by stroll I cannot look away and my fingers give way to the telling of the spinning the questionable sinning for the eating must be done and the song sung but whose language will the words be heard in is it a state divided by yellow woods or is the little horse stopping in a web too lovely dark and deep to keep moving along the path never tripping the cord never pulling the drawstring ringing the bell to tell the monster it’s time for lunch

justwrite 24 june

when you get what you asked for you’re often supposed to find yourself second-guessing your original intentions or at least thatt’s the impression I’ve been getting from the fine fictional research I’ve been carrying out into the sun the pools of light on the afternoon couch or a slouch on a park bench not meant for such a piece of time sitting in one place lacing feet in and out of shoes unused to being unused I am telling the truth and straightly but there’s no gate in the fence and it’s quite high so we’ll just have to see in a different season if the trees have grown enough to climb and the leaves and the fruits and the berries and the wary eyes of birds and other creatures will peek out and send sweet shivers through the warm air we will wonder I will turn the page and wonder who we were what we meant as a pronoun and find another conjugation in the singular the present the future and in this language there are cases but in mine there are tenses which seem more stressful for those songfilled tongues honeyed and soothed by extra syllables filling their bellies full of the season today in a swarm not quite a frenzy the hive alive a market with parked vendors and roving eyes the blue and the red and a different red instead and a new globed wonder plundering the surprise from the strawberry eyes the cherry and the blueberry waiting their turn again as the appearance of the raspberry causes a scene but this is a gentle season and the young vegetables are tender the beets boil faster the potatoes peel their own skins in the washing and the carrots are taller than those last seen these are clean and new and the truths they pack inside are solid colors that are clear and predictable the spots are not in front of eyes slipping through clouds or confusing the forecast these are strong and will last through any number of curries or hurries or long nights waiting for the fading of twilight as sleep takes its own good time but is in no rush to carry along mine

justwrite 23 june

I can only say I’d rather be reading heeding no warnings no reminders no alarms the charms casting shadows on other occupations the state of the nation the union the confusion piling up like lost and dirty dishes scattered like wished of a thousand pieces of dust rusting into place absurdly with all the wrong elements glancing backward and wondering what to do with all the freedom they are sifting through the air and I am unaware and don’t care like Pierre the boy whose mind was changed and also eaten by a lion because this is what happens and those dappled gray ponies don’t ride off into the sunset with you on their back every time my fine young friend sometimes by the end they’ve simply had enough and they take the bus instead and forget your ticket or perhaps lick it and stamp it on a bumper of a misplaced caravan of convertibles distracting your attention for long enough until its bluff can’t be recalled I am stalling before telling you the real story which is the glory of bus stop sitters the knitters of eyebrows and the crows feet flocking together pulled back by scarves and pressed into service as the synthesis of nylon track pants and dark heavy suit coats protects and defends and allows another cigarette powering another handshake and there’s a plastic bag on one side and when beside him the face turns the same angle she has twice as many plastic bags half as many cigarettes and again half of that but also she has buckets these are of strawberries or sometimes blueberries at the moment and it is unclear if her day is over if these are purchases or still to be sold if she’s holding out to light upon a new corner another piece of curb undisturbed by the passage of sunlight behind the sovietstyle apartments turning gray to pink before sinking into night her eyes are bright enough to see what she needs and the rest doesn’t matter for now

justwrite 22 june

a crush on the lush air hovering between morning and sunset resting each finger on a feather flying forward into the other colors cradling each stage each page of the next book as long as it’s taken it’s mistakenly slow it’s easy to go on that way but to play other crowds listen to glistening proud glasses sweaty with excitement dripping down transparent walls there inside the drink of it all the call of the wilderness not to London not to jack not to counteract such suggestions but to take in all the lessons of a schoolbook mistook again rephrased repraised to fit the new paradigm early before the shift early enough for the lift of a new shoe to take you and me and everyone we know over the hill and through the snow the house we’re going to requires snowshoes but if you know me and I know you then it’s one hand to hold and a few more steps there we’ve leapt but no one’s looking booking the next flight an easier night to pass we are lasting through lunchtime and there are crimes to fit out to outfit we need more socks and locks and homonyms swimming each lap into luxury and the pond is now cleaner the berries now cherrier and we can all take a breath but just one just for fun and all the crumbs resettle into loaves the fishes to delicious to return to the water the otters too cracked up over oysters and clams ramming the batter and caking the pans waking the dams and spilling the water the fodder for new dreams we are weaving our own we are wishing for the rain to take a turn and for the play to be better rehearsed I would like to say something here for everyone to understand but it’s an impossible wish much less a demand and I am crammed headfull and earworn of what ought to be said and what had better be whispered in a silent room without an audience just letting it out and conserving doubt for a more worthy occasion though you’re wondering will I emblazon every draft of this summer’s craft in such vague meandering or am I perhaps preambling toward something worthy of introduction?

