justwrite 28 april

I am thinking of a letter between yes and no and it’s not you it’s not me it’s not two or even three and it’s hard to tell where this is going it’s fair to say that it’s not snowing but beyond that Ararat is glowing in allusion but truly it’s an illusion which is to say it isn’t which hasn’t got a minute to waste but to waist there are more inches than time can allow if a cow and a sow have a how-now-off which one will scoff first which one will cough first and who’s to say they haven’t rehearsed is it a truly impromptu brouhaha and if I lift my arms up with bruises looseness will the juicy bits all eclipse the hurt from awkward boxes toxic to afternoon laziness I thought the post would send I had no way to end that sentence but with a grimace and just a mimic of an idea to start that off a once-again trough into which I stick my face replacing the casing but not from a bullet there’s more than an idea to it I have some writing to do and it’s true that’s my thing but the headache that it brings as an assignment of the uninteresting sort ready to be graded by someone faded out of originality and residing in hiding in quotations from opposite destinations in the tire tracks heading away I’ve got to say the right play will win but the strategy is thin and the answers quite obtuse is the picture of a sunrise is the metaphor a simile thinly weaving together some sort of fair-weather trope is there hope for something fresh and do-rechi do I have that in stock is there a clock boiling over and will the car start once the barn door opens there are lots of lines divine rhymes and alabaster elevators to ride up and down and there’s no need for a crown but a round loaf and a olive jar would get far enough in the right direction that a collection of thoughts ought to head thataway there’s another fray to pull together the rubber cement treatment all along a collagey way I have to say that’s one that sticks with me that ticks quickly through the rounds and the words herd themselves into camps damp fields tickling like whiskers trickling along the grass classing up the joint and unwinding re-signing all the former talents all the scouts out there hamming it up and returning to find vegetarians shaking their heads we have said our parts and our hearts have mulled it over I’m reaching into the clover and we’ll see how many leaves are left

justwrite 27 april

when I meant what I said it was all I had left and them some they broke the bank when they paid you they drew in all the curtains and erased the windows there were purple crayons and other ideas but the freeze came and the voters abstained it’s not that they didn’t like the choices it’s not that they had minds full of options they were open for adoption and closed for consideration they had space heaters but no space they arranged the letters of their names in alphabetical order to maximize efficiency and so became a nation without initials all the howls of the vowels and the consonantal confusion the illusion of making up a word and then finding that it exists the idea of dying with wax and realizing it resists the colors the numbers the bugs that suddenly appear when green does the screens in the windows that glow full of holes that grow and turn old at the touch of rust at the must-have must-hold story times with golden rhymes tucked in at the corners to hold off all the mourners we have had our successes and we will rest not on our laurels but with our best intentions with the remaining declensions unkindly finished we have diminished our appetites for such trite bits of wit and also of folly we have hollered into the woods we could not tell each other apart but now with bits of broken hearts the edges can be traced the space has now replaced the absence there are gaps without caps to reflection no sort of warning for such a phase dawning an alarm bell or something might be useful might be grinning toothful and loathsome with its self-satisfying sickness a cold hold on an ordinary hand a shake that takes longer to release than might be expected a cavity neglected that doesn’t quite improve just gets disused not discussed just unfussed over and glossed and the floss isn’t even worth the metaphor it’ll take to string along it’s a song that doesn’t need to be sung but it’s easy to hum and it comes up again when you’d rather turn away flip a switch and seek a different itch to scratch catching on and releasing as feasible

