Tuesday, May 31, 2011

justwrite 31 may

didn’t know this day existed until I woke up glad to find such a thing while the calendar surprised me the day disguised itself as normal as pleasant warm around the edges hot on the marshrutka pressed up against even calf-back to calf-back and that’s an unusual one I feel the weight carrying itself but there is music playing which is motion which is devoting itself to other work to attention it cannot stand to turn off I am scoffing at my inability to write while listening to music but the scoffing is in a mirror and it becomes less clear what the goal is even as I struggle bungling notes and letters sweating the big stuff the little stuff toughing through the rest whatever that may be and I’m pleased to see clean hair in the morning mirror whenever that comes and the bagels that may be we’re trying to please ourselves and it’s not impossible there are waffles but no waffling we are confident we are offered a preponderance of options the tight stillgrowing skin on my left heel felt with every stretch catching downward dogs by a bony paw and slicing fire for hire and also this music is going faster I cannot catch up with any thoughts I have to turn it down okay off that’s a better choice and he may be king of the bongo but I cannot take that all into account when I’m emptying my mind thanks just trying to drop off what I’ve been carrying what’s wearing me down a little around the edges catching self-doubt and tossing it out the workout schedule just not working out and the trout flying upstream catching a second wind or some sort of metaphor mixed in before all the ingredients were ready we’re happily steady in a forward lurching sort of way there are plays to be determined and Xs to toss to Os but we suppose ourselves too present in the now to be caught up somehow in such abstract contractions lifting bits out of the middle and leaving little lines we’re twining good times up but not sealing the pickles are wheeling their own deals and we are in the now now now and how how how

Monday, May 30, 2011

juswrite 30 may

when I have dreams like that I can’t shake off the colors the angles and the mirrors too near to see I am afraid to have those silences and the breathing that seems too loud but sleep is better is the weather I cannot do without the heavy quiet pressing down around angled wings and rustling things this night will be different will be better a morning shower will feel right but between now and then the brightness will be with me and the colors will stay calm the almonds and the petticoats the billygoats and the bananabread we are all treading in our complex lives on the compound words we absurdly press before us protecting our interests glimmering shimmerwise my pockets are full of express and the rest of the nest goes up in smoky eyes and absolute nostalgia remember when we weren’t there yet and remember when it was still early but honestly it’s hard to and the rosecolored glasses are slipping down are smudgy and I am trudging through the files begrudging vaguely unfair smiles but we each take our turn earn walks in the sun and sums that add up just right but for me again it’s just night and more of the same to come

Sunday, May 29, 2011

justwrite 29 may

the best-laid sandals walk off scandals like nobody’s best pajamas it’s a game no one plays better than those who sleep through the starting bell and swell with attention and importance right in the middle of the third quarter oh here I am and square you are I’d like to tell you all the riddles but the answers come with questions the hidden dimensions the language lessons no one can anticipate the twists of fate fickle like sweet charity the disparity between winning and losing cruising over the Danube and snoozing to lose picking up clues and setting down clowns SHARIKEE is the word I’m trying to remember from the bus hours ago and it’s true I forgot and it’s an easily bought attention or maybe just rented but either way spent in thoughtless pursuit comparing cahoots I’d like to be in and sinking in swimsand before I ever get to the shore what’s more is less and the quarrel rests in the mouth of the beholder we smolder and attention lessens that’s one of many lessons I’d rather be teaching too easily reaching into the heart as the departing pieces are snatched out the doubts that replace lace everything up tight but some bits are missing some shiny glistening edges left raw this is when I decided to realize there are other dreams and if those that seem so crucial in pop songs can go wrong than what else could be better what in other weather seems worth shining for even as rain pours and the yoga moves I can’t do all press through my bones and up against fat where muscle could be at and rounding corners that ought not to be if it were up to me and of course it is then we’d fizzle out what we like and raise up what we want we would grow tulips and say our pieces beautiful bloomings of language wrangling ideas and letting them go glowing sunwise over our heads

