post 31 january

justwrite 31 january

waiting for the blinking lights to stop taking such bites out of my time my mind the rhymes chime discordantly the forded streams and the tumbled trees taking their toll blocking such strolls as I might have imagined these days would afford we’ve shored up supplies but we find we’re not on land we turn from the digital to what else is at hand and find ourselves turning back on tracks of different sorts purporting to need what someone else might disagree with it’s a spree twisting itself out of my ears through the lips whips and chains and to-do lists written in mine own hand commanding a later landing than expected despite the clear skies forecast or forecasted ridding ourselves of unnecessary syllables we seek out judges then hide from them we manage our own accounts we cross-check the amounts and in the meantime we read limes like we’re made out of lemons we dash past cops like on-the-loose felons I am telling you and there’s some truth to it that the more we do it the more we choose to drop this line and start again I was born in a place not like this one I was found on a mountain I was dropped in a stream I was cleaned and returned having earned at least partial interest on the investment at the best meant for some other bearer some bond some pond I dove back into seeking out a window through to a lookingglass view I asked alice I thought she’d know since I’d heard so in a song but it turns out that was wrong and she hadn’t the foggiest and was rather the hoggiest with her gathered facts and couldn’t quite relax enough to offer up a clue and if you weren’t there I might have let her have it but you’re the kindest whitest rabbit I’ve ever followed anywhere so I think it’s probably only fair to treat you kindly winding down thataway playing the muse dropping the truth down a different rainbow through the roundabout and out into the elsewhere it’s only there that I’ll find any piece of mind from which to build a mountain or a molehill but the current bill is mounting and there’s hardly even a fountain spurt of work being done just a hum and a hem and a ho and a there-we-go sort of deal to feel excited about at the end of the day although in the morning the dawning is too glaring with or without the red rockets so we let it break of its own accord and have the rest scrambled later when the mood strikes right

justwrite 30 january

we are steamed in high esteem we are preened and primed the lines are all written the teasers are all smitten with themselves and the elves have brought the hot-to-trot out to pasture to master their own fears to turn from yearlings to sterling pounds we have rounded the bend

justwrite 27 january

Apple trees hide in the winter. There are no apples, no fruits, no blossoms, no leaves—there are only frames, bony skeletons practicing the art of survival. While the wind blows and the snow twists around once-tender limbs, the trees give up their names, turning into muted witnesses, saving their sorrows, their fears, tucking them away and waiting for the release into color, into bloom, into spring. So, too, the hand of the woman standing on the morning bus, no-fuss rushing from home to work and out and about, skin cracking with cold, with reality—she is patient, gripping the seat back around tight turns, she is earning interest, paying out later, when the air melts again into color.

justwrite 26 january

and then I was turning the pages I was wandering through stages aging rapidly and tearing up the sheets wondering if discretion is the better part of valor wondering if the shower could be hotter if the wood could been rottener we are living in different centuries at the same time yours and mine and the miscalculated rhyme the schemes that seem to make more sense than tension in the wires firing themselves from cannons from scandalous trust form rusty barbedwire from a spire on a church and a friend in the lurch all calculating to add up different equations with various stations not of the cross or of the sort where fires are doused but I’ve loused up plenty of other deals before getting to this feel-good arrangement and if that means further estrangement from long-term meaning then it’s seemingly going to go in that sort of flow from here on out and it’s a doubt I’m willing to play but not to pay out with these no-jingle pockets clocked like racecars turning left and left with the drivers playing tetris on their phones calling home and getting left alone in the pit stop whirlwinds pretending to swim with the current but still wondering not worrying what all the hurrying is for and where the getting to will get anyone through the end is near the fear is clear and we are all apart from here on out check your bags and ride that nag all the way through to suspicion and listen to yourself to others to sisters and brothers because who knows and the way this story goes your guess is as good as mine finding itself buried in a fine pine box with a long time for looking at the lid