justwrite 26 april

is it possible there are full fingers figuring out those pages we are staging ourselves in various colors our numbers are not painted yet we haven’t bought the paintball set of our dreams it seems we’re running out of timely circumstances we’re taking our chances these are fine romances and other jazzy tunes it’s a moon and a star and the bubbles all get shot it’s a crime but it’s not worth paying for it’s a straw-strewn floor and a jar of honey it’s a crippled bill that used to be money just wait until the mail comes just wait until the jail runs out of bars and the cars all take their time walking along their lines purchasing their wares brushing their hairs and coddling their hedgehogs we all have our own logs our stardates our wait-up-late reasons it’s been a year since a year ago it’s been a while since the last of snow but that doesn’t mean I’m waiting for more that doesn’t mean that a knock on my door is my dream tonight not a beam of light from some distant whatever severing the lonely dark there’s a park and ride and an eat and park yes a park and pool and a ymca ark for everyone to ride in to watch the high tide in and also to hope for and also to empty stores of oatmeal and other devices the nicest part is the heart of the matter but for all that it splatters messily dressily down the block gently through the rocking chair evening meaning what exactly doesn’t matter my teeth don’t chatter and that radley’s not boo to you or to any other and of course like you he had a mother and so we go and how we know our own devices our own best spices keeping all our ducks in rows wondering how our gardens grow without the least tending all that back-broke bending we think we’re so important we think that nothing will spring without our help and if we weren’t so picky if we weren’t so tricky we could count on something we could know the plumbing would offer something up would cup some green upward pressing it into the sky and telling the sun here here is what you’ve been waiting for and we would smile and know it was the truth

justwrite 20 april

these are the words I have space to write there is spice tonight between my eyes and the sky there are final countdowns limits with me in it to win it I can’t take much less but I can ask for more I’d adore a different score but that’s just how it’s adding up the overflowing cup has too many sippers and pretty soon the dippers aren’t going to be big there are stars and there are cars but only some are in the sky only some essays get first place and the rest chase their tails in never-fail games we play with our eyes closed I’m predisposed to sleep early in this sort of a situation the information I’ve received has led me to believe that gold can’t be lead and nothing much instead of something else is a poor substitution here’s a memory a solution for a blank moment or if you condone it a replacement of the future for a temporary fix it wasn’t quick it was a long drive to arrive the far-south or at least it’s relative and there were relatives but none of my own an easter-egg hunt and I’m much too old and I was then too but it’s a group effort and I understand sleeping in the same room as unsung tunes we’ve never met driving a rental car experimentally far there is no time to kiss there’s no place to miss the family crowding pleasantly close everything exposed and the moments winding wandering we are all thinking about the future but now all that is past now all those rough drafts are tossed aside none too gently totally spent we cannot pick up any pieces still they’re hot still they’ve got some sort of glow maybe radioactive you know you can’t be too careful and so still I’m bewareful will it be a year will it be more you can’t even knock at my door it’s too far and there are no cars or stars or cares or dares that’ll get you there but I’m pretty sure I’d let you in there’s always time for tea but what would we say and how would it play out I have no doubts I’d be mixed up there’s no pick-up from where we left and even if you crash-landed I’d be empty handed with what to give but maybe that’s a lie I’m made of cookies and try and I’ll always keep dishing it out wishing the spout would turn itself off but coughing awkwardly to hide any rush of wonder too easily plundering my imagination even this vague investigation brings up questions but I’m pushing them off and learning my own lessons

justwrite 19 april

imagine an audience a preponderance of cells dwelling in one fell swoop of the brush no rush toward forward we’ve been warned it’s hard to escape once you put the pencil down but with it picked up you can carry away anything you like it’s a bike you won in a beauty pageant it’s a dragon from a banana and they keyboard tries its best with golden stickers but the tricky part is that the letters won’t stay they play themselves out and then laughing take off up and away and other prepositions I can’t say they’ll listen but it’s true I haven’t tried just arrived and started wondering plundering all those layers of flavors beyond the tootsiepop wonderball gobstopper of yore and on it comes anon but pleasantly not anonymously we state our names clearly we have no fears we cannot name we’re plain enough people and it’s a plane or a steeple high enough to observe at an awkward angle tackled by the sun and strung along a reckless necklace of unheeded beads we all need something a little differently composed a proposal without roses an answer without supposes we need definition and we need to write it for ourselves we need to right our wealth from toppled-over stacks we need to attract the right and subtract what’s left we alllll have to add it up we all have to wash our cups and dust the sills but will you wait for me if I stop to take a nap in the middle of the apple trees and if I wake up alone who will know the apples grow and the gardens sow themselves warmly over again close and thick and shadowed in the leaves of tomorrow’s harvest