Friday, May 27, 2011

justwrite 27 may

but then when I realize I’m not writing I have nothing to say about it there are no words to describe herds of thoughts having bought more days and now straying far from the path catching and collapsing heaps of sheep meryl and otherwise I’m disguising my voice but you can always tell by my words how absurd these sounds appear to be so clear to me so dense and unmentionable if I make cookies that are also brownies who will know the difference and who will know the sameness it’s with lameness I rearrange my thoughts to lay down on the cots of narrow lines roughly defined by the margins enlarging ideas and rumbling fingers onward too awake to sleep deeply until the morning comes again and strums a hand over uneven chords fording various rivers and letting other levees take some time off take a load off for the scoffers are eating up the wheatfields the high yield and the open fields stretching out to elsewhere there’s an uncaring police brigade and a mayor up for a laugh carafe of grape juice in hand and standing in the middle of the square wearing yellow socks the school of hard knock-knock jokes laughing as the smoke signals its own distress pointing out the fire from whence it came but making more of a name for itself in the sky in the wide-open paradise that is blue with clouds you’re not allowed to live there but you can swim in the deep end all day long you can pretend what you like and ride your own bike like in that song that kate likes so much and clearly I like it too or I wouldn’t do something like share it I’d fare it well elsewhere but in this case an heiress of many colors not too rich on numbers the up and comers the bystanders the passers-by and other such group the watchers but not in the singular capitalized sense that’s much too intense to think about and I doubt I’ll deal with that situation any time soon I’ll just hope that by noon of some distant day it’ll play out without me and I’ll be free of needless concern completely unearned maybe bought by a smile but it’s just a vague style I’ve adopted in lieu of the alternative which doesn’t give much of anything to anyone and I’ve come this far in such a way and I plan to stay mostly the same in the smile department anyway so hopefully that shopping will be done elsewhere who can compare any other angle without trying there are too many degrees to add up and not enough separation

Thursday, May 26, 2011

justwrite 26 may

having recovered we discovered the apple had to grow from something which had to be planted which had to be cultivated or at least coddled in a pocket for a while smiling quietly in an unsprung sort of way waiting for the day for the earth and sun and water there is so little to ask for and so much to receive when we ask we task ourselves with waiting for answers last night I read a book on Buddhism when I woke up from a bad dream and now I feel more balanced but also tired there are many things to simply accept but this does not suggest passivity is the best action it is not an action there is no attraction in such spaceless placeness and other madeup concepts I didn’t take the trash out and so it’s still there I spilled the sugar and I find it under my feet crunching against ceramic tile there is a smile in realizing where things come from and there is safety in knowing where they are there is no way to know where they will go and so this is the present this is what we’re left with this gift we give ourselves but don’t always accept this chance to neglect which is rarely a good idea this semblance of ambling down a quiet road and waiting for the light to explode never just the right light never just the right angle but somehow it is and when it comes I can finish writing in this vaguely philosophical sense it’s hard to keep up when outside my window three floors down and across to the courtyard hard drunkish laughing crackles through the night harshly sawing in an unseen way hitting high notes the dark windows could do without and so we go on and close our eyes recognizing pleasure in its many forms denying as it does others’ norms

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

justwrite 25 may

unexpectedly cold but she had a dream and I had a sandwich these are sometimes the same thing have you ever had a tripledecker grilled cheese and when he did she made it special just to let you know he had Nantucket lemonade it came in a bottle and this was new jersey it was a different place and also a different time and she always made this for him I didn’t know her name then and I don’t know it now which is fine she left behind white waxy paper folded crinkly into a bag and off we went into nomore there wasn’t much story after that except the long goingalong and come to think of it our story was very short in the real sense the present tense just four months and a swish toward the elsewhere and sometimes I wonder when that happened or who played the guitar that way who sang songs in that voice and loved REM and MTX and what’s more knew who they were magnetic poetry on the ceiling and the feeling that this was all new because it was there were rice krispie treats and furry happy monsters feeling glad a crocheted afghan and no roommate a tie and sneakers this was along around a while ago short hair and painted nails the feeling that the university is the universe and we are all studying philosophy I made plato out of playdoh and read at open mic nights but not too many I had plaid pants and a dress that moved when I stood still I was the queen of a cafeteria dreaming of what a mongoose might say if he had the chance but this was a dance with forgotten steps and if he were to call and ask how I remember I would say because yes you do too and there are angles and tries and can’ts along the way too many spaces to replace with sense I can’t even mention all of them some varied pains some friends remaindered out of the way a picture frame on a bedside table turned face down at an inopportune moment we choose our pieces and collage them as we will there are many things I miss about that time and many people I wish I held closer but how can we move when we grab too tight we crush ourselves in tiny rooms filled with balloons the light brightness of those we love of those we want beside us those we want to reach out and touch in the dark and if I had a stamp I would send him a letter and he would send me an address and someone would tell me what to say and how not to stay in one place and how this movingforward sometimes brings you back you’d keep track of all the brokenheart pieces a catch and release program rebuilding it’s the kind of art you look at and say I could do that but you couldn’t and you wouldn’t this isn’t your frame any more but maybe it’s a door and not just a window

