Tuesday, August 31, 2010

justwrite 31 august

at the end of the rainbow a pretend or a real glow light the night there are statues and there are movers and when we deliver each step we shiver into the elsewhere wondering we are staring into mirrors but nothing gets clearer just time unwinding fingers and linking locks talking into the ticking position the glistening listening colors numbered in their own sweet time yours and mine and other songs how long will this game be played out how late can anyone stay how frayed will the edges be and at which end I cannot pretend no one can defend and other such words that rhyme we are aligned against other forces the triumphs against divorces of feelings from meanings but let’s lean in another direction today I have seen what what I am telling in this answer let me say that one car that turned into a bus poof or ouch but everyone was okay anyway six trolleys at least and one of them a double with an accordion belly were stuck and a little boy behind me said look mama there are two trolleys standing still and yes we only notice some of the picture some of the time the rain laughed hard at my umbrella and the wind thought it amusing as well how can I swell these lines with finer images and not get bogged down about town with those feelings I can’t reel in I am honest I am open I am hoping and also afraid I am in the dark and also on stage letting the wind blow and the curtains rustle a tousle of some sort proceeds and what we need emerges at the urging of nothing but time and opportunity space replacing emptiness and things filling in for objects talking into the night and wondering which light to press which button to guess at we are the void and also the destroyers my stomach is broken and my heart is in knots has what got to be how and whyfore and therehow there are too many questions to pay attention to one must eat pizza and read literature and listen listen listen to be ready for the steady stream of surprises of the high-rises and the low fields yielding acres of color and also seeds of what’s needed next the rest still to bake the mistakes still to face themselves in the mirror and when the others arrive when the spell is broken what tokens will we carry along when the songs are being sung behind yet unhung curtains certain that the answers will arrive in a new glorious chorus trickling out like starlight on realization

Monday, August 30, 2010

justwrite 30 august

it’s not heavy but it’s a steady light a bright fingerflicker licking the numbers off the ribbons smitten with letters and charging them fullblast faster than commas or comets the bonnets and their ribbons streaming behind roughly defining speed as the race to leave behind misplaced air fair or unaware forward in a different direction correcting for the waves and saving the graces subtracting the spaces and leaving behind the words I guess I knew I’d see a note I guess I didn’t know how it’d play how to pay off the scowls from the owls and the trees shaking their arms in a ghastly hula they knew better they wore sweaters when it was cold they were bold and they listened to the right music what am I supposed to say to that what can I come back with what is this meant to accomplish the wish comes true on its own the clown doesn’t always laugh in the mirror there are clearer ways to say these things and there are answers no one wants to hear we fear ourselves in focus and we lean out into the glare up to the fuzzy lights too bright for comparison the spin and the intellect collecting evidence to present I am making a case but I forgot the suit I am walking behind but I am afraid to call out I am afraid to see the face that will turn the tone of voice that is its own answer the chances are slim and the paper is thin the other news is so slight the weather the night all fade into cool columns trying to solve themselves in the background no one stands for it no one hands it to you no one fans an avalanche calling go go go and calling collect ready to recollect nostalgia remember when the pen and the paper and the lamb and the crater and the book and the savior of all these vegetables told another tale the maturity of these wines these modern times we are crimes against ourselves and we ought to be committed we are in catch and release programs but the release has been forgotten and the lease is almost up we are wandering into the open and the light comes on the tense shifts and our eyes lift upward and our bodies fall behind below and down

Sunday, August 29, 2010

justwrite 29 august

drowning in the heavy air the here nor there colors the numbers bubbling up into the looking glass I am crashing each party and voting on the wrong ticket we passed the class with you in it and we made the grade we saved the fading flag from its glory no one wants to know his own story no one wants to tell territory by fences we can see what we want to mend we know who we want to friend and we wish the best for each test can we be friends can we tend separate flocks down neighboring blocks and nod as we pass on the street there is no better place to get away than here there is no steer herd there is no fear words slip away into the ice arriving early starving fully fed in bed sleepless the deepest lake the biggest mistakes and all the calling birds they have written their smitten lips off the charts we have departed into the woods and we are good we are better we are bested by the rest in their simplest strides the tides wait for no one the fun suns itself and then turns flips over as it burns one side there was a full moon on the other and now it’s sliding dripping skydown stars cars driving off into separate directions the interstate the fated roads the explosions in the sky and the reasons why that no one can understand no hand can hold no peace can mold itself with easy steps there are tests no one can past and outs no one can last I have given and all and there is no stalling each next step I will trip and flip backwards my lips will part will press together dry and cold and I will turn older than the trees and the breeze until the morning comes and I will wonder when I wake alone

