Friday, December 30, 2011

justwrite 30 december

A few other points to make but the shot’s not to score the foreground foretold the background and run astoundingly fast out of time and off the track I’m open to listening and the stars spit shine right back the firecrackers lack something like depth but there’s no need to hurry no wonder to worry about just wandering meandering and I’m wrong again to understand yes but a test it’s not and that work it’s got to be done elsewhere somewise othersuch and I’ll be over here I’ll be treading water while I choose which way to swim the depth the text read the lines said with easygoingness the just go blowitness all tumbling downward just absurd and I know it there’s no other way to grow it it’s natural a catastrophe in iridescent colors the numbers and the windows lighting up with flame a game I’d rather not play a trend that better not stay in motion there’s an ocean of reason between me and the door and I’d rather dive backward I’d rather just float taking notes on wondering noting thoughts for blundering yes my favorite too and a dirty pair of shoes waiting by the door who knows what those are for but the sore throat remote control lemon in the fridge takes a smidge of getting used to and I might just sleep this off turn my head and cough just bake a different cake and the pepper that will make doubts appear the spice that fears are dreamed of or maybe it’s for health maybe it’s the wealth of the cupboard but really I’m just rambling now really I’m amazed at how I’m so easily led and I’m happy to be fed with what I’d like to hear but it’s clear I shouldn’t listen so closely it’s certain that it’s dark tonight mostly and I’m tired of that doubt even before it appears clear in plain view the truth and its many disguises trying to surprise is the cake taken is the band beaten and have those meat and potatoes plates all been filled up right there’s a bite worse than barking but the words ring out along trailing songs into carols and vampires and werewolves enter on the scene as the sky fades out

Thursday, December 29, 2011

justwrite 29 december

While the windows waited the dark kept time the lines rose and the night fell all along the sidewalk the hushed talk is brushed aside the openwide spirit hears itself loudly and laughs out proudly at its own joy the happy singing of ringing in the new while the old’s waiting around and looking in the mirror imagining itself clearer in the rearview and there’re some who will see it that way and there are some who are quite gone already forward and onward and upward with no thought of reflection no stubborn collection of experiences waiting for sorting no need for cavorting in the details of how we’ve failed and where we went wrong forgotten are the songs we couldn’t remember and the lines we didn’t deliver right the first time aligning themselves only in retellings set aside all the smellings fair and foul and the nightowl walks and the wonderbright talks is this the way to move on is this the way to look forward I can hardly imagine those sprinters carrying even splinters of yesterday onward into tomorrow but real learning has to borrow something from those days some flashes from those phases some bright lights on those stages not quite incandescent but why be so straight hesitant to look closer to lean in toward exposure of truths both useful and uncouth these are your pieces these are your pie and you’ll want to eat them too those ingredients just expedient enough to move you forward consider yourself forewarned those are complicated angles but it’s good to at least try no you can’t take it with you no you can’t just have clean shoes but the views are useful and the future can be warmer when you’ve packed something along

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

justwrite 28 december

I knew that if I ran I’d get there faster but what the hurry was seemed rather unclear still steering forward I prepared for the cold emboldened by others and cheered by myself the music the clothing all wrapped up a capsule of warmth heading into the cool not the cold but the wet and the muddy but yet onward and the air not too sharp and the sun not too dark as is usually the case but often its face is obscured on these days those late December ways of pretending that it’s evening as early as the feeling strikes the clouds still being allowed to hold onto day and to wade into sunlight is a sweetbright chance so I took it and booked it none too fast but the goal is to last and mostly I did up through the buildings with building-up breaths and a start at saint Nicholas there on the corner up the sidewalk while the passby talk was little since the numbers out were few and it’s true I stopped before the corner but the mud sucked and slipped and rather than trip I stepped toward the road passing cars with steamed windows I tried not to peek in though some cheap date that’d be parked out far by the auto bazaar hey we all have our things and who am I to bring more than deep breaths to the walking stretches past these catches and a disinterested dog taking a left early to avoid the muddiest lane but erring again in a relative sense the tense too present to pass it quickly the running stalls and the shoes call out for mercy no rehearsing these steps just careful and watched by a bicycle queen leaning back to check my progress or lack while a dog feigns attack in a loud but safe sense just appeal in those wheels and he can’t help but squeal as I squish but the main road explodes in the certainty of solidity and the cars pass with honks but this part is stable until three dogs unable to stay sitting in their observer status pose throw stationary cares to the wind and decide on a chase erased briefly by passing cars and I once again wonder what I ought to do if such and such happens if the effort to pass without incident is denied and there’s nowhere to hide maybe a passing car to jump into or fastsprint quickgone breakinto and what if there’s a bite and how to know what’s right to do but on I go and true to my hopes they play slow pokes and mosey on elsewhere taking care to show displeasure I’ve interrupted their sweet leisure on the roadside patrol in the sofa-stretched stance but no chance for respite for more than a minute as the next guard is ready head low and eyes steady watching from the other side and so I plan a forward look and book it slightly with no glances rightly no challenge here friend just stay on your own end and so it passed and so did I through mud and mire and the slip when it found me and pulled me down was an angled curb a downward swerve and a bump and some scrapes in the now-standard places but the mud brushes off and the way back’s not rough though the bluff I’ve called on winter drifts backward as the shadows turn to cool and the buildings look toward dark

