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