justwrite 21 june

fading light is slow to go out to listen to the hours in the courtyard jumping wildly between the angles trying to echo every window's contents to the others a buildup spillover wasting no time like the presentation of clouds a little louder than necessary and scaring all the scuttlebugs shrugging off the search for food and improving their afterdinner exercise to before to without to within a search for urges worth following hallowing and hollowing the pumpkins handing them to corner-sitters and biting off the bitter edges the watermelon wedges pressed into a jam no water no sugar just a recipe and time lined along the edges with featherworn lengths i am allergic to cursive and causing concern are those ill-earned remarks sparking the dark and keeping it too bright to dream it seems to be that temporary blindness nevermindness is the better way to see is the careful way to be and pulling off the road that troublemaking load is the easier solution is the hard-earned resolution to a window novel the dime size with few surprises and fewer pages staged for my entertainment in a near constrainment of technology and boredom they are waiting for that blonde to happen they are waiting to look important i am waiting for my butterscotch pudding head to think of something that's not mush instead of the lazy spoonfulls taking up my days justifying lying in a bed of rain and never getting up again until the digits are dryer taking a nap and capping it off with restless sleep got to keep busy and the dizzy avenues of ought to be are no closer to getting done being fully funded seeming like fun did you wonder and i do and there’s truth in the sunset but it’s diffusd in the clouds that have settled mettling with reality keeping up the cloak the dagger the mystery the tendency to interpret the way to get nothing done is to imagine how everything ought to be right here and now and how the person who ought to be doing it would be hopping up and getting started right at this very moment and then owning it although it’s much easier to give away

justwrite 20 june

there’s a moon with its light on the sight gone from tired eyes each step is a surprise and each candle is a sun there are many unsung lines from those times and these days there’s a maze of polite intrigue the social kind loosely defined the drama of commas misplaced the trace of sarcasm filling chasms of doubt the route less taken and more mistaken than ever we are getting closer to something else we are eating to everyone’s health and figuring out the recipes the test piece of cake the wake and the sleep and the inbetween feats of strength of patience of caution of abandon I am looking forward to a rebellious stage but I’m not sure what it’ll be against it’ll mostly be for and on and into and out and about there are other prepositions which will fit the list there are twists that cannot be tied and fits that cannot be sighed out of use the tantrums drumming up attention in the supermarket aisles I am in style and also out of sorts my cohorts with the clean dishes and the neverwasted minutes haven’t got two things left to do before sleeping but I’m keeping pace staying in place keeping the peace and catching and releasing the feasts and the famine glamorizing each surprising development in tabloid style broadcast with longlasting ink in the sink where the vegetables wait there are later-day saints and there are early-morning risers placed along the stage raging in harmony against the scene into the machinery of production the power and the people and the steeple high above except in this case likely a dome and you know no place like home could be so gold-leafed could turn such a cool cheek to the pillow no mellow moments no subtle concern earns such complete rest passing each test and writing more questions giving bonus lessons and gathering the interest paying off the balance throwing off the ballast things not to be imagined tragedies and comedies playing out to infinity but as you like it such love’s no labor’s lost

