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