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