justwrite 19 june

whispering nuns have something to say and I told you the truth and when you can’t get used to the sound of it in your ear there’s little I can do there’s the season and the reasons and all kinds of other celebrations but it’s with little hesitation that I repeat the same feat of strength by strengthening my feet and walking in the other direction I am ready for corrections but they will be self-made I am ready for the rain and the dark and still the park goes on the breeze brings birds and other unexpectedly angular designs I will be fine the song about Colorado and the snow falling on the mountain then I knew that I would and you see it’s true but maybe but hey we but that’s enough for now and cows waiting their turn for the sunshine are listening to the tales and dreaming up milky castles in the bluewide sky there are other visions but let’s dispense with them for now let’s focus on the music the organ delivering a series of air pieces shafts channels expelled suddenly cut off just as abruptly or smoothly constructed to reproduce soothing tunes that clair de lune was one I didn’t recognize but no surprise the rest passed no such test either and my nose twitched and I imagined which is also a disease there’s no need to put pressure on reality by playing the what-if game there’s a reason to keep things quiet and out of mouth but it’s harder to keep them out of mind and I find myself running reels from previous scenes asking what does that mean and frontier psychiatry is no help to me I haven’t got a percent of a degree to make those observations anything more than abstract fascination I can be so sure I can step once more into the breach where there once was a sidewalk dear friends and laugh through the deep end plowing past a stoop-sheltered waiter taking no orders just shaking his head and cigarette dragging instead as if what I’m doing is simply ridiculous and he blows out a puff into the wet living air

justwrite 18 june

each word discovered a caramel held on the tongue carefully carried caressed cajoled into memory but melting along the way deliciously silking into teeth whispering cavities of the enamel of the mind as the trail winds and other words half-heard and somewhat listened to float through the space where the vault ought to be but sweetly slipping away there’s no way to say for better or worse but rehearsal doesn’t help and the waiting for translation the gestation period before the revelation the dictionary seeking the assistance the directory correctly waiting its turn but earning no fruits as the loose tooth gate swings open on hinges of well there’s no need to say environment to spend all those syllables on something that could hum along smoothly without distraction but there it’s gone again and the billboard single unknown word and the overheard conversation over and again in internal recitation remember this look it up cup it closely cover your ears to hear no more on the way out the door and down the street and to the corner and another another up the stairs and someone says but you don’t hear you’re near enough the phone rings the neighbor asks and the lock takes stock of its situation and suddenly sticks a strike right in the midst of those precious letters where one they were and now just part of the sound sticks around waiting for the chance to find a mirror entry standing sentry by the perfect explanation the fascination with knowledge bundling bungling trying not quite hard enough to write it down still occasionally drowning in the attempt to swim through foreign waters

justnotes 17 june

laundry in the light with angles of brick

animal liberation graffiti unexpected but followed by realization at demonstration of tone of irony of disappointment

near pain of unbuyingly walking past sidewalk sellers crouched hunched perched with age while unfolding tender young vegetables on their clean newspaper faces

disgust at the great hacking of trees while the grass goes unmowed

delight at the memory of childhood songs

slipping mid-sidewalk into new old soft clovergreen mocassins sudden relief and quiet of feet

back of baba reading more or less printed more or less on her rear bent with the message

green roof light puddles translucent on the sidewalk

ice cream tube mortar building safe foundation for midday wild strawberries

justwrite 16 june

sorry to say it seems her boyfriend is right-handed or her husband is or they both are or just one gets the damage done and it’s a hard set of colors to see on what should be a brisk June afternoon the kind you’re more likely to find in October here the month means yellow and in a few days her cheek will be the bone putting up resistance and there is nowhere else to look the words to say are known but may not have found their way home maybe she has no other choice maybe she speaks in an unheard voice but there is no reason no right way for such a change to appear nearer in her mirror and the strawberries seem suddenly not as sweet I would like to turn her face to the fresh leaves wrap in gentle green and let her rest let her renew regrow instead I walk by and try not to notice she is with a group and it’s hard not to imagine that he is one of them and he is followed by this reminder makes me wonder how he reflects what thoughts he collects when looking across the breakfast table if he’s able to notice anything past his own knuckles I am tired of this image but cannot replace it with anything else I’ve seen today not the dog hanging out of the second story window the glassless bricks thick in the middle of reconstruction he is the mast on a sea-less ship but cannot eclipse this frame and the shutter and the click to the next just won’t budge no nudging into movement like the trolleys back into service I’ve heard they were on strike I’ve heard it was about money I wonder was this about money was it about someone else was the dinner not right was the day too long were the drinks too many were the answers not right does he have a reason that he could give does he have such an important life to live that no one can get in his way and what does she have to say for herself and to whom and who will listen and where will she go and will it just be home but could you call such a place a home but could she