justwrite 18 april

the announcements are made the commercials are paid for in advance and no one has singular pants but the dog after a run hanging out its tongue licking up the air caring little for fashion for class just grass and a river a shiver of nature uncomplicated undated unmarked just parked under a tree delivering the next episode I’m pleased with these results the catapulting upward overward onboard untoward there are two different thoughts at this point two different scenes I’m themeing through like a park one is all rewards with internal kind and a flash in the mind the pride that comes in reading your own name winner winner chicken dinner and it’s not mine not this time but that’s not the point that’s disjointed to say the lease but it’s a feast I’ll be attending and lending more than my fair share of commentary no doubt here’s a trout and there’s a ham I’m pleased and that’s the way I am going to sleep with a deep sigh and wise wondering but the second topic is too hot to write too wrong to right or the other way around how can drowning in faith serve anyone well but who am I to tell who am I to guess at what’s next and how it all plays out I have doubts like the next one and maybe many more but I’m not storing up worry or even hope at the remote chance that the impossible occurs how can I blur my goodlife efforts in a chance to contort toward somebody else’s vision I will not bow down I wear no crown myself but I deserve to stand up straight just like the king and I it occurs to me and does Krishna really mind or would any other kind of god applaud and being so lauded in such a way such a play seems meaningless but I’m heeding this response as one from a skeptic one with perplexing fits of wonder and also of disturbance wondering how such perturbances can shake up foundations can rock so many nations what are they thinking are they blinking thinking twice or are they truly sure offscreen too off the stage the blue curtains spread wide and looking inside what’s hiding what’s riding along on which shoulder holding what questions close and shouting answers without doubts we are the believers they say and we will see tomorrow

justwrite 17 april

just give me something to believe in a sieve full of sand I will command an audience and I will ask questions we will dance wearing complicated clothing and this will be our ritual we will wear many bracelets and bangles that tangle tinkling like strings of sound caught on light we will delight in our abandonment of sense and of sentences we will repeat the same sounds the same steps our feet will be bare we will compare nothing we will move in the same direction the same form there is no norm here there is fearless questioning we have dimensions that don’t need plumbers we have strength in numbers there is dogma to bark at and a cat in the window we are wondering through the garden we are wandering down hardening paths collapsing the math over and again the strands of sensual flair the colors beware of themselves of their distraction the attraction is forward is upward and from the kitchen comes the same strands but different flavors saffron and other ideas pleased to make each others’ acquaintance and the maintenance is carried out without doubts with only the ounces of effort needed to concede certainty in purpose in mission in the glistening garden outside in the altar of halting beauty though some might think otherwise everyone has his own eyes her own surmising glance summarizing by chance all that’s met and all that’s set down on a table to be watched to be adored to floor the audience to shake foundations and also to build them this is unexpected here this is not quite what I might have imagined my afternoon to look like and I took a bite and enjoyed it but a fleeing moment of annoyance in drifting to the wrong dimension suddenly with no way out and the doubts of opportunity to return we earn our own rewards to be sure but sometimes it’s just fine enough to take one cup full one sip and trip backward into absurd conglomerations of details these never fail to seem unreal the more the facts pile up the more the sense falls down and we are left reassuring ourselves that this is unexpected this is happening but it’s fine and we are from another time although this one’s quite alright at the moment and here’s a doughnut and I condone it because what else is there to do

justwrite 16 april

and yet as time goes by the flies crawl higher and the fire sets itself on low there are growing things and twisted rings stringing their way along the outside the whatever I thought I was going to say there certainly lost some steam along the way the track cracked up and off I jumped a lump rolling down the bank and withdrawing no cash just crashing gently into the impossible shrubberies it can’t be done there are no herring there is no herring wearing out its singular/ pluralized form the norm none the more sensible we have unmentionable fears and oversized ears but these too are unmistakable we are taking full trays of food we don’t need we are leading friends to tables and seating them while they’re able to stand commanding improvement projects where they may not be needed and heeding ourselves with bragging tongues and overworked immodesty we are talking and talking and we are building our own mountains posing for personal fountains and when the people come when the people are let go when they get to this mountain top when they crossed the parted sea they will see me and wonder what does she think she’s doing there and why is she wearing those shoes isn’t she going to get a haircut already or what is how’s that writing thing working out anyway or is that just one of those scenes those screams for attention those leans into other dimensions look at me it’s a book you see I’ve written there are three others and my mother’s in favor and my friends all nod but they might as well be locked for all the reading that they’re getting it’s more like a miss than hitting but someday maybe they’ll find other shelves they’ll become hardbacked selves and situate their futures into other sorts of catalogs the cards the blogs the numbers dewey on the bindings reminding themselves of their place the space we’re all allotted and some of us have bought extra by building up treasures but there’s no measure better than the part that’s art carved into the mind deeper than the shelf a wealth of golden green that stays raised above the surface of still waters cool and dark and wet as wet can be