Saturday, August 28, 2010

justwrite 28 august

piling up a few leaves it’s free to jump in it’s easy to swim without sinking to love without thinking we are rinking around the ice on silver skates waiting for the dates to ripen in ambergold mountains the fountains of numbers tumbling down into crystal vases the flowering spaces chasing but no racing winning but not facing anything backward the history the warm words the birds and also trees the honey and the bees we are wondering but the wandering is useful is truthful and there’s plenty of time to sign and the dotted line is a myth the wish is to come true the pictures are straight through the greenery the scenery themed with sleepy edges the scalloped corners the gingerbread houses on a new jersey beach out of reach of the boardwalk where only hazy memories talk about jellyfish wade into the little steps handholding parents and other beloveds leading the way to safety to marbled chocolate sea shells and souvenir each-year tshirts worth their wait their weight in cotton-poly blend the friend who dropped them off after stopping first for hamburgers ‘cause there’s none of that in this house there’s a cat but not a single mouse and there are no dogs there are laws laid down and there are kings without crowns but every movie becomes life every song is meant personally the intentions rehearsed fully and completely packaged neatly and delivered in shivering revelations we change the stations and turn the pages but there’s always a fortune to be read there’s always a right way to slice the bread if you want to read the tea there’s a free parade passing straight through the shade and into the lake but some mistake in the routing has the onlookers doubting whether the water will be walked on if the property will be balked upon against and other possible prepositions we are listening to the traintracks we are collapsing upon possibilities and as we fill up our sleeves with cards to play the day passes and the mind masses the pieces into dreams the steady image streams the nightclubs of the shrubberies and other unexpected combinations the uniting of nations and the chance to dance in the moonlight even if others see clouds

Friday, August 27, 2010

justwrite 27 august

in with the potatoes and out with the dirt hurting clumps setting aside lumps the progress measured in rows going along side by nothing because these areless straight as of late the wild flinging of metal the instruments of extraction the rainy attraction of an afternoon to swoon over daisy tea and melody the questionable sort of retort falling away more to say than to seem to mean there are colors pressed into the soil and the flowers are lining up to overflow cups too close to full already steady we go and hold each hoe in sturdy hands borrowed gloves and mistold stories there are glorious compliments and departments worth further investigation but for now the fascination is with action the kind where the mind might slip away and not be missed but the body will know and the back will bend the knees in the end with the toughest part although only the start of the bicycle train an unlikely parade the pounds and mounds of freshfound veg hedged against bets to turn corners to float over puddles and embrace the mud so must we all and our feet and the seat feels good but the sleep still wanders there are words to be heard but they have no need of this place this trace keeps off the paper this kindness blind to whistling inside and hiding dark tides even while they rise let me know tell me so I am listening the stretching of a white kitten into a raintwisted coat leans into view and it seems truly necessary to share whatever I have but this is nothing and the rushing away on the part of others is practical but bothers us and our attempts no one is thwarted sense is made change is paid and we all get to the right stops we hop and hope we tug on ropes and think about climbing minding the branches running over the chances in mind in time defined by its own parameters nothing the matter is but the bugs that bite and the mines that fight air and breathe fear we are near enough to the surface we are touching the sun in so few steps and the sky is enough for us dangling through angles in our photographs collapsing borders around the unnoticed and touching the heart of the sceneset