justwrite 15 june

from the first words I heard him speak I knew he was the kind of man who does crossword puzzles in pen there was no doubt in his mouth or in his mind and it was surprising to find myself wondering if he was more than a character sketch fetched by an unhurried mind whiling away the time while gazing out the window and you know I’m not sure but what’s more when he walked there was definitely somewhere he was going he was not a stroller and only favored with a glance certain chance sights along the way and you meaning I had the feeling that there was nothing chance about these sights at all as if they had been set in his path purposefully perhaps by the man himself as if his life was some sort of reconnaissance mission and he was forever fishing for the point the light the way but not in that kind of holyrolling sense just a tensed set of muscles taking mental notes jumping rope in the gym and drinking coffee without sugar but with a moderate amount of cream enough for color which he gets from his mother and you seem to imagine that he has no siblings which for him was not a problem and if it was there was no way to solve it so he did without and here in this new scene many years later he stands on his own two feet his shoes are not immaculately shined as you might imagine in fact I’ll report that a certain number of scuffs can be observed by slowing down the scene and leaning way down crown of head to shin of leg but of course we can’t do this so on he goes and as he shows no sign of hurry it’s a surprise when he checks his watch I almost expect he’ll nod in agreement as if he’d imagined exactly those digits and has the pleasure of being confirmed but in fact he does not for he’s not a smug man he’s confident yes but the best part so far is that it’s internal and not exposed in that annoying way when you see people saying how right they are and you want to leave them behind but with him you don’t mind in another era he’d be wearing a hat maybe a fedora on a darkened night and you suddenly imagine he might be a detective and a collective sigh of pleasure comes from the audience in which a number of mystery fans have gathered and have been storing up hope at the remote chance that this mystery man might be planning to handle any number of cases with grace and slight humor the wry kind and a certain number of pickles sure to find their way to him through sandwiches and damsels and alligator-handled cases waiting even now in his office waiting for the story to begin

justwrite 14 june

inside doubt is the title and also the matter there is one character there are two but only one matters there are three and angles foreseen and splitscreened but it’s only one who will change the channel who will handle the knife the scalpel the cleaner cleaver wait until the lights go down and you will see the thoughts come out the internal monologue spilling through the humidity resting briefly like clouds over the head of the wakeful sleeper keeping everything close breathing it all back in and again and out but there are spouts of cool air dream-bearing whales on sale for the strawberry dozen the kilograms cousins offer on good faith and fresh taste not to be wasted on the world-weary the cheery cherries and other such pieces come to terms come to fingers to lips and the trickling air cools against hot cheeks the furrowed brow unresting sweating and contagious with grief finds relief on the other side of certainty the pushing-away of questions and the lessons learned to teach yourself we are moving into the second person which is easier it’s neither him nor her but you and it’s truly the way life is taking place but erasing the space around the colors ungrounded scrawled outside the lines turns out to be no time for good no wasting no chasing the sentences back into place we are relacing our shoes and singing all the blues we can find with no mind to the sky it’s so hard to try for certainty it’s ridiculous to predict but still foolish to force floundering fondling inaction and trying it on the tongue running fingers over pearls and buckets full of radishes seeking truth we’re not used to there are few points I’d like to point out and more doubts but the way this is going there’s more growing upward and outward and inward than downward and if I haven’t got all the same badges and stamps and visas and camps my earth’s just as damp and there are forests for the trees there are breezes and words I am waiting to have heard from my own mouth charting the next course

justwrite 13 june

being sunshine being justfine like fruit in the middle of juice like in cahoots with stars we string our guitars with outdated melodies we’re heading the breeze off at the pass we’re lying in the grass whispering honestly the truths we see and the bread we bake we make mistakes again and again and the scandal too much to handle is the price we’re preparing to pay over and listen this is how it is I’m trying to tell me I’m trying to listen and when the words spill out I pick up my fingers and I try to go faster I try to keep up but the scuttling of claws and also paws perhaps feet meets my ears and I fear I cannot win such a race I cannot chase with such haste the letter schemes meaning to be making points anointed with addresses and stamps clamping down on schedules when the sun comes up again hopefully it will stay low it will go of its own accordion jacket the packedwarm fabric rendering habits unsettling but the elbowed sleeves and the enameled pearl buttons stretch back to such luxury the appearance of science in a drawing room I am pulling together the evidence I am about to read a book I am about to look out the window and it’s hard to tell what I’m about it’s easy to build up a chest full of doubts but it’s harder to breath that way and it’s harder to tease such pay out of a spindly stipend standing on its own two cucumber legs pegged and radished all down the street we are meeting our recipes and we are missing ingredients we’re expediently wishing for dishing out to happen faster but our mouths are already full there are souths and norths and other directions as well but the division doesn’t need to be doubled the dangers are already troubled and my tongue can’t keep quite up I’m sorry to have toppled the bucket but the clothes were already clean I’m sorry to have washed the windows so well because now the sky is broken but I will not apologize for the rest for there is nothing else to speak of in the calling-bluff second-guessing game