justnotes 15 april

write about storks at every fork

write about the dog watching the post office to see if his letter comes I think it’s a D

write about suspiciously still geese probably real but stark against the darting chickens

write about the wide brown rectangles of earth overturned by invisible hands

write about roofs that show use and endurance

write about the grandmother checking hair, scarf in a jagged piece of pocketkept mirror

justwrite 14 april

this travel unravels in unexpected skeins the unguessed means and ways saving imagination the trouble bubbling up overflowing cups of possibility the stuff of probability the lot of the past the under-gassed over-thought gently wrought bits with the hands twisted in strands of damaged cabbage the baggage brought along sure to be unneeded the depleted strength of so many maps collapsing in on the wrong folds holding routes together with tape no escape from the weary train a neverfail rush at the lush light of day playing itself out again the trends at both ends tied together with our eyes closed we’re indisposed to see the sense we sleep to wake and change the tense and what time and again and the friends of schedules and also their enemies we chart our anemones on post-it-sized planners shrugging off manners and hoping for the best for the passage of tests and also of scenery because it’ll plainly be a different game if those kind of changes don’t get made we thought we’d paid for tickets but our seat belts sure weren’t clicked and we had other things in mind but those boxes just weren’t ticked off and so we were instead and we wonder if we’ve fed ourselves to the lions if we’re trying to set these challenges in our own way if we’re reading the words of a different play than the one that’s running now than the one that’s shifting how and if we pay attention the monologues to a different dimension the audience who must be there the family who can’t help but care just waiting for the station to be switched for the remote to be fixed for all that static to add up to something worth watching the black and white splotching shifting into sense the tense becoming present perfectly styled to go out of fashion even as it starts to exist a risk nobody wants to take a fake mistake and a real fine choice melding into one and the same a city that forgets its name on every block next time you walk you should leave a trail you should take a whale for the ride and hide inside until it’s time to come back up for air

justwrite 12 april

the keys are heating up underneath my fingers I am lingering with a face full of confusion I am turning illusions into sense and sentences no sensibility in these arrangements the estrangement and the cages bent out of shape for ready escape we are taping ourselves together our ankles were never meant to bend in such ways it’s a craze but it’ll pass it’s a phrase but it’s dependent we meant it and we sent our answers forward forewarned our forearms stretched out ready to carry arms and armfuls of emptiness dripping wet seaweed or other sorts of else on ourselves and through our healths we toast we roast the fatted mushroom we grow enthused and disillused every which way we make up words when we want to say something that there wasn’t something that our cousins whispered about in closets the deposited board games leaning in to hear with their cardboard ears bent by ungentle use the truth waiting to be kinged bring it in closer you’re really too young to know this but I know better and also I don’t and we won’t let anyone else guess but it’s a test and if you pass and if you crash and burn there will be no sorry no Parcheesi no squeezing the die until they liven up the board no ward of this state could have any later appointments today let’s play until the light changes and then you’re up then asia then it’s a craze we returned to back at the beginning back when I was swimming in the pool I chipped my tooth and it was useless we moved anyway and my breaststroke was not strong my legs were far too long and the synchronized swimming team sculled and sparkled without me no doubt we were cut of different cloths but like a moth to the light I turned soft in the water and flapped and aimed for something higher without being able to look away