Thursday, August 26, 2010

justwrite 26 august

in the space of toffee squares and incomparable skies we surprise ourselves with tongues hung rich with new words I’ve heard something before about the score and adding up but if my cup is to overflow it’s got to load up it’s got to show up every day and play a part with unrehearsed lines it’s fine to cobble stones and eat dinner alone but together is a different color the bread with butter and the finer winer diner liner notes quote richer melodies the frieze showing slow-paced haste in a shutterstop scene belongs only in a museum there is life and it is sweeter neater and a little messy too but it’s true that we can’t all be filmed in black and white the river of the night flows closer together the measures treasure each leaf each angle with the light just right and the flights are only temporary the scary pieces the catch and release is unsettling but there’s no mettling with what’s right what’s good and we should try to figure that out we should eat doubts with tortilla chips and on salty lips compare various chapters to come next the text pressed into service the book museum seeming to steam full ahead with the unread pages the stages with new flavors added the comfort a base the greens slipped in with freshfaced fancy a chance to take but the right life to live to forgive to swim to wander into the limelight and to bask bright and warm before the storm comes before the humdrum gets too loud the crumbs and the crowd of distractions can’t detract from simple facts the kind of life to live the kind of book to give attention to the full view barreling through the galleries filling with honey and a golden breeze we are trees but we are not planted we sway and we can dance we hang our branches with ornaments and give them to each other the soil the toil and all the steps in between the schedules the fretting the needles falling to the floor as stitching is more in the fingers than the thread instead of fear there are softer ears to turn toward wiser whispers a step away just today but not to stay so far not to disappear not to wear a weary-shouldered face giving chase to those worries hurrying them offstage and saving the good the right adding sunwater loveheat and oversimplified metaphors what’s more is understood and shouldn’t need to be repeated but it’s an uncompleted statement an ongoing invitation to continued precious tender yes saying yes there will be more to say to stay to play along the song continuing drifting through the dark windows and the light spreading music fresh and soft and warm over sleeping hearts

post 26 august

justwrite 18 august

the foggiest night in londontown but not a throwdown just caught and dotted like eyes on traintops the jaw drops and the revelations breed sensations there is hesitation and certainty but the better tree to see you with is a gift of a storm and an inbed morn we are torn between the scenes but it seems like a shower ought to check out collect doubt and send it back keep track and Cadillac the sidewalk cars rover the range and change the sheets a catch and release bid for fairness and it’s true we do we few happy handholders and no bolder just shouldering the long hot layabout the stroke by poke nonsense chatter nothing the matter just reconnecting and recollecting the wonders we are seeing the caves by these saints we are saved in this subterranean grave and we behave nicely we share we compare mesh and best guesses turning left and left to pizza the defeat set aside the train still to ride going home in victory in three-four time while waltzing matilda becomes named while the sheep are rearranged into props a bumper crop of pizza but tenemos exito and sogo the metro way staying on the right tracks backing the right horse we chart no course but enjoy the way and to stay is to play longer in the sun that comes and streaks the sky the European clouds and the pushing off of doubts we are icecreamthemed and ready steady going

justwrite 17 august

updown a turnaround day coffee and to stay in play the crepes take the cake and the sun still shines we are fine with the stones cobbled with the wibblewobbled let’s left that right behind and move in time no rush no fuss and a muss of tunnels underground move around to redistribute truths and tell them to fend off doubts to eat salmon not trout and to call all the water wine yours and mine and if you wanta fanta an ice cream a soup I will give you the scoop and a river to run through it blue it might be like dynamo fight we will and win we must the door we trust but the wind will blow as the rain and snow chill august adopt us and cater to our whims it seems there is more walking the talking is close the rowing is boat and the water is wide the deep breaths inside are showing on the skin and we sink but then swim the positive deposited exchanged changing currency hands held welded but gently camping but not tently and we will pay the rent we owe but nothing more there is sure and there is guessing and the lesson is unclear there is fear and there is sleep but the flow is much too deep to miss a kiss and a river a church a forgiver the candles are lit an answer submitted for approval the useful phrases saved for grace facing eyeward disturbed then conserved the masses the trash is put out and the table is clear we are ready to be steady on a brighter scale no tale to tell but to the fishes a delicious truth ready to be used by the tongue sung with honey and also air the space traced with golden light and bright ideas cleared beside with nothing to hide there is no darkness that I will push away to say no to the listening the reason no treason but to run stung hung undone quiet in denial in the dark

justwrite 16 august

big day arrival way earlier than the one expected neglected pages get read in the shade instead of the inside an inride underground found and around like bottlewater vended with rough edges mended we are tending to necessities keeping fees low and sowing all the right seeds the buttons I have nothing to disagree with the cab fare free with bubbles and also a listener we are twisting our necks and texting the rest of the code exploding sparks in the dark of the arrival lounge scrounging for the next passengers clues to use to imagine the obtuse troop of children not chidden but rushing unbidden to their wide-armed families the week of separation the consternation and I will say wait your turn don’t wave unless you are him and please step aside hiding horizons full of meaning behind seemingly innocent name tags mr. and mrs. seltzer and lewis and the grand circle tour company frumpy but nonplussed in discussion over and under around through air france and other chances we’ve never felt lucky to have blah blah the granted-for-taking the hesitation making its way to the surface but this is unrehearsed and worse to wear a pre-made phase a crazy dream to seem to shake off a cough and a cleared-throat away we will say elsewise trying and spinning a winning ring around that finger a knot to not forget a sleep to smooth time zones away here and today to have and to stay moving together the weather to be fine and yours to be mine the sunflowers and other scenery marked by a river and a rainbow the underground a strange glow by which to grow but we will take it bake it on warm rocks and share