justwrite 12 june

thinking about discipline is too hard thinking about planning lazily strays into the sun’s angle pigeons trying to fly through windows and other accidental stories there are glorious fruits gleaming in cahoots with heat it’s too hot to eat anything that’s not delicious and refreshing catching each ray and splaying it into manycolored interest the gems of the sidewalk market targeting each and every eye the passersby the parade swaying off track to counteract fatigue and other needs we are ready to become unprepared we are clearing the calendar we are making space we are erasing demanding plans and handing over the remainder to a savory flavor a sweet retreat there are no feet moving fast except underwater there are no shins that don’t want into the action the sunlight attraction and also blight too bright for contemplation the saving graces and also tables full of ice and lemon and colorwet juices we are producing images and willing into existence the first sense of what we’d like to see who we’d like to be in this unexpected season the heavy elegance of light delight the days with no breeze and the trees exploding into multiple canvasses and canopies spreading like bees into the sideways flowerbed sky

eye those tigers thrill those fights bite off all those chewtoys and enjoy the dreamboats as they float along the strong-armed conductors trucking along just keep on striking the songcharts right to the top up to the soccer fields and yielding all the wrong eyelids flashing and crashing dashing down to the rollaround unicorn bicycle racetrack heading back to the beginning I’m singing a new song but I haven’t got the words down I’m frowning occasionally but lazily interested in the other side the wide angles the lenses pretending to take it all in but swimming on the thin side of the ocean there is too much devotion to bake into that cake no mistakes and no risks the bliss of arithmetic without the hard edges we are bending the hedges into shape and making our great escape across a different bridge than the one we crossed before and more to the point we are bending different joints we didn’t know we had we grab for the railing so afraid of failing that we cannot pass

post 12 june

justwrite 11 june

if I started to write something now it’d be about space and how we lace our fingers in and out of sky the high road and the low moat flashing and catching the window in a gentle glare comparing each bite of satellite transmitting the true view of fictional sacrifice and also what’s nice about it like plenty of time to climb about on to clamber so to speak to make the most of leaky clouds in loud sunburned designs we are finding our way which is turning into our ways phasing to plural and not a joint singular this is what they’ve been thinking while I’ve been drinking in memories and fabricated futures but once the seams show through it’s easier to recognize the surprises inside so let’s make plans in the singular sense but if there’s a doublewide tense I wouldn’t be opposed I haven’t got a carpet or a harp or a suitable talent but I’m a realgood trier firing engines for cool heat and defeating expectations not uniting nations exactly but something a little smaller pretty tolerant but more like pleasantly waving hi than dramatically saving lives

justwrite 10 june

soon it will be enough to bluff every listener with the rough and glistening energy drink the music of the night in frightful parody comparing these three things: the rings the kings wore, the toenails of a dinosaur, and an ivory carpet on an ebony floor and what’s more we are in need of punctuation a nation subdivided into itself is more or less under development the foul scent of something less than dank when what’s in the tank won’t go the car won’t grow the farm and so no harm can come to you I hope you’ll do exactly as suggested we’re rarely so self-directed often outside production assistance overcome initial resistance and all the boiled eggs regularly marching in easy time start sticking out their shells in doublefine parades wading into the water and hardboiling their wonderlands