justwrite 25 january

if I was my camera if I were capable if I were drape-able across all kinds of scenes creating my own meaning I would never be so mean as to leave me alone as to rattle down some unknown road oh where can it be and the hairbrush song comes to mind courtesy of a far-off roommate another kate sounds like Africa but all those sounds are worth lots of pictures glimmering clicking winking in the corner of my eye I am trying to find this lens this deep end I have jumped into is falling through and over and around again the sand in the hourglass the whispers all running fast through the what-ifs and the well-thens and there are sentences worth continuing but this is not one there are answers worth giving but this isn’t one I have I am scattering like ashes I am trashing like matches turning into fire I am wired all along the mulberry bush chasing the weasel and never thinking it’s all in fun because for one and for two it’s something I use and I’m worrying through this I’m cooking up some dish and I am hoping not to have to eat it cold or at all in the summer or a squall I can’t talk my way out of there’s some doubt of clarity there’s a difference in disparity and the similarity in twinness if only I had a witness then all the answers would dance into my mind while I was sleeping and stop the weeping brain from reclaiming details never failing to brush off anxiety the trying way the slow decay of facts the collapse into resignation but this isn’t how to quit there are still possibilities right there are still places I haven’t looked right I’m sure and what’s more I’ll find them if not it

justwrite 24 january

the consideration of snowflakes as they pause mid-fall and call out to each other for advice or turn inward on their own sleepy plains is a mirror of my thoughts caught as they are drifting from a whitebright list of to-dos and to-haves but not to-holds cold as it is by my window it’s a lingering place a space where the inside erases itself and pulls the outside in sinking in the moments and swimming in the air the sky of a thirdfloor lookout doubts tripping downward tumbling from the balcony the perch for barely climbing out onto the novels through which ideas get filtered the films that trim the minutes off of slow afternoons which darken to evening on the couch slouched into a half-developed project rising and falling bready dough in the mind and on a sketched-out plan scanning the window again the snowflakes are eaten by black crows noses pressed forward beaks sneaking open-air gulps as the flakes shake it off and move along they are thinking of something of someone of a matched pair while knowing still they are the only one of their kind the mind blinded by sleep and a wide white sky trying hard to consider themselves being considered by me and imagining we see the same things reflected in each other on either side of the glass

justwrite 17 january

drift she said and drift they did the mother duck quacks and the stacks are set the trays are laden with pancakes and while we bake our thoughts into pies we wonder if they’ll rise and whether the weather will be fine or gold mines will open at our feet will we meet the mornings together or will the pleasure be all someone else’s the health fits and the shoe truly falls just the hand of one sound clapping just the trap falling into like water like an open mouth like elephants and other comparisons we are telling the same story again and again and listening to interpretations we are fictionalizing the edges we are sounding smarter by the minute by the retelling swelling our own ideas our analysis of the grass and the narrow fellow in it the mellow spinning wheel feeling itself justified in wondering why the line keeps going wondering what the sun is showing when it breaks through the clouds louder than proclamations turning on to unexpected stations I am tired I have fired the housekeeper and now I can’t afford to clean I have tried to dream in cheaper colors but the numbers I paint by refuse to be misused they are slicing themselves thinly into measures four by common time and six-eight with end rhyme we are liming our lemons and making hay the sun is shining and it’s another day but who will be the characters and who will write their lines who is feeling fine about moving away from nothing to say and who is playing it cool who fools the self with imagined health and who makes an appointment to tell the story again we encourage the plan we discourage the scandal or the handles the epithets we met when we were trying to speak clearly bleary in the recollection I am moving in an uncertain direction and it’s hard to tell who’s coming along or singing a song that works in the same jerky motion we are swimming in similar oceans but the currents are hard to read and the steed the white horse of course couldn’t make it but this clownfish ought to fake it nicely we are dicily spicily going along playing the piano in uncertain rhythm and learning how to breath correctly connectedly in through the nose and out through the mouth and listening for a sound from the south a cool tongue behind a certain suggestive smile fishing for no answers but just the chance to twist and shout

