post 11 july

justwrite 11 july

to take chances in asking for answers is to imagine that all of them are right that we are accepting and listening we are playing the music the soundtrack in our heads but instead of dinner we find lunch we make much of supper but the predilection for forgetting kitchens is high on the rise we are smiling in response to the next song it’s long enough to keep your fingers still I am smiling still and filling my ears with inspired fireflies in the least alarming way I am playing my answers over and again in my head instead of my mouth we are heading south but the train only goes north which is the fourth place finish I’d like to end up in there’s a price for sin and a book that lists and turns and earns our bread daily instead of at a more lengthy interval I need to know the words I need to trade what I have for something better like answered letters or completed projects the crafts laughing themselves to sleep in dusty drawers the cupboards keeping their own counsel I am giving a key to an errant bird and when I’ve heard enough the flight through the night will be over and I will turn to the wall and see all the flat space the wide race no one has to win no one has to spin the wheel no one has to feel how they’re told even that’s an old mistake baked into our grammar stammered out with suggestions of tandem randomness I am tired of waiting for approval I am disinterested in excessive providing which you might ask why about and I’d show you a ticket elsewhere there’s a self where action is its own reward I am dancing in that place not a castle not on a cloud much too loud in color the fresh taste of air uncompared and waiting for literary references the stylistic touches that shape us much faster than slowgo disaster creeping up the past few days weeks pages we are moving along in stages and if we can just turn all the right cheeks and keep the right smile there are miles to go but soon we will sleep

justwrite 10 july

we are far and above the gold the love the stares the bubbles in the sky the reasons why and also the questions we are far beyond mentioning the tension and the easy rapport is far more rewarding after all the sorting’s done after the battle’s won and the cows have all crowed the lines in the road have doubled to resize the jawline trouble we are again huddling together but the weather changes and again I rearrange the clues I am used to being tired of analysis I am fired and I too easily miss the company the corporation fascination deliniation blurred at absurd intervals I have had my fill for now but tomorrow is another way of seeing

justwrite 9 july

we are baking the oven and saving the bread for later a greater container and an open mouth traveling south and into a house built by hack and the tax waged on rage we are paying in stages and turning the pages so slowly you know we have nowhere to go and all the time to get there it’s quite clear that all our answers provide slow dancers in the dark the creams of an imagined twilight the backlighting still fighting against rain and other occasionally unfortunate causes our applauses and also our accents the stacks meant to be read but the window stared out of instead is just a change a choice the chance we cannot dance we can only move our feet our eyes pressed gently into borrowed views I can call you and you answer slowly there are few words only to be understood together but the weather is fine enough the water into wine enough that when the next storm ignores its season and trespasses without reason there will be fuel enough for another fire I am tired of patience but afraid of fear I am easily rejected and difficult to steer and the words that hurry into unexpected order sort into piles with rhymes between the lines three books at a time and no more dairy

justwrite 8 july

wounded by mirror and sawdust and applesauce heartache I’m not so sure about the clues but the truth is harder to see on this sea we all know we all sow our own seeds and reap what we write in our own notebooks broken brooks and struck and stricken looks we took too many and one of the shadier deals is the feeling that air is stealing its own lungs out of the sky we breathe our own clouds and we’ve allowed ourselves still more ways to ignore we have saving graces but we fear they’re erased with each pass of magnetic panic the sky the floor is falling and no more calling will be done the songs have been sung in alphabetical order and the constant last resorter can pickle his own

justwrite 7 july

today I am thinking about the end of the river the beginning of the shivering relief the language sunk into my teeth and the words I haven’t heard enough of I am tired of firing on all or even any cylinders I am sad and also dancing near the edge of my seat my feet do not work and it’s true someone always knows more speaks in weeks worth of knowing I am showing myself up cups full of punch just such an idea there is no one way to escape there is a cape made for marauders and a mask made for heroes I have zero in the tank and the bank is making long work of a short stack of bills a robbery too sloppy to report to the cops we are ready and willing but it’s lonely at this table and the stable ideas are few let’s use those Japanese blues to paint another color the shades we’ve made up for exploring we have our own stories I am awkward in the syntax in the fingers the eyes we are trying to have better response times we are planning scandal we are out to tell ourselves the truth

justwrite 6 july

let us take breaks and raise the stakes higher it’s a fire worth lighting and a day worth knighting with a lance a sword a spear no fear but the present tense we mention our ideas and our limitations but most of the suggestions defy specification we are the prisoners of our own tongues undone and unhung not drying off frying any of those cells the ne’er-do-wells populating that range we are affecting the spectrum by playing dumb and we are limiting the responses possible and deployable buoyable by correspondence to flip charts and open hearts and what you have is what I’d like to see more of but gloves are needed and the garden is weeded in Amelia bedilia style which means that all the while we’ve been sowing those seeds and pretending our own needs are something other than what they are each field guitar grows its own crops adopts its own depth having leapt from the sky and into the red-eye flight brighter than neon beets in hasty retreat through fluorescent fortresses we are our own stresses our fortunes told on our palms our steps close-pressed into out soles the whole print clear and blue like tomorrow’s sky