justwrite 9 june

a mistaken twist of an errant wrist rests the case of an abandoned straight a royal flush clutched by the sixth finger of a right hand commanded by royalty to feign devious loyalty we are buying the most time the exchange rate will support we purported to know the answers but we’re really just back-up dancers waving our toes and our flags lagging behind intertwined fingers across the universe of diverse opportunities the wooden doors and the frieze of trees shaking their heads instead of keeping their berries in keeping all these areas clean and dry the wry answer comes pre-swirled with the pumpernickel a tabernacle a choir on fire with devotion an ocean of ideas the short story and that text best left neglected for six to eight weeks incomplete but not disheartened looking for information and suggesting no man is a space unto himself a star maybe but the space between is most commonly seen as dark as a spark that lights a parking lot a bottle full of headlights driving straight to midnight and back again a perfect ten drawing figure eights just trembling at the starting gate and straight on through to summer humming a bummer of a whambam pinball jam scandalizing the neighbors with the endless flavors of alabaster blueberries and true scary cocktails of the neverfail sun brigade parading triumphantly into the west the rest tilting behind

justwrite 7 june

no I won’t turn on the computer I won’t remain a suitor to the tudor way of life it’s a knife drawn at gunpoint we’re out of numbers so you’ll have take a letter a color a song and a box to keep it in we have sins and also stories toys and also glorious sideburns earning their weight in onion rings and other fine melodious things like cheese and exceeded expectations the fascination with what-ifs and so-thens the pretend referendum on coming and going and showing those involved that if the riddle can’t be solved it may just as easily revolve in bubble melodies and quickfreeze alligator breath the less you expect the more you’re surprised or perhaps less if what’s coming next is neither hidden nor seen between fine lines let’s interpret and then let’s stop it’s time to adopt a fine fetching machine a cleaner shade of white in the night and a rainbow worth its weight in clouds allowed in to the back rafters to watch the show

justwrite 6 june

I am thinking without drinking in much sense with the word it’s less than I heard before in the store shopping for ingredients before choosing the recipe the way to be is ready steadily expedient just stopping to admit disaster and keep the fasterflying frying pan from eating up all the flowers it can through the sky and back again scanning the horizon with surprising relief we are cheap and we cannot buy back that crime we’ve already paid with lonely time and sudden realizations a thousand nations reunited and delighted with the spirits of bees and the trees breezily answering the dark stares of passers-by pressing higher stars into new skies rising to the occasion facing the nation and delighting in uniting so many shoelaces you’d think they’d been untied you’d think they’d be ready to hide their tongues in different shoes so used to the confusion as they are changing their soles for rubber and turning their numbers to color

justwrite 5 june

leaping off a different-pond frog’s back we are ready to attack the flood to buzz backward and forward forewarned and half-masted trashed like rubbish and crashed like a course in defensive driving by an offensive pupil we are too full of sleep to be too deep in trouble it’s a gentle bubble that carries us along and as long as the wind is not too strong we can weight like sinkers we can turn off our blinkers and be ready to steadygo to dream to seem prepared even if somewhat unaware of the consequences there are many more rinses to go before we show up clean

justwrite 4 june

staring at the paper makes it later than the starting was lined up to finish the diminishing returns earned on each far-reaching investment a stress test meant to be passed solved researched with squash and other sides the many flowers that hide the bee and the recipe all the honey in the world won’t golden that tongue we’ve hung around long enough with our smiles out that we’ve started to doubt the correctness of our posture if our teeth are in the right order if we’ve got much more of our own language to spread around the space between the luggage lost and the planned-for scandal there’s no way to handle each and every angle we can only try and correct and our pent-up addition total five before our lively debates keep us up too late to bake the morning pie and if you see this you’ll know that I am shipping words and herding the weather into a different corral the choral arrangement not yet changed to major keys just A-minor freeze but not too long just a bit of wind not too strong the sun still belongs in the crudely drawn corner horning in on the crayon pond and stick grass outlasting the white on white wax on bright clouds still allowed but only by the outline no smuggling in rain on my time