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

justwrite 24 may

while I was eating my lunch from a plastic takeaway bag cash and carry at the teatralna square vopak I sat on a wooden bench in the center and watched two dogs worrying three chicken feet watched by an old woman who waited with a deep plastic plate and a bottle of water the woman sitting next to me got up and walked over to talk to her and I don’t know what she said possibly what are you doing and are these your dogs and do you do this to every dog you find and how can you possibly spend your day like this but I was thinking about what happened to the other foot and wondering if the woman’s bag was filled with chicken feet arrested suddenly in their development and useful for nothing but gnawing of dogs a few yards away pigeons walked by with feigned disinterest fearing to glance down at their own spare digits wondering who would gnaw their feet and knowing there would be little to be had but this never stops spare dogs ready for anything they are waiting for mismatched women to bring them something they can use something true enough to examine in the shade of the sometimes Christmas trees naked for the summer season throwing off convention and boldly sunning themselves the trio of piney sirens calling everyone into the great square swarming with color and pressed with summer the ice cream vendors and the sunglasses salesgirls cool too cool for the sunshine they hide in the shade of their own displays black eyes defending them coolly everything glassy and smooth nothing we’re used to but our own reflections looking back looking pale and unready for the change in season we are reasoning with professionalism and wearing black pants the uniform of a sparse cabinet in rotation but sandals nonetheless and the season’s first blister still considering itself but still early I watched and waited and still the chickenfoot giver continued to address her questioner the woman who had sat beside me tossing crumbs of her own lunch to hopeful and slowly watchful pigeons and I have finished my own lunch no crumbs to toss no feet to pass out and an old man looks right at me and sits beside me in the empty bench space after a minute I check the time and stand up to throw my trash away as I exit the scene he leans and lurches into my vacated spot the better side of the bench the better from which to see my dear

Monday, May 23, 2011

justwrite 23 may

just now I was thinking of being asleep but a deep breath an inhalation of carbonated dreams steamed sideways these flowers towering over nothing more than a glass high have capsized my attention there are multiple dimensions but I cannot keep up cannot spill the cup though just an open window letting in the dark air the cool where the rain used to be and may return again standing stranded awkwardly tired wondering when the nightchatters will make it down the road home wondering about the price of flour and also where the neighbor lady goes when everyone supposes it’s vaguely indecent but there’s just no recent evidence in her defense she might be visiting an elderly neighbor but it’s nicer to savor something rich and gossipfatty enough to suck on like a hollow tooth the usefulness of such a situation leaves little to the imagination meaning there’s nothing more than storage space being filled with such ills but again a turn and I earn a whiff of bells ringing whitely against a black window filled with half-glanced reflection a collection of light angles shot from across an empty room quiet but for the typing for the breathing of my computer the murmuring women outside and did you see what she was wearing always judging and nudging similar opinions from others and am I judging too or did I hear truly these words it’s absurd to imagine I can understand more than a handful of elegant turns the phrases earning their places in my daytime world hardly swirling slowly enough to call any bluffs to toughen any stuff we ought to pack in there’s a track grinning blankly back at me and I am heading again toward the gravel road exploding into angled ankles there is no way else to go and if I should even suppose that such a rose could grow then I’d have to take into consideration the probability of thorns born of such foolish imaginings the tragedies the sleeping please catches up and draws me away a fairly plausible sketch poured from a well and into an eyesclosed elsewhere