justwrite 15 august

opting for optimism a prism of color no other through such shades neverfading carbondating or greentree ringing the rounds found to contain the mysteries of history the certainty of the future taking this tour means exploring all those places those faces upturned flashward for splitsecond grins back to longward smiles not just caught in the pictures but doublefeatured in neat procession teaching lessons back and forth the south and north to the east and west the best strategy a calm qualm-smoothing support a green beam the light in which on which to stand a hand to hold a fold closetogether the storm outside the rain in vain crashing no party but its wetbright scheme teeming with growth tomorrows all strung along we are songsingers and deadringers the realthing a bringing a borrowing no taking but giving we are offering proffering setting out menus and letting down our hair don’t care who sees and the breeze can carry that message the stress is a whirlpool unfurling full and frenzied winds spinning the calendar pages it’s been ages a new stage is appearing and here we’ve been cast the leads indeed clearly within hearing some fearing but no need on and along we go show the cards it’s not hard to read hearts and eyes can’t disguise we surmise and reprise but a new verse up next reading from no text but mouthing the same words heard in a fresher dream the time the days the clouds the way we reach for each other and find joy

Saturday, August 14, 2010

justwrite 14 august

tired but the firedup engines are red are burned with sun are number nine are numer 50 sun-protected glare-rejected if I balance this way if the sun in the water is brighter but not hotter I am wondering too many things at once and giving the chance I dance my eyes into the sand and scandalize the thought process but droning on and drowning in the light the bright the Faulkner august fallaway the pages ought to turn but there’s nothing to earn in this crowd these loud paraders paving the way for something else for health and also rust the decay the dust left behind the fine-tuned comb straightening all that sunstraggled hair there is nothing to compare with waiting there is carbon that’s just for dating but I am baiting each hook with honey ‘cause the flies lie and they don’t taste too good either the honey and the vinegar sitting down to tea and one looks for beets while the other turns to me and says darling be a dear honey shed some cheer thisaway and play your other horn for now there’s plenty of time for sour there’s plenty of hourwaste to be done but not here right now we have doubts but we cannot make a tent of them we cannot be overspent of them I meant a trend in the other direction but too many corrections can not be made with one spade if you know what I mean if you dig what I’m leaning toward I can’t afford a new map at the moment but I’m honing my feet in the sand I am ready to do some walking some listening more than talking and I will smile all the while the crying buys its own ticket but not for today leading the way to another sense a different self a matter of wealth of opportunity the tendency away from immunity baring the white spots ready to tan or burn to listen to learn to love to wait to state a purpose to try to hope and other infinitives walking out into the water I could walk not quite forever for there is no bottom in the dark blue green from a distance but upclose I can only say no I don’t need to check it no you don’t need to dare me I believe you it’s there and it is slimy

Friday, August 13, 2010

justwrite 13 august

nothing to say but what a lot got going on thereupon where we want woebegone hourslong thoughts bought at high spicy prices sold out but for the mices dancing in the corners eating jack horner’s plums ‘cause he wasn’t using them he was pretending to be renting out this room while buying that house I have doubts and I have confidence a mission without stressing outcomes numbing certain nerves and deserving certain words but open and calm mantra-ed there are too many challenges to fall before every one to stomach each one easily there are words I don’t know and directions I can’t turn on can’t write up can’t back out from I have strong fingers and the mind lingers over the fleeting glances the chances that must be taken the decisions perhaps mistaken quakering like oats and toasting all those crow’s feet feeding on the uncertainties they are a different breed and we haven’t got time for those worries we are hurrying along to relax elsewhere under different trees listening meanwhile to a softer breeze if you’re coming I’m delighted if you’re planning on handling it alone in a different zone there’s a telephone and you can have them pick you up haul you away in the back of the truck but I’m saving your seat and I’m waving neatly and politely and waiting I hope goodnightly soon but there are too many tunes to harmonize in this size of thoughts bought and paid for no doubt but still nor quite credited say it to my face to my splaced leaves shaking it’s chilly now and the fire’s not out but I’ll lean a little closer just to see yes it’s burning and I’m turning to face ready to embrace waiting for the sign what’s yours is yours and you know it but it shows a cooler shade a side unplayed from this angle it’s been so long it’s been winter but summer comes

