post 5 september

justwrite 5 september

there are some notes ready to be written but the voice to sing is lost in the keys no one sings in c these days no one has a natural way of delivering without stamps the camps are all turning into autumn we’ve tried to solve them but still it rains let’s talk about rice with butter let’s remind ourselves of the lists to be done and the floor still to be swept I leapt from bed to see what the time had brought but the clouds caught in the drain remained there all day and there was no light in the bathroom or in the attic children’s poems and hot water all swirling in the kitchen sink something to think about some apples to buy and slice with twitchyhand delivery I am minding the knife carefully I am stirring dessert before it becomes itself this jacket becomes your sister and he dances with a purse he dances with a chair no one cares if the pole is there if the staring in the mirror is clearer than reflection if the smoky misdirection allows the foolish moves to groove themselves into record recollection the protection racket the white leather jacket and a scarf fit to be tied knotted with a dotted eye we want to say the right things but bringing tears to clear examination is not the goal there are whole books to be written in minute detail before the resale price comes down on the publishable interval how long will it be and how strong will we seem with the bits in between twisting streams of thought into adopted directions I am wiping clean I am gathering up my cup spills and I am working with a toothpick wondering about the matter and the fact and the case in this point is out of joint the joists hoisting the train too high to spy anything but sky from those windows we glow our own norms we eat our own cornucopia of hopeful thoughts bought at the price of makingnice and telling the truth the youth and the years flickering the beauty trickling downstream longer fingers and quieter ears hearing what ought to be said but living in reality instead fed on apple soda and grape sparklers flaring up in the latenight thickthroat settledown comfort

justwrite 2 september

vokzal: a study// and on the left you will see love/ on the right friendship/ these are the same/ these are different// here is leavetaking/ here is greeting// trying to remember a song/ with the right sentiment/ comfort and continuity// here is the ongoing/ massflowing forward and elsewhere/ sparks of recognition/ joy, relief/ pressed hard against/ miniature despair, fear/ longing felt long before departure// here it is possible to know/ remember again// on and on/ the trains arrive/ the announcer speaks a foreign language/ considerately and clearly/ confidently and calmly/ this train is on this track/ cars are numbered from the tail/ life goes on/ you are not alone/ goodbye hello

riding away from a hypercolor sky those shirts that guys used to have in seventh grade but that is the past and if you keep outlasting then it’s hard to be all the way forward or backward as we’ve heard there are conditions either active or in remission we are twitching without switching muscles we are tousling our own hair saying there there and whispering pet names in the selfsame voice we’d like to hear to there from here is a long trip the nights clip along at a steady pace we cannot erase the places the space between preens and primes its feathers weathering the arrival some stage of survival which ought to be success though who can tell what’s next and who can correct a not-yet-written text we have our articles our adjectives we forgive the contractions when something worthy is delivered but in the meantime we set the stage fine and sanded ready for the landed gentry to pass the sentry and sail straight through to the new a different shore and what’s more is that the map’s collapsed in an apt lapse of sense the tent not strong enough the light not long enough and when the night comes the shivers line up like so many quivers rocking arrows calling sparrows and other hopes out of the trees and freezing streams with wideawake goldfish peering back aghast through the glass

justwrite 1 september

to busykeep is to steep tea bags in honey and to pay all the money in the cookie tin to an unknown cause without pause deserving of applause and financial encouragement there were many places meant to go many suns and many snows but calendars get flipped around in unimagined storms we are torn from ourselves sometimes but there are others who remember and hand us back pieces resting beside us to tell stories of shared glories and quiet dreams we seem to the mirror to be leaning paler but of course there’s more to it and there’s no need to pity a flower that’s pretty in its own knowing blowing off ramshackle tackle set to catch a certain fish there are wishes that won’t come true but the use in being disappointed is hard to measure easy to treasure to nurse in bedraggled tears and cups of tea we are doing our best to keep you together say the blankets the shower the incidental pillows and I am being thankful even while I ask for more I had given up the artist alone image imagined I had considered some plot devices but I set the wrong ones in motion and this is a reminder to stick to poetry but really we see the characters right and write themselves as is their given right and this is not mine to take but to make more of in the upcoming