Sunday, May 22, 2011

justwrite 22 may

a pink umbrella the kind with ears carefully steps in every puddle a wandering route but well-prepared and at least partially mother-endorsed or perhaps father either one deciding spontaneously that little girls do not melt in the rain and therefore yes this wish will be granted no birthday candles needed off she goes to the suspicion of the neighbors who cluck and suggest illnesses we don’t need these stresses we press golden tresses into plaits and serve up otherwise there are skies that open and some that close we suppose the sun also shines and the wicked don’t notice the hocus pocus alarm clocks go off and everyone runs for cover into the tall grass we have stashed our wonderment under our pillows and when the time comes to sleep our dreams will be deep we dive in thriving on entertainment of the brightlight kind dimmed for ease of sleep and the company we keep in our slumber plumbs the depths and pulls out thumbs that’s a different kind of pie in another kind of corner we’ve stormed the ramparts we’ve turned over the castle such a hassle it was and now we’ve got a bungalow and when I say we I mean me I have got but haven’t bought more like renting and vaguely defending the borders with violets and this bouquet cannot stay far from my nose without me supposing I ought to lean closer nothing rosier than little white bells leaning down to pour out their sweet tunes silent but the room is filled and their glances thrill my shy eye glad for the attention they straighten up and cup their pale cheeks with greenbunched leaves clasped tight to their stems hemming and hawing even as the fireworks take away the attention leave another dimension unturned we have earned our marks and in the rainwet dark one dog barks his way home waiting for a returned call yes over here yes we’ve been waiting for you and in my dream last night I called out and it was my sister who answered yes she said let’s talk we all need to be coddled a little and when I woke up it seemed true and I’m still awake and it wasn’t but I still wouldn’t mind

Saturday, May 21, 2011

justwrite 21 may

walking home I see a grandmother and a dog mother watching the scampering away of two puppies and a knee-high runner over the hills free wills flapping like tails in the wind stopping to see who’s chasing but never worried about who’s watching tumbling over each other the courtyard is only so far but they are gone way off into the elsewhere we are sharing this moment when I look up but on and away I am turning toward the next building right inside and up the stairs the steps what’s next beating in my head instead of what is there are only so many minutes to stay in it is hard enough to keep the balance enchanting as it is it’s changeable rearrangeable in all different patterns I am carrying plaid in my pocket and in the other hand I notice everyone has unexpected cards we wanted to play different games it’s the same every time there’s yours and here’s mine we might had sorted these inefficiently but the spiffily sunny morning has bloomed into different colors shades no one’s got it made but everyone keeps trying we are buying flowers for ourselves while disavowing their value from others there are only so many pieces to pile up there are so many cakes to break I am tired of those angles and I am trying to swish bangles on my own wrists as the twists don’t turn and my ankles won’t earn enough support in one week to tweak themselves through to turn aside truth and to nod in time to pleasantries we and all the peasantry are keeping the estate in order sorting out the chaff and I find I’m vaguely upset the best of intentions the least of dimensions and the tried-for manipulation changes this station switches it off and we are meaning I am listening to some other lyrics too soft to hear it’s a monkey-bar dreamboat sailing down below my window the pile of bricks high enough for seven-year-old stretches one foot up and the other one jumps lumping the limbs into a swingaround playground the summer full of noises and ice cream dripping on the sidewalk the dirt in the yard swept up and played out every day the annoyances from the third floor drifting away angles in the trees and stickysweet wrappers slip through the views diffusing where is this going the snowing lines fuzzing in static-heavy and exhausted by expectations the greatest laid by mice and men and always the plow comes in again always the trend thataway while the crops wait their turn in long patient lines progress-ready and steady gazing