justwrite 16 january

at this time it’s a birthday she’s doing mom things that’s what they do at this time there are other translations provoking consternation but that’s enough for me and the admissions committee demands that application materials must be submitted in a folder with strings so if you can get those things together then you’re sure to weather the right weather whether or not you’re accepted and the rectorate and the expectations the uniting of nations that used to divide themselves and toasting the healths of multiple drinkers and historical three-rinkers like a circus like hans brinker’s silver skates slipping out onto the ice and asking for a slice of attention at the slightest mention of a rhyme but there’s no opportunity no chance no time to drop a dime on those sorts of moves we’ve grooved ourselves out of focus and it’s a hocusy pocus sort of job that gets described as sound producer but that’s what he is and what gives is probably what takes it’s not a mistake it’s just a different way to say right okay like this committee’s job is to organize pretentious activity and if it’s all the same to you then that’s what they’ll do okay I thought so and if he really wrote a dissertation on the state of the nation of customs officials between blowing the whistles and breaking on down then I’ll tip my crown and go to bed because some things are better left unread

justwrite 15 january

watching this film and thinking I am thinking how true when you can’t tell what to do and you feel shuffled in the head stringing words and thoughts through sleepless nights it seems like everyone around you has got it so together has weathered every storm or worse has never seen a storm but knows just how to navigate and their teeth look just right no wonder she is frustrated with their knowitallism because they really do know it all and they are movie stars too they are silvering the screen with slivers of brilliance and not only have they pearls of wisdom but they love her even while they point out some swiney thoughts she may be having they grab at strings and weave together a silken garment they dress her in ideas and anyway anyway let’s not get carried away with language as is so often the case but really is it better to be looking for answers or to be looking for nothing because if you are looking for nothing than nothing is what you’ll find but when you’re looking for answers you find them everywhere in every word someone on the street says in every movie book quote song there are so many ways to tell ourselves the answers and yet we keep asking other people and always the same questions and I see this in myself too and I’d like to give it up but to ask is to be involved and to step back is to let it all pass by and it’s easy when you’re in a movie even if it’s a true-life story adapted for the screen because someone you’re waiting for looking for without even knowing it is just around the next turn really humming along and about to clip you off the road sweep you off your feet in a neat trick really if it doesn’t hurt you too much and there you are all set up and it’s just a cup of bitterness maybe with the first knee brush-off but there’s nothing to scoff at when the realizations set in there’s plenty to enjoy but no more ploys just straight out with it what’s the answer and why does it have to be hard to find it or what is the question and why can’t we ask the right one and really how hard is it to just sit still I am smiling will I get it this time I am lighting a candle I am handling my opinions gracefully but still in an empty space the ideas that place themselves around me surround like trees and lean in making shade or even darkness we wait on the park benches and wonder how the fountains keep doing that and wonder if the fountains wonder why we keep doing what we do on and on in circles spouting ideas into the ears of others so they’ll turn back and give us the same in response ensconced in the guarantee of shared opinions strengthening original resolve but solving nothing just looking within is difficult because it’s dark and even when it’s light it’s hard to pick out the pieces that are right and what to make of them anyway?

justwrite 14 january

having lost a month I shuffle forward the date and backward the later fog logs another last lap through the slaphappy parking lot we have dots that ought to be crossed and teeth that are too rarely flossed with the reminders of sidewinders the symphony of another alleyway that’s a film I saw that’s a remainder in the ones’ column I wanted to solve them but still they kept adding up let’s start again let’s depart again in peace in pieces we are putting back together the reeses and the peanut butter cupped in chocolate hands an in-demand sweet delight the dark of night cannot be brightened cannot be heightened except to be darkened we’re harkening to logic but it’s still sort of faint we’ve filed our complaints but the restraints are still in place there’s too much to think about and the doubts ride high on wings of anxious trainwrecks collecting recycling along the tracks and cracking jokes yanking ropes and generally wreaking havoc there’s a clamor and whatever’s the matter has got to wait because it’s one at a time in this holding line this stalling’s fine for now but someday in the not so distance the resistance will fade away and I’ll be able to say exactly what you mean to hear and it’s mean to steer expectations and then let go of the wheel but you gotta roll how you feel and that’s the only real deal