justwrite 11 april

the drapes are coming down the grapes are hanging around with that sour crew I’m warning you they ought to be stopped they ought to be topped off with a cork if you ask me but no one does no one rubs those sticks together and makes fire no one inquires after the health of the elephant these days if you know what I mean there are chimpanzees and other teams there are dreams without completed sentences the rest of the recompense paid off after we are unable to hear our own thoughts I bought enough for the rest of us to share but now that I’m here no one wants to listen no one glistens with restless awareness they just compare this with how that was and it’s a trap of fuzz and other confusions the illusions we are building up make loving cups out of our leftovers those boiled beets meeting their ends in the pot that wouldn’t stop and in the fridge they wait for an undetermined date which will probably be tomorrow but the sorrow is indefinite we must leave some things to chance we must trust ourselves to reach for higher shelves we left the beans behind we picked up the corn we scorned carrots in metal caves mushed into the elsewhat the somethingwhy the neverwas of freshness a test passed and flailed through but we nailed you with that last guess and you can get out for free today you can go to the neighbors’ yards to play just as long as dinner gets eaten tonight just as long as you sleep before you get to bed just as long as you are tall and stretched and leaping over the fences just as long as the songs are electric strummed through the grass you feel between your empty toes glowing rosily into a dirty warm summer

justwrite 10 april

justwrite 10 april

there are other days but they will wait to be transcribed with arms open wide and mouths hilariously closed we are supposing we each know the best there are tests to pass by and to fly over with colors no numbers no others just selves peeling back descriptions the pages drifting offward I love me I love me not I have taught all the lessons in this strange season the semester sleeping through itself and its health being repeatedly toasted in mixed-martial weather an artsy mix a frost tossed like a boss through an iceberg salad our ballads are shorter than they used to be and nobody’s truth to see is anyone else’s to have to hold to steal to mold over in cabinet corners when no one is looking when the bread’s taken to booking its own instructions its hotels its ne’er-do-wells never having spelled that before and abhorring mistakes I take a break to breathe in the accuracy but no tracking of red wiggle marks parks itself there it’s a circle or a square but mainly it just won’t fit mainly I can’t get over control sort of issues and the tissues to keep those muscles together will push off the weather in favor of some other canvas some far-off damage I am hoping for the best as most people usually are the wishes on stars are rarely inviting of calamities the damage we see is rarely intentional people are mostly more dimensional than we guess but we’d rather just be right and are cautious out of fright for overindulgence of imaginative tendencies the curtain freezes up and the outside is out of reach we teach ourselves patience and amaze our companions as they melt away once more

justwrite 9 april

today the sky in stripes takes its own turns earns blue against abandonment a rust orange scorned by use but loved by time the lines contrasting through lasting landscapes burning great escapes from crayon boxes foxes trotting and candles brought in from the outside cupboards stubborn and tired of being fired out of the self-same clay frayed at the edges the blessings given by unforgiven letter-writers we are brighter when we turn ourselves off for the night the right to arm bears to be left behind the front and other opposites I have ideas about doing work and a jerky suspicion that I will return to my book I am looking forward even springing that way as the hours have their day and eat it too there are many angles and not all of them try we try ourselves in uncareful skillets the will itself must be willing making a killing at keeping the shakes off peering in gentle scoff in adjectived mirrors getting clearer and fearing less of consequence the preponderance of crossers the plentitude of churches the lurch is swaying us forward and if you’ve heard of cows you’re a bucket of Strauss to pour over as you wish

justwrite 8 april

the green is returning shyly bright in fields blushing with ferocious modesty ready to own the season but not yet just holding its breath a little until the time is right sprinkled onto the chocolate rows the earth surprised its undisguised rawness flawless in general appreciation and simultaneous confusion the illusion of being upside down at once returned to its own viewpoint we are anointing the correctness of our own ideas with our own blessings checking them out our library cards perfectly suited to lay claims to such aimless rambling waiting for the light to change