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

justwrite 17 may

used to be one of those but certainly not now not at this point anyhow and what other point matters half as much you’d be daft to touch down too early while flying there are skies forever but you’re not always up there it’s easy to care to fare well to bear spells of indulgence easily the breezily tame tigers laughing mildly in indigo alarm we are charmed by our usages of words our absurd herds of trees fumbling in around the fences waiting for their chances there are dances to be made there are leaves to be paid attention to folding in and out of circumstance fingers too dry to try for it’s too soon to start to cry for the ending you know must come we’ve seen this film before and what’s more it was better the first time not a cursed rhyme but an easy success hard to say what’s next in a better story but this one’s based on truth so it’s harder to get used to such a track rather attack the narrative voice rejoicing in the colored windows the splinters of light breaking fast and smooth into the courtyard too hard to hold too hot to handlebar that mustache we’re crashing past absurdity it used to be ironic and now it’s just the fact freezing my yogurt at you and wondering who you might be we’re typing separately these days we’ve never met we’ve yet to present anything anywhere you the unknown honing in on nothing I am sending out no signals here content to wait and to do otherwise there are surprises in this I who have so long been with now to be not now to be alone and to hone vague skill sets like alabaster tools pressed into use in the crafting of resumes but here they must come alive here we arrive to survive and to better there are no nets beneath there are no paths to reach just corners to turn and some to pass by I’m wondering where that stage will go how that current will flow and will I swim certainly not to sink but maybe to float maybe a mote of dust in the sky burning into sunshine and drowning eyes too full of dusk the husks of evening cast aside when the morning comes and it will oh it will

Monday, May 16, 2011

justwrite 16 may

where did the day go the time shows up missing and there’s a twitching sense of having sent out a runner who never came back please to the dove please see above us and pass along the updates I’m up late wondering where the message was delivered to who shivered to read such a greeting we are meeting our own mirrors in our faces we are replacing the cases with different tenses we don’t need to mention the spices as nice as they are the guitars stray far off the scoffing distance decreases we please ourselves with health and other theories I had in mind to be better-defined but then the book shut then I kept up too slowly I had a wholly different idea I ran so far away into the toward but warned I was not and scorned I had bought different prizes the surprise is not in the pen not in the sword I’m bored with not being boring I’m looking for a warning in my sore right eye too much rolling unaccustomed strolling in the too-young night too bright the answers too fast the dancers and the music goes on I am singing along to myself drinking away my own wealth and other suggestive ideas we freeze our opportunities we gamble for immunity and for tricky solutions not in the back of the book I’d rather cook something myself thanks I’d rather talk with you than wear those shoes it’s a silly way to wonder but the underneath spelling and the overwhelming syntax can’t track my meaning it’s seeming to trend darker but I’ve parked in the no-tow zone can’t get thrown too much farther off there is coffee and there are toffee pieces releasing energy the synergy the blending where are all the teeth going are they showing up in the right places can we erase our fears worry our years off the top are we stopping at any particular points are the disjointed pieces in a catch and release program or can we cram them in our pockets until later savoring the wonder looking for the puzzle to press them straight into colors blue and yellow trending toward green in a surprise no one could have called out loud or even while asleep we steep our tea and our pleasant surprises in sunset eyes and wait for the morning

Monday, May 9, 2011

justwrite 8 may

if you say victory it’s a sticky subject controversial is one way to put it there has to be a winner there’s a sinner there’s a loser there’s the truth and then there’s what everyone else thinks are you sinking into the kitchen are you missing anything because maybe I have it maybe I grabbed it on the way past the table and I swallowed it there’s a hollow bit in my arm but I keep charms there mainly they’re lucky and I need all the trucks I can pack in got a crack in the mainstream and it’s been flowing all over the clovers red-rovered their sense of smell and it’s just as well because we’re not allowed to play that game anymore anyway there’s a fray but I don’t want to get into it just a bit we will wait we have fate and also feet and only one can run there’s a stun gun but what gets me the most is the toast and its pluralization we have active imaginations but there are some stations that don’t change I’m rearranging a few letters and not sure what I’ll be spelling there’s no telling what kind of fancy pens I’ll find on such a search leaving in the lurch all the work that ought to be sought out by another there are brothers but I don’t have any there is traffic but I’m walking anyway and in the morning we’ll see where I go there’s a flow I’d like to start a streak in the dark but not that kind nobody’d mind this one but will it be fun and have I hung hopes too high let’s try let’s go there’s no snow and that’s more than half the battle I’m telling you