justwrite 3 june

in all likelihood today’s highest-rated activity was staring out the window with music or without while cleaning or after or before or within the middle of the panes pressed not close together enough to bluff the listener the viewer the truer sense of dimension is lost in the tossed-about strategy figuring out the swirls of dust pressed into the rust the transparent passage of time here trapped between scenes the viewer and the view with nothing much to do but prove an object that’s not in motion will stay so without anyone’s say so and that’s what’s been going on just suspended animation an amber state of grace replacing action with contracting brain cells the main well too deep to be dry but too high to fit the definition it’s a spring it’s a fountain it’s a plateau it’s a mountain and there’s where the nonsense comes in even with a reasonable beginning to which I’ll return I burned sunlight and also thoughts of a candle but haven’t handled the follow-through on the last one it’s a lot more fun to consider without having to deliver on all the imaginings but the tragedy rings loud and clear when there’s no steering on account of fearing but no worries this hurry hasn’t hesitated because of too-late translation from fear to hear it’s just easier to hinge sometimes to rewind and again and the strands don’t always get tied together sometimes tarred and feathered is the right solution to a loose union of bad ideas just out with the gold and in with the silver says the bronze-medal winter the chilliest filling station this side of Vancouver and there’s a lot in that area as you might imagine there’s no way to tell how much lead ought to be got out of that gasoline but the paint chips off the old block and tocks the clock in the right direction reading the instructions that didn’t come with building myself a personal myth out of favorites and colors not horoscopes but numbers the tied-together oreo dreams that seem to be arriving in buffet style unable to be compiled with riveting detail but without fail not quite passing

justwrite 2 june

once you start looking at the edges like hedges there are plenty to go around and the grounding poles the lightning souls striking a certain stance dancing on pins and wondering what’s within the next pie whether it’s trash or strawberries the mash of merry-making minus rain the plain-jane carnival back in town there’s no frown on this face though it’s a rat-race rowing that boat ashore what’s more is less for guessing reading the indexing the text between the punctuation and for your information I have been guessing at those clues for years before you knew blue before the research had been formulated the coordinates had been reproportioned into new directions we are the makers of new words and I’m sorry for the absurd direction but the truth is there’s no correction I’d make just a new take on an old give we’ve got to live if we’re going to avoid dying but there’s a little more between those ends worth working for we are now six now the pick-up sticks are rebelling the multiple felons and the daydream sunners each waiting for their number to be called but in between who’s enthralled by the inevitable and who’s giving a full sort of effort or simply appearing to it’s clearing through my head all the interview words said we are tired of the right answers but we have only so many words there are only so many lines we’ve rehearsed and sometimes it’s worse to spit out the bits that don’t belong that strongly disagree the calamity of calmness in reminiscence upon saving you will be cancelled upon dancing your knees will knock and the door may or may not open here’s hoping for clear answers but these are not the most common variety we are sorting out the chaff we are laughing nervous energy into the sky and wondering how high the goal how low the standard the gold badge in hand I’m stopping along the way I know you don’t mind I believe the leaves blow someone else’s rain I know I am and what am I you are too old for that game but still we play on

justwrite 1 june

the chaff and the giraffe go walking in the park and after dark only one comes home only one has a phone and there are three houses red yellow and blue when you go to the first one mr. jones answers and at the second house it’s Suzanne at the third house the dog’s name is roger and if you want to find the missing car you should search in the garage of the house across the street from the smiths it’s a rich treasure trove of logic the correspondent pieces and parts losing heart and gaining ground we are fitting the pieces into their slots but what’s got to go on is the strong arm of the lawless wind to be hinging upon and leaning into the doorframe claiming sovereignty and plenty of flightless birds grazing in the front yard or nibbling or whatever it is they do but suddenly it’s true a peacock took off and the breeze in the trees was something unbelievable the firebird or another piece of literature a symbol of itself toward better health and longer dreams we seem to know the moral of this tale we seem to wonder how it fails to fall short how it keeps balanced onward with the long plumes and the clouds hardly allowed to interfere with the view it’s true I ate too much for dinner it’s too I could have had more water there are answers to these there are solutions too cheesy to draw with a butterknife I have suggestions but they won’t be appreciated by that audience there’s a preponderance of figuring and not enough forgiving we are living here and we are taking up this space but there’s no replacing the chase scene that’s meant to last a little longer we are stronger than we’d imagined and there is no tragedy in stringy hair and halfhearted jokes just a poke backward we’ve heard yes we’ve stirred the soup the suggestions the lessons we ought to learn ourselves our better half-mast flags dragged down by misinterpretation and the degradation of certainty while saying please and thank you and forgetting what was ordered the better sorts of menus still offering the same dishes delicious but without tomorrows