justwrite 16 january

I am thinking about language I am handing over baggage that I’d rather not carry there’s no rest for the weary and I’m wearing out that welcome that wonder that wanders in and out of life when it stays while it strays this is what I’m looking for this is why I open the door and peer down the dark hall I am calling but no answer there goes dancer but no prance just reindeer down the stairwell missing Rudolph and that light that nose the glows that knows where to go and if we all had such opportunities if we all had different immunities it wouldn’t hurt to feel so spurned the wind wouldn’t burn cheeks sliced like ice this is the way the clock lock-steps forward ticks that talk and rocks that windmill round and round and making no energy burning that oil slipping that mortal coil loose enough for allusions but strong enough for infusions of truth for appeals to the youth of the idea just because it’s fresh doesn’t mean it’s raw just because it’s right doesn’t mean it’s not wrong these are the strong-armed lunatics who make use do what sticks to the books what cooks up more than extra tender the fender-benders that ought to be guitars and the cinema stars trending toward british variants comparing this and that the riff and the raff if a cattle prod is what might be needed there’s a speed limit that won’t be heeded I’m rushing off to elsewhere and I can’t be bothered now if you wanted to tell me something there are plenty of ways so how you like that nothing is why there’s no need fussing onward it’s absurd to have reheard those lines those fine twines of net you cast what I knew wouldn’t last but onward goes the weather and down comes the snow up comes the window and hair in my face blows back and tracks cracks of sky through the window frame no aim but forward no word just silence radio gagged not gaga and that’s the answer to a question that’s the homework to the lesson no stress to pass that test I’m sure I won’t show up there looks like no agenda no goals no feeling of control so here is where I spin here’s where it begins to get hazy the crazy views and the quiet truths of yoga in the morning dawning deep-sighed and long-nighted looking for the lighted candle wondering where the matches are wondering if that same guitar will play itself to sleep there’s company to keep but it’s not for the booking it’s closed for the looking and something else is cooking on the back burner a page turner and an epic to be sure there’s an answer and a cure but the question hangs itself