Thursday, August 12, 2010

justwrite 12 august

let’s take cooler breaths the air is fairer in the mix the tricks all turn out clockwise eggs hatch and matches catch flame out of thin space the creation of nothing from something the transformation of matter into something that doesn’t a weight heaving heavy on have-not shoulders has gotten colder has been switched off no conversation of laws no giving of pause when other buttons could be pushed rushed off and misrhymed the chimes and the hourglass clinking on each other calling bitter bitter sweet to be made honey and fading roses the cozy rose early the tea all surly with the leftover messages the dregs begging to be read the leftbehind waiting to be fed but there is no time for that sort of meal no deal to steal with those empty hands I am landing before flight I am taking off in the night and the glare compares with a sideways day to prey on empty to shuffledown full waiting and fading dirt hurtling roots into the earth take this and grow it show it sun and mercy rehearsals after endless stretches the directions without chance for corrections close eyes and open again the same scene the lines misspoken a token curtain comes down and up we see the next step a new cast is ushered in but still the planted feet stored in the floorboards right at the center spotlight done right all are attentive and what’s the incentive what’s the motivation how will that frustration burn into motion how will the character matter how will the mutterings reach the audience who’ve just realized they’re there and where they were before no one can tell and it’s just as well because I thought I had a different story to tell one that’s been brewing and swelling up cupsfull tipping over and there’s each time a chance to write it but I bite off a different start and the readers have already gone off to sleep to cough to amuse themselves in other ways they’re called plays they’re not seriouses they’re something to test a field of combat without blood and to cast out the rest leaving tested lines to rhyme true is to do you credit is to spend an author’s chance and the rest of us dance our novels into corners short stories into cartwheels and poems ah imagine where else can they go but straight into cereal bowls and pillows and the morning whiteblue ceiling

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

justwrite 11 august

I am scooping up the waiting and ladling it out the window it’s hindering the doing and the brewing is bitter the side of that edge that sledge that hammer the temples falling down caving in on themselves we are toasting our own healths and shelving all the rest there are better there is best we can test our own feet but why bother we can stay up late and rate all the sounds around but the answer is much chancier we are prancing on rooftops waiting for the sleigh to drop having come unhitched waiting for the twitch of reconnection the flying airwild elsewhere I have no complaints but I can always make them I can take a cake with them and eat or serve such undeserved slices I cannot tell how many minutes have been spent in it but more than plenty I am finished with the wall but that’s all that’s it there’s a spit and it’s turning there’s a fire but it’s burning somewhere else and at some other hour now it’s cooling now the nightair blows the silvermeshed moon out of tune and I am sighing in a sour thought the note written in the key of c and the piano key stubbornly playing flats sharply aiming toward the natural but not to be the national inter splintering the countries have their names changing the same for new letters different values scrabble the travel version the relations vacations and exhausting hesitation recalling a prescription but abandoning admissions of unease disease crazy freezes of sense and Popsicle intellect collecting all the straws and choosing which one to draw which pencil lines which colors fined paying up all their coinage rolling along empty pocket alleys calling for the cats to come dance on trashcans skidding on the lids and keeping the night alive far from lonely jazz only forward through to purple and no stopping on the blues

