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