justwrite 13 january

just for a moment there’s a sonnet and upon it someone’s set a vase replacing the space with flowers and my fingers stutter muttering through the pages of a dream I wrote down in the middle of last night a flashlight full of pretend revelations a station I tuned into I zoomed out of and could not sleep there were too many sheep to count and I flounted flaunted daunted by the collapse of night under the weight of a cloud-coddled sun I have run out of space to tell those texts what could be next but everyone’s a reader and everyone’s a critic some are overanalytic and this is where I come in this is where I sing sin from another mouth I’m traveling south in expectations the collocations don’t come out right when you’re not from there when you’re not quite aware of how the story’s going to be told we hold our own hands out but no demands shouted from our lips could eclipse the rational cash-in paying in logic for more chips going all in and other idioms we are rehearsing the music we’ll never have to play we’re carting trays of eggs along strong-arming the drivers into arriving safely we’re reasonably hopefully we’re told again nope full of disdain those trains and their cars the drinkers and their bars on track and off while I was walking home there was a joke and it was about cultural stereotypes and also potholes but here I’m being polite and if you ask me another night I might give in but here I’m sinking to swim again better the wetter the water the better the drink the sink is overflowing but it’s mostly going down and I’m not going to drown so I’ll keep my head up and sup on flowering cabbage all that I could grab from the hodgepodge grocery bin producing such produce as we have rarely seen in other spheres turning right round baby like a green head of leaves cleaving together and turning out to be quite translucent upon sautéed reflection a collection of flavors to savor all called upon by an oniony dawn rising brighter and turning the kitchen the house the great wide land a more delicious flavor I remember who didn’t like the smell of cooking onions of brewing coffee the taste of strawberries and these were all signs but when you know how to drive you just plan to keep going throwing all those scraps aside but when you arrive you find all this compost and you decide to anyway make the most and you do and it’s not stew but it’s well done and justright

justwrite 12 january

when your head spins your fingers swim upstream looking for keys and turning the locks into rocks with one swig of music the truth it’s hard to tell but the songs last long as well they ought they’ve bought all they had to sell and a basket to take along as well I can’t think straight and the weight is a pressure in my head instead of a lifting drifting kite upward into night when you read this you imagine tragedy but it’s a screen and congestion making the worst of my best and it’s a test I can’t pass but can easily adapt to the circumstances I am ready to be asleep I am crawling into deep warm and shoring up defenses the apple cider vinegar shivers into the honey and the funniest remedies the comedies not of errors but of vodka and snow and other ways to go when chemicals can’t be trusted make you wonder whose minds have gone rusted

justwrite 10 january

i sure do thanks i sure fill tanks up and i level them out i ride all night and fill kites with alabaster wishbones and if you're phoning home to wonder what a spell i'm under it's natural there's no craft about it there's a shout it calls itself out and it's spent we went for a walk we listened for a talk we picked up rocks and threw them in the air there were rainbowed docks and the fog at the end was inviting enough to swim in and so we did and there were more conjunctions but so then for and nor but or yet so we went on with our lives speaking grammatical hives all those edges matched up snug and the corners shrugging off indifference like with a glimmer it's gone and all the caring comes raring into action again i am spent i have lent my last kopeck although that's not exactly correct if you'd like to stretch your intellect across the language barrier it's scarier than ever and faster than reindeer but it's clearly going to change we can't rearrange space to fit our own time as easily as a child can force an end rhyme to fit out a poem for mother's day or a garden variety thank you for all the posies all the supposed experts have their texts worked over and here i am cramming again all those teeth into one mouth and it's a mile worth of smile but there's a twinkle in that eye i'll be glad to see again soon to tune in for an afternoon or whenever might be available it's a wall that's probably scalable but maybe not to size there's a rise in the population of hope there's a scope that has no sequence and a rock with no feller but there's a cellar with a door and who could ask for very much more could ask to be shot down with a crown in his pocket and a locket full of air a dusty piece of hair having vanished in the interim sinking to swim and waiting for the thaw