Thursday, May 5, 2011

justwrite 5 de mayo

I am cold this is unexpected my fingers aren’t working and the lurking ideas have nowhere to go there’s a show going on like it must but there’s rust in the joints we’re disappointed to discover no more covers can be found only originals the chilly spills through the air and to my nose exposing exploding brrr there’s fur but there are not enough rrr’s there are cars but none are ours we are tired of expiring there’s nothing worth conspiring about and I am wishing I was a runner I am leaning into summer leaning onto bummer status grabbing a fish and shaking its hand there’s land but it’s too dry and all I need to do is try but there are good moods floating through anyway and it’s an easy stay in bed once I get there which is soon and I can tell you the moon won’t disagree it’s an easy view and twice as true once the warm seeps in

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

3 may

dandelion crowns the world around and wreaths bequeathing hilarity in comparison to garrisons of ice cubes frozen into rows and crowded into repose forced by northy gusts and vague distrust shown in mussed hair under caps and trapped by scarves arriving unharmed but somewhat shaken it’s all taken more than we had imagined but still nothing like tragedy and now we’re safely here no fear or at least not now expanding into the landing zone droning on and on about the fronds of ferns and the lessons learned but never taught or the ones we ought to know much better than the ones that we sold off to better difference-makers the takers of first steps and the left the right behind the imagined finds we thought we’d lost we tossed those salads but didn’t eat them we found our cookies and hardly discreet then we ate them all we came to call but left early afterward we heard reproach in distant mouths and traveled south to avoid confrontation seeking some new nation to divide and to conquer nothing like hardcore openness in the walkaway look a day of honesty and one of sleep there are dreams we have and there are calls we’d rather not take we have fake reasons and real ones and the seasoned drums are beating but you can’t tell me how to answer there are things I know that you don’t and it’s hard for me to buy in when I don’t know what the trying’s all about but no doubt innocent no doubt reminiscent of something I can’t remember and all it is is pretending sending messages I don’t want to reply to sending efforts through unrehearsed battleship maneuvers too diverse to work through I’m hiding too and that’s just fine I haven’t got time for any other tactics this battleship’s galactic and other allusions with unknown truth in them no I never saw that I never had a cat and I’ve never been to spain there’s a plain way to deal with this and an envelope with no stamp but too damp for words are the tongues strung along the beach reaching out to lap up the next wave the easy crave and the senseless rave saving time for sideways stop-bys the understated pleasant surprise and the wish to disappear or at least a few bits gone just songs to sing in lingering notes not yet written smitten with possibility creativity the waves we see in the distance coming closer exposing their felt structure and apparent stitches the allusions are glitches in the forward motion mechanisms schisms of what used to be and a static tv in the background leaning toward the fore

Monday, May 2, 2011

justwrite 2 may

to see that scene play out to watch the doubts unfold and the emboldened alabaster the plaster smatter all over the sidewalk the talk is cheap on the town and the rounds are getting bought getting taught like lessons no one’s learning earning interest and also responses the chance is the dance is canceled but no one’s told the dancers no one’s fooled again the tools the trends we are extending our hands and planning our scans out into the garden she walks and the bird is no more the roses are supposed to be healing the feeling but no one can tell them apart no one can see from the art if it’s supposed to be greener if the walkaway is meaner than an unkind plan we scramble our own eggs and we have no qualms returning the norms to the envelopes our coping strategies we plainly see the messages sending extending hands and hearty party favors savoring the illusion of normalcy and other words an absurd amount of doubt cushioning every pageturn every earned return there is a quiet place a space we cannot remove I am telling you and I am listening the glistening echos and other sounds we cannot here the crossover the sounds the rounds I thought I’d buy the trial and the error the comparison and I’d like to swim in the next row but there are too many copies to adopt I am tired of not knowing and also trying to know pretending to show otherwise we are drying our eyes and imaging surprise and in the meantime we’ll be fine although the show goes elsewhere