justwrite 1 february

because it’s the first of the month I have a hunch that tomorrow’s the day we play hide from the shadow we grab our pillows and shiver into the morning we are dawning merry and bright our Christmases are whiter than we remember but the timber builds a city not rock and roll but the toll it takes is mistakenly high we are trying our best we are passing the tests out and others are taking them we are not quite mistaking them but we have done some things incorrectly we’ll be along directly and all the answers will come true all the stones will run through your hands like so many beads you’ll wear them on your neck and you’ll recollect how things used to be when you weren’t quite as completely free with a hand to hold and a pocket to reach into that wasn’t your own there’s a different zoning ordinance now and it’s a holy cow that crosses this street and rests look! in the shade under the trees breezing through meaning without seeming to get stuck without such dumb luck as we may have gathered before we tour around the park and we tear around the edges we catch up and we call each other thank you I say thank you you say and there’s nothing to apologize for but that’s never stopped anyone when the windows opposite blink closed I feel indisposed to continue I plan to shut my eyes but find surprise in continuing in the ice illuminated by a car on the road and all the ice all the everywhere messily erased snow mashed into the too-fine paper messy all over the fallingdown walks the socks that can’t make it down the stairs the whistles inside from mouths unaware of the necessary precautions had I bought such a think at auction I’d be proud but as it is I’ve allowed myself just a moment to note to gloat and now to move on there are offers there are proffers but still empty are the coffers though the coffins just keep filling up this is how life goes and also doesn’t this is the way I say things that mean something but pretend that they don’t and when the computer slows down in offering permission to the appearance of my words I hurry absurdly along imagining that I can trick it into believing that what I say has value when really what it’s come to is me out-thinking the screen the fingers the lingering thought that I’m not in control does little to console me and I think of pushing the button