justwrite 9 january

thinking about drinking in expertise like the honey bees have been pleased to bestow upon this tea i find that i have lined up all my answers like tiny dancers on the tip of my tongue a harp strung with ripe notes poking in and out of my smile my teeth aren't right and the sounds are crooked but the books i've paged through have waved truth in the wind and we lend our thoughts to the bottles the coddled daughters and the put-upon sons we ride our trains to the end of the lines and off into the margins enlarging our tracks and never looking back over the blackboard we have learned what we've earn and those stern expressions in the mirror grow clear and clearer once we've steered through the right decks collecting the nets full of words hauling absurd sentences out of our mouths traveling south for the winners and the chicken dinners turning into cigars and other prizes rising south again the full pout again desperate for attention and flinching from the mention of a different night alone another rolling stone and the magazines smashed into the bottom of a backpack waiting for a bus the fuss and the hair and the bleary eyes dripping undisguised desire out the thick windowglass trashing all the views and using up the inspiration on the way to a thwarted destination we have failed to fail and we wander aimlessly into success wondering what's next for such travelers wondering what texts we need to read to succeed in the coming steps will we climb up or rhyme down will we crown our own glories or will this be done for us will we embrace the forest or the trees and what knees will we wrap our arms around clowning for the camera and forcing out stammered compliments and clever twists of the intellect sent along with stamps and salutations across the sea of spaces

justwrite 3 january

too late to have waited for the right time to pass for the right grass to grow we are holding out our hands and making no demands just scandal enough to get out of bed for we are easily led more or less and the tests are too stressful to pass even if the overall grade isn't failing here we go flailing about and spreading the doubt the contagious grout that holds societies together we measure for measure with breezy insecurity heading off diplomacy and wondering into normalcy which needn't be and often isn't just a path of least resistance leaning into oh dear leaning into lazy fear the kind that clears our minds and the rest follows the hollowed-out stomach the weary glances in the other direction waiting for corrections but hoping none come we are undone by chewing gum and other solutions to problems that don't exist

justwrite 2 january

too cold to explode my fingers over these keys these pages raging against the screen meaning what they have to say to play along with we twist our fingers around rings and we sing the body the song the calling we are hauling ourselves through the mirrors and back again losing track again of all those trends the deep ends and their questionable findings we are minding our own business and the quiz spits its answers back out at the testy look it's being given driven half crazy by lazy eyes hardly trying to line up the cups and to pick the hidden pingpong ball the call of the mild the taco sauce not quite sloshed with enough heat i am beating myself at no-one's game training for the remaining miles in vigorous style just another trial for kafka to laugh at the scattered clues and the games everyone's bored with are the twisted wits the splitting lips and the slips of the tongue we have hung someone else's laundry out and the doubts are beginning to dry to try my nerves to serve the unreserved tables the fabled perfect stables where all the energy is kept the horses who might have leapt over the walls of their gingerbread stalls without eating those fleeting glances just forward into stored matter the dense brush rushing through hair and comparing the wind with the whispering of other lands lemonade stands and epics and what mix tape will drape itself into sense at the mention of exchange i'd like to rearrange these impressions into a unified theory but the field is sort of bleary and analysis-weary which may surprise you in this normally quite clear view we are truly interesting and interested and sometimes we express ourselves too readily we can't just plod on steadily it's an experiment at every stage rearranging the cages for different angles we've bangled our wrists and misted our eyes we are surprising each other and this is how it ought to be bought and sold fresh