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

justwrite 27 december

So I decided to jump but it was hard to tell where the ground was where the sky caught up and the clouds dropped the crops circled around the growing surrounded the lack of tracks the thunder cracks the lightning in half and I would like to be clear but it’s not necessary there’s a promise of sense but it’s kept in a box safely in the dark and parked in a closet back behind the summer clothes if you suppose I’ll be simple there’s a dimple in both my cheeks to say otherwise there’s no surprise at the end of that tunnel funneling all the clues into one sticky glue it’s easy to get stuck in and there’s nothing but luck in the venture you hope and it’s a rope I’m tossing out but another bout of wonder and the numbers will climb the odds aren’t even and the cards deal themselves we’re toasting our healths and knocking on wood for all the good that’ll do I’d rather tell you otherwise but it’s no surprise I’m interested after all it’s a call I wouldn’t have made a few stages back but now on this track I can see the preview and it’s running through my mind like dreams you’ve had but kept in your pocket locked up but peeking out and the doubts ought to get washed away but there are plenty of plays in that book and I’ve read it straight through even the parts that don’t exist one could easily miss a strategy a precious gem shining unlike rivne which as we know goes with the flow of people past fast enough to quickgo and hurry on but the singalong is one I’ve heard before so the knock on the door is in time keeps the beat and when I smell defeat in a sideways angle it’s easy enough to bangle to bungle to get caught in a jungle of whatwhat distraction the contractions between time and space erasing reason it’s open season for magic but this can also mean the dark kind the feelingfine and then suddenwrong kind of switch though I like the bait it’s better to wait by the side of the stage and take notes while the moat water rises and the audience realizes what play’s the thing and who the players will be just please don’t stack the deck don’t jack the wreck up and spin it around casting aground a sailing attempt with silken wind gathered in and tethered up just a cup that runneth over and over with a remix that gets fixed is more my sort of tea

Monday, December 26, 2011

justwrite 26 december

If I were writing for a reader this’d make more sense but if there’s a fence I’m on the near side and nowhere to hide but it’s a short ride across townhere to hide but it' a big jump upriver and in shivering at delivery I’m quivery with wondering the sun burning into night a bright spot caught up by the wind and sent in my direction there ought to be corrections but no one’s looking there’s a somethingrather cooking in a flailing sort of motion while noting my devotion to communication you’ll ask what’s the station and I’ll tell you it’s changed and while you’re rearranging your sentence structure to suggest you meant the stop I’ll tell you this train doesn’t and I’m not quite sure the number I just know it’s right on track toward some unknown destination and the ongoing conversation will begin again and the strands will gather themselves together to feed us our lines how are you I’m fine and the next day too and it’s something like a stew of varying vegetable and other variables we can’t predict the weather shifts and the tide changes the sun comes up and the writing fades we are waiting for responses we are listening for the calls we are all a-flutter with what matters and what doesn’t what’s reasonable and what’s foolish and I’m not sure of the difference she said a positive experience and I read call him now and what’s ahead is otherwisehow so I’ll have to answer the door I’ll have to sweep the floor and wait for the plumber it’s a color-by-number fairytale with whales and horses and some other creatures featured in open-ended texts what’s next and after that is for now still in the hat waiting to be drawn waiting for the wand to magically order the coming dishes granting wishes but taking no names from under pillows or behind ears the steering’s too clear and I can’t look away who knows next what you’ll say so I ought to keep reading I ought to keep feeding the meter so I can park here for longer the stronger the folly the greater the joy the foolishness avoided would only mean dark and there’s light enough for the way so I think I’ll stay facing and maybe replacing my walk with a run from the clouds to the sun

Sunday, December 25, 2011

justwrite 25 december

When the pie came out of the oven it was done and the sun rose the cock crowed and the oyster spit up a pearl we earn our keep and we sleep in late we make haste and the tides still turn we burn bridges and swim ashore what’s less is more popular than talent and when the ages get stacked up it’s hard to tell where the going’s going where the river’s flowing and what runs through it is a map a blue line dashing through the snow the land commanded by divisions this does not make sense please do not feel tense in the reading no heeding the limits no dream without spinach

I’m tired and I’ve fired these synapses these collapsing trends these deep ends for swimming in the sink-or-whim shenanigans there are schedules but they’re assorted and you can take or leave each piece I can wake up mistake cups for coffee and sugar for toffee in a minute I’ll be asleep in the morning I can keep my own counsel I can tell you more than words I’ve heard the trends are lending sense then passing it back counteracting attraction it just won’t do and there’s no use in imagining proof of any other sort we’ve got plenty of assorted suggestions but other than these dimensions I’m hardly interested in hearing what’s nearing to the truth