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

justwrite 10 august

having been all day within earshot hearing range of my windows the wideopen glass aside washed with sun and clouds and thunder and rain and lookedfor rainbow edges I have remembered I have learned I have come back to touch with the calling the not-far playing in the courtyard looked over but not overlooked by the geometric jumble of soviet apartment buildings they have been waiting and watching and when mama is called for the right one looks out the right window and responds in the right way and then it’s time to play again and as the thunder comes suddenwild in the mostlysunny sky there are cries for sasha and dima to come home to come inside right now and again they are called saaaasha diiiiiima maxiiiiiiiim and there ought to be scampering and eventually there is but no one wants to miss the sudden storm the chance to be caught offguard and planning to do so but obedience wins out in most cases but diiiiiima diiiiiima is the one to get wet the one with the story to tell in ten minutes when it’s all clear again they steer back toward him hanging in the doorway soaking with pride and fascination his nose drips and his mother inside on the seventh floor of building 6b shakes her head and thinks about what she’ll say to him when he comes in for dinner and time passes but the light stays the soccer is played although no one calls it that and no one knows when it’s time for dinner but the windows know and the mothers call waiting for responses and acknowledgement herding all the sunshine players toward cleaner hands and the talkingover of the day and the talking-to of what not to do and everyone can see the mistakes but safety in the courtyard wrapped in cement and apple trees we are all watching we are all calling back yes yes I hear you and I will come and here I find myself wanting to call back yes yes to the small girl’s voice who is calling maaama maama and her mama isn’t answering and she finally calls more insistently maaama leyyna remembering that her mama has a name to others even though she knows hers is the only one named mama and mama leyna has stepped from the window is taking dinner out of the oven is standing on a chair to put away too-small summer clothes in the second bedroom and soon she will step down soon she will set down the laundry the pan the otherwise and lean over the balcony and call yes yes my darling my sunshine I am here and you are safe with me I am calling you and I see you and I love you yes I am here

Monday, August 9, 2010

justwrite 9 august

without opening the door it’s hard to see outside the window just doesn’t let in enough there are curtains and also certain glares glazing the glass even the finest newest truest panes taking pain to retain their forms not yet giving in to viscosity it takes so long you know to bow out that glass much less to blow out a lasting impression once it’s caught in your throat but back to the view it’s true that the way out is usually through the door better makes itself than a window and so when I pressed gently and turned the knob then gently pushed the door out into the elsewhere I knew that there was no turning back a frame to stand upon but idioms slipping away no more living room behind no comfortable foyer where all the shoes are known just an invitation both ways to have and to let go to invite in and to send away and I’m playing along the whole time imagining that what’s mine will come to rest I’ll pass some test and everything will be sorted into place a goldfoiled box with chocolate names engraved in violet letters on ivory lid we have hidden behind and peeked through the peephole wholly long enough I have called all the bluffs and my own but it’s easy to pretend you’re flying freely when you’re safe on the ground if I let go and the wind blows what will be left what has heft enough to stand to hold itself up to step out and look around and if I do will I come back to the same spot or will it disappear too is there a clear view from any angle but forward forewarned we pretend out into the distance we examine each grain each plan plain to our own eyes but surprising to the listeners glistening with their own bristlebright ideas they hadn’t thought like that they hadn’t brought that cat into the room much less the elephant and I’ve long spent my time wondering and pining but there are also oaks and other trees and the breeze that blows might as well have some company on its way I can’t stay for long but I’ll have a look around here and step clear for a while trying on the style of a new trend waiting for this wave to end and envisioning a shore that’s more like the picture I never had in mind the better to redefine self and health in the shaking up while cupping my own elbows in the chilly night drinking in a thought of confidence and turning aside to sleep

Sunday, August 8, 2010

post 8 august

justwrite 7 & 8 august

in the middle of having a dream I am remembering another one I never had I was glad to escape from the trope from the hopeful chance of an explanation for everything but that’s too easy the analysis squeezes every which way one size too small and the call of the wild may have been misdialed because it’s not quite like that there’s a tiny hat and a giant cat and right now I’d rather find out more than less I’d rather dress for at-home and I’d rather eat more watermelon but it’s enough for now it’s how things happen in the burning of time there are lines more to write about what I’m thinking most of in this twilight of summer as the heat makes an effort to heave ho more of the same raising the flames and daring anyone to roast something other than themselves we are ourselves moving on and into and through and if you knew and I’m sure you do and if you’ll ask me but I can’t be sure you will we will listen more we will walk into a different forest and make notes on the foliage we will read the leaves and please ourselves with slightly different interpretations stay cool stay blackdress candystore it’s not so simple we’re not all Audrey hepburn but we have our own styles I cannot smile at every affront but I can turn and that’s the back that’s the track I’m stacking up and even though it’s just one train at a time I’ve got to say it’s fine with me to see which way the wind blows probably good honeycolored wheatgold caramel glazing the rest of the sky as we try our new turn you are not the same as it’s pointless to wonder what who else would do there is a truth I believe in you and there are answers I will try to be ready to hear but now I’m just droning and the reader meaning me is honing into the horizon searching for something else surprising to appear to keep clear the herd steering by and through in a cloud of dust a storm of rust that brings age and closed eyes that mean cages we are in tears and we are enjoying the wallow we are swallows and other homophones calling home and asking to be made sandwiches poof we are and my father laughs the story has many pages phases contagious emotions unsuspected devotion and when tested the letters will come back the contact will have been clear the documents stamped and the camping all just right a rustic night and a gale a whale and a boat and a writer and a moat wide enough to ensure space but cool enough to swim through from either side