justwrite 7 april

if it wasn’t for today only not this day just another one somewhat like it biked it cycled around and swam underwater oversky toward the elsewhere othertime this is when the day and whether dragons flew or tea was poured there were good things brewing there were certain signs some of them handmade and some of them intrinsically known showing up around corners and flowers for hair and picnic lunching there were cards and greetings and first-time meetings of new family faces the race is not always to the runners the sunners are enjoying this day even if it rains even if the plains rise up to meet the clouds loud and boisterous in their joy what can we do to appreciate how can we navigate the possibilities the what-ifs which will never be the impossible conditionals in other senses other tenses the imaginary word in another language which tells us not to worry this will never happen and indeed there’s no need because it already has passed and we have lasted into being into the future which is now from the past which was never not to be and the elsewhen which could never have taken place there is no grace in selfish joy but there is delight in finding the roots from which you grow the place where you began to exist the time the look the words that made it possible the glow of stereotype glances of romances and chance that became reality and I’m glad and thank you and congratulations

justwrite 6 april

remember I was going to write a I was going to take down and the dust was going to flip off the shelves and into a bowl to feed it to history the pages raging overhead we are instead our own worriers we hurry ourselves into the lists of to-do and to-have and we grab our pockets by our purse-strings and we sing ourselves awake we take no chances no prisoners there is no room in this wagon for anything but socks and we are ticking ourselves off we are done with the lists we are resisting wax and other issues we are sucking up the color and growing fat off of the extra the special the once and present the alternate future and a dream of the past blasting through sense and arriving in an alley with a seeming dead end but with a last-minute secret door opening smoothly with the touch of the right hand and not escape but sudden elsewhere-being the kind with breeze and cool pillows that might be shoulders or laps or some other shade of picnic comfort where love is the main idea but sunlight is also pretty good

justwrite 4 april

so I went to buy a ticket but the train wasn’t there I had been looking at it checking its price taking its temperature and also watching the clock and while I talked it ticked itself off this date thinking no it’s too late thanking me for my understanding while I sat down confused in the middle of the sidewalk what to do I need to go and get there and from here is not where I can start but to depart from elsewhere means some kind of magic it’s a tragic circumstance that creates dancing out of invisible willies we’ve got them and we’ve bought them with our own red wonder we are blundering some understanding but the words we say are clear we have no fear of our own devices when left to them and when writing to them we use the correct addresses the formally construed stresses and let me tell you I had to fell you a tree to cross the stream and I couldn’t plant enough to make up for it later I had this carbon paper so I tried to make a copy but the tree wasn’t having it wasn’t grabbing it catching on I mean and the scene seemed too green around the edges I was hedging my bets with some holly sort of hocked at the corners blue and purple but mostly green the kind with boxy corners and the informers of details are failing me now I have no way to know the plants in a hedgerow might be boxwood but that’s a tree might be shrubbery but that’s monty python which it turns out is too clichéd to admit to having memorized and so starry eyes and a few missteps crept forward creeped me out and piled up doubt on the balcony floor leaning over the edge when winter wasn’t looking but cooking up ideas for spring bringing out the best socks and also tshirts that can be seen and also heard with words to bring looks with books to sit on the lawn with wonderings about lawns and the yawning spaces Americans need and others feed to their dinners but all winners in this non-played game we fight our fame and keep it to ourselves back pockets being key and answers being given out like so many lightswitches dark light dark light and uhh ohh not yet again broken toy says my two-year-old sage all the rage in the clock and watch set and you should see

justwrite 3 april

it’s a birthday season a day with reasons and also adjectives we can’t forgive where we’re going but in the past it’s always snowing we’re showing the way home we’re blowing our own chrome out of its sockets I kissed all the lockets and broke out the pictures we’ve bewitched further than allowable there’s no war in this game there’s no peace in this shame I’ve got to get to sleep to pieces the catch and release is the best part of any game there’s no shame there’s fear there’s a catch-all disappearance and a mysterious reaction a collection of figures the bigger the fall the farther the call out for help I am facing down I am worrying a crown off my head it’s instead of light it’s not too bright it’s tired and uninspired it’s hoping for the best it’s writing into corners and forgetting what’s worth saying paving over the rest with other tests unpassed we’re lasting through the season there’s no reason to keep playing but we’re making our own beds and we’re ready to lie in them honestly

justwrite 31 march

I didn’t type it up yet but it’s there in my notebook from the train ride and it’ll be here soon