justwrite 1 2 december

there is no space left in my dream journal and so I cannot go to sleep I’ve got to keep treading treacherously across the ice and I am remembering that this is how it is this is the time there is rhyme but no reason and it’s a treasonous season this is when people lose their faces and turn into feet I cannot look up I cannot watch for trucks or other greetings there are only steps to take turning into mistakes too easily too slippery the road and too slippery the walk we balk at easy errands comparing outside ventures with perilous indentures we are selling ourselves too cheaply and needing things too deeply when we ought to stay at home and monitor the situation we have some sources of frustration inside yes but here it’s easier to stand them it’s easier to stand up straight to face the wind and to spin easily today the way seemed clear enough but it was another bluff to call anybody’s fall today and there’s a lot of knocking on wood in this neighborhood and yes I stopped and did it yes I rapped on the table once and I’m a dunce if I don’t and I’m done if I do too because there’s more of the same where that came from and it’s not a plain plain it’s a slippery slope made of hope and water crystals a mystical system a problematic cistern dumped upside down drowning easygoing mopes with their summertime hopes all along the wayside it’s a quick glide or a careful step forward and we’re all warned but some have to hurry some have to worry and the bus doors won’t open and the bus floors are hopefully clean but not in the freshest wettest icy of ways where we save ourselves the trouble of walking when the lurch goes forward and the feet slide along inches at a time and it’s an uphill climb to see where it’s all going next but with any pretext I will hide under the covers for a few more minutes just to see what’s in it for me which is warmth and safety and yes I’ll go out and yes I’ll face doubt but in the meantime I’m just fine and I can see alright from here