justnotes 6 august

sliding across ingredients the yolk ready to dance bouncing gracefully off of its neighbors and savoring this feeling without a shell reeling from the sudden escape the joy of belonging only to the self and even as thoughts turn to becoming part of something else in the thick fragrant heat of the august summer kitchen

Thursday, August 5, 2010

justwrite 5 august

now I am tired of firing all the pistons there is no way this car will go and the beep-beeps are in a messy heap a hot mess a stress test fail-safe soft-sign the cake finer than the baker the wake lighter than the sleeper I am deeper in the lack of backtracking I am messing up the map I will collapse in a sleep and when I dream I will know more and the repairs will come through the aches and the truths used to fighting it out will no longer succumb to doubt there will be straight-up sitting and no more getting bent in awkward chairs I have nothing with which to compare but stay cool seems fair enough the awkward bluff is to call all bets without having met the new players we are straying farther from the shade but under this new tree let’s see and again with the metaphors the allusions the inside jokes poking their way through unintendedly or could they be can we see clearly now and when will the rain come again we are friends and we are everything we can imagine minus a few and plus some other but such is the view from this dark window last night I had a fever and when I woke up my dreams had burned off and I was left with only the restlessness and nothing to transcribe in green ink I think I have a plan but scandalously each step trips me up and I walk away into a circle returning despite resolving to quit revolving who do you think you are the earth and what kind of worth does that give you with all those rings those lakes those things like asteroid belts to hold up your gravity putting everything into place the accessories drawn from across the table and while I’m able to say so I might go wild with those matching strategies but the cost and fees are not pleasing to this season there are twitchy pieces waiting for the carbon-dating and during this time while the tree ring spins thin and fat as the water comes down and the heat goes up will this be a banner year and what will the banner say we are all stepping forward we are wondering who will give us what award and what speech will we make when the cake takes us and we are fussing over ourselves in the mirror never clearer in any other direction ready for corrections but only gently and hoping for more than we deserve eagerly and intently

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

justwrite 4 august

waking up in the proper morning means daydawning is much more appropriate the evening brings closing eyes and not awkward surprise at an incomplete feature not doubled but troubled when halfed collapsed like a calf golden in the idolized morning worshipping working legs but taking the time to learn them to step once at a time and to find the weather fine the clouds not too loud but just right the bright glow still warm the nasty thoughts stillborn and anxiety turning to piety in the humblest sort of way if I prayed this would be one of those times or maybe they all would if I could tell you and I know I can I’d like to plan a strategy of more trying and I am frying the pan and forgetting the eggs but begging all the questions trying not to know the answers already trying to steadily make the way down the list to kiss the right knight and on the way the reservations made but the other kind falling aside there’s nothing to hide at this point and I am ready for the points to connect the shortest distance between a few more stops I know but the flow’s already going along merrily staring doesn’t help and I will get gone I will play pingpong and other distractions I am adding up the numbers and the something also cursive we are rehearsing in our own minds and entwined times are on their way but to say something about anything else might be more healthy but wealthy I am with these rich thoughts these ideas but let’s not make predictions let’s not create predilections just tendencies that already exist and missing a few downsides picking up some perks we are lurking into the sunlight and if there are any more metaphors they will each be four too many so let’s stick to reality the plants I see and also the sand which is dirt which won’t hurt quite so much if you fall but it’s much more muddy and mothers don’t like it and there’s a bike it’s out of view already there’s another stroller and two more four children are playing soccer and one is shevshenko he is number seven as we know and look at him go and go until his mother calls because soon it will be the end of twilight and the beginning of early dreams the kind when you’re seven and you have found that heaven exists but it doesn’t look the same to everyone else and often there are soccer balls and courtyards with patchy grass and dirt that passes for glory

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

justwrite 3 august

sometimes when i speak my tongue falls out it's hanging about and the words it picks up the sounds it licks up tick me off flick cloth and other felt ideas thickly across the room i am swooning with confusion when the illusions of my ideas fall away and we stay strangers to the words we've heard out of our own mouths my knowing drops south and my guessing rises surprisingly we are trying trees on for height we are blighting our lights and turning off the dark i have parked in this spot and i am looking out the window when the phone rings the truth sings back in a night breeze i am freezing my forehead and hoping the rest will follow a mellow tomorrow sounds peaceful i have got trays full of grace and idiomatic expressions i am teaching lessons and also learning what i've been yearning to find out we seek and we find and in between the lines we write our own discoveries shoving everything else out of the way we are playing for keeps for leaps and bounds the hands we've found to hold turned to gold at the right touch the much appreciated questioned and the rest wondering about its role over the river and through the woods the good and the great the dinner dates and the calendar calling all the shots there are lots and they are not all on target as large as it might seem from this angle we are trying but there are more than three lines and they add up to too much to touch roughly approximating the saving of a nation and the declaring of independence the phantom of a menace the movie to make out of it to shout a bit and then to bed

Monday, August 2, 2010

justwrite 2 august

making decisions means turning collisions into steps other directions we are making corrections and paying attention but sometimes it’s expensive there’s no need to get defensive and the outcome will turn out will squash doubts in its reality there are several seas and a few more oceans there is devotion and also confusion we are illusions and also there is no other truth we have useful ideas and storms in our brains what remains when we have eaten our fill stuffed our sacks and gone out for the next step the test of the text you thought you were reading heeding all the crayons and their suggestions but no one needs to stay within the liner notes there are remoter chances and engines dancing sideways across the highways there’s a map collapsing and folding upon itself there’s health but it’s hard to keep leaping over and toward conclusions a second set of eventual illusions we are bruising our egos and our apples but we will adapt and we will scrap our scrambled letters for metal reusable the fullest extent of the tent once pitched is a niche in a certain tree where the gum and the spelling medals wait for me if I am the character and it’s fair to say I’m not but it’s easy to adopt the view as a first-person narrator takes the care to compare her view with your thoughts we ought to be telling this differently but rarely are stories written only forward from the beginning how else could we tell who’s winning are the characters fair enough or do we despair over their bluffs like cliffs of dover over and clover spinning allusions into a strand we can hand off and pull along are you strong enough to knit what you’ve unraveled how far have you traveled to arrive back at this point can we start can we anoint this location as not a destination but a beginning again and new strands we can handle can play chords together the weather changes again we take hands we don’t raise them we make fans and we splay them across our faces sharing the air and comparing the stares in the mirror with those across the table we are fabled to read to the end but there’s no pretending it’s just a few pages away there are stays to that execution and it doesn’t have to be dark it’s a day in the park with just a few clouds allowed and the spelling is just fine where yours rhymes with mine I can’t say that I disagree at this juncture or any other

Sunday, August 1, 2010

justwrite 1 august

having thought the way out there are no sideways roads worth exploding for in the sky and what’s more we are touring our own galaxies as the spinning keeps up and on and through we know and you show all the cards starting back at the beginning I would like to say that the tray of pearls has gone all swirly and the whirling collection started in a different direction I am in need of correction but the kind from within is the best and the tests will be passed in any sort of way that will do and it’s true that I have had some guesses and made some messes of the dreams scrambled in between the dark and morning but when I wake up the right way the whole day plays within the lines the colors and the numbers marching happily in pairs we are well aware but there are scattered signs we are fine and the caffeine grinds itself to a halt in the tumult of energy released teased from the bottom of the cup we are up to ourselves again our old tricks our new sticks and dynamite just as fresh as yesterday when you trip over your own toes you expose just enough humanity to open up the inanity of any situation to our common consternation we are embarrassed we are garrisoned inside our own self-images I will not jump down from the bunk bed I will not climb up I will flail instead either on the outside or visibly waiting until no one’s looking cooking up the right scheme to seem reasonable while it’s unseasonably hot I will be caught up in layers flavored to seem right while too tight and too cool are stuck in school learning their places no one wins races with this sort of training there are maps remaining to be examined I am considering other stratagems would there be visiting if something was missing and will we find the twine winding itself can we offer help or will there be others tugging no one’s drowning everyone can swim but it doesn’t hurt to twist the right strands a little closer together I am ready for the weather and prefer the whether to the not