30 september

dreams tired of competing

with each other

the elevator rises

indicator back to ‘wakeful’

doors swing open on

twisted limbs and linens

another dream: orderly sandwich sleep

layer by ikea-designed layer

eluded still by the ultimate: toast sleep, where i

spread my self thick across my bed and melt

uniformly into crisp

       success

27 september

Writer Me, who is infinitely more likely than others to take on a snooty tone—bossy, condescending, it varies—suggests to Runner Me that now might be a good time to go ‘Do whatever it is exactly that you do.’ Alternately encouraged and ashamed, Runner Me laces up and heads out. It’s a fine evening, other than the slightly increasing rain, the humidity, the oncoming darkness…

“Really not such a great time for a run, is it?” Self-Reflective Me asks, appearing out of nowhere and mirroring the easy pace of Runner Me.

“Yeah, well, it’s not so bad,” flips back Runner Me, then shrugs. “It’s sort of my thing, anyway.”

“Sure, I get that.”

They jog on in the dark, the rain never pausing to reconsider.

After a time, Self-Reflective Me asks, “So, why now? In the dark, the rain? Does it occur to you to wonder this?”

“In fact, it does not,” Runner Me answers simply, giving a headshake of sweaty nonchalance.

24 september

The stories I would like to be writing are those that seem like they shouldn’t be told because they are life and they are just what happen. Still, I like to know what happens to you sometimes, so let’s assume that the reverse is true. Consider the following headlines…

1. That Time on the Metro When It Wasn’t Moving (With the Cast of Characters) (King Rat, Presiding)

2. When Everyone Wore Green and Black to the Career Fair

3. The Flag of Albania Turns out to be Unexpectedly Sweet

4. Looking At Shoes is Much More Acceptable

5. And That’s Why I Take the Bus/ Revolt Against the Platform Monarch

6. Where Mikey Patschak Knows Not to Rush Off the Commuter Bus and I Watch and Learn

7. Where My Skirt Twists Every Time I Step Forward And I Jerk It Back With My Hands In My Pockets All Sort-Of Cool And Everyone Decently Pretends Not to Notice

12 september

this is the first day of 32—the first full day, anyway—and I’m starting it with a statement that is both uncapitalized and awkwardly qualified… at least I’m honest, and at least I capitalize myself

11 september

And so, as is usually the case, it once again turns out to be my birthday. Funny how I almost wrote that in the past tense, even as it applies to the most immediate present. Really the more immediate present is taken up by realizing and remembering that I've forgotten that this button-- the second down on the front of my dress-- has a habit of slipping sideways and more or less shrugging off its work, shirking its simple stance to dance into distraction, even as language lifts my sense from being made to dropped and splayed all over the pavement-- what I say, what I meant-- the tracks of trains on rainy plains in Spain diverged in yellow woods misunderstood and overwrought, having bought too many tickets and being low on destinations-- this is the information stage, the retrieval craze being in a different film, with Tuttle and Buttle and Robert DeNiro, where no one's the hero and the future looks dark, though where we're meant to park our hopes is unclear-- just certain fear  and cautionary failings, inadequate railings and immodest social structures thrown up as conjunctions with reforms the conjectures that new norms will prove improvement-- the idea that movement is always better, even with a lack of direction-- and no one positioned for correcting authority-- but what? and anyway, and thankfully, that was an allusion and apologies for the confusion that spun off on that trail, flailing like an overeager mocker in the ribbon round of rhythmic gymnastics awkward but internally beautiful and oddly enough compelling

10 september

The x-rays were negative
  she informed her listeners
  the flock she saw as her own
  those without elsewhere to wait
  elsewhere to escape this exchange
  unavoidable pleasantries
  catch and release of inane details
  acquaintanceship sailing on
while I wondered what else they could be
x-rays so rarely being positive
  no color, no sound
  light exchanged for information
  yes for no
  interpretation upon delivery
Listeners, passengers, thick white bones all,
we waited for the train
for further diagnosis, lightning quick and data dark
answers beating down the dull ribbed track

justbits 9 september

the feeling of being glad your parents are driving as the rain pours even as you wonder what the delay is in getting into the left lane for the upcoming turn

being not all that lonely really but seeing saturday sunday grocery shopping couples lazy in their togethercomfort and so turning away, vaguely wishing for a shared list of agreed-upon specifics

justwrite 8 september

While waiting for the footsteps to land for the hour to strike vanilla is lit in my room and the facts are making themselves quite plain my nails too long for folly for lollipops and dressing rooms we are waiting for the conclusions but the evidence is scant the cancellations and hesitations I am prepared to make a plan and these shall be the numbers and the numbers shall be three with two missing and I am the one who will be the remainder I will be carried along in the backseat of forgotten journeys mine is not to lead to drive mine is to sway to carry on despite to close my eyes at light and turn each shade in turn the burning wonder and the steady motion the staying still and the worrying through my muscles are rebelling but my mind twines on I will make a puzzle and I will solve it I will adapt fastidious habits I will be a real writer I will study to be a student and I will apply to be a teacher featuring every sort of possibility I am reaching out and this much is plain I am raining and declaring a parade in the same breath the way chests full of jewels are empty in the last scene the prescription plans and the scandalous calls for reimbursement we’re worse sent away and we’re tossed all the play books we can handle the wrangling of exotic hounds and the calamine lotion that won’t keep off the itch to go to do to move to be more qualified to be smarter more clever to know the answers and to keep the tongue untwisted in communicative attempts we are remedying ourselves in the singular and I’m wringing worth from wonder in the everyother blunder I am an oatmeal cookie in which I mean absurdity is accuracy and the boxes I keep wanting to buy would too easily be filled with nothing and anyway I’m shopping alone there’s a poem in that too and I will take notes I will put my hopes on paper and turn them into and in

justwrite 5 september

Most of the walking is in one place and the tired seeps in through my feet the hanging-upside-down feeling reels me back in and flattened out I pancake up at the ceiling and wonder where the day went how I spent x number of hours in why why what and other questions I cannot wait to drink coffee after I have showered after I have run after I have woken up early and the saddest part is how little sleep there is between now and then but the longer we sleep the less we eat and the less we run as well the fell swoop and other techniques knocking me over and about at the door and through the truth remains to be seen in it’s polite to offer tea or coffee if the coffers aren’t quite bare and it’s fair to say I’m at a loss I’m crossing fingers and lingering over wonders the part where I make a list the jist being just barely grasped I collapse my metal leaves inward steaming and streaming gentle encouragement elsewhere the others there and about have no doubt they’re getting this yes this love this plus a push of positive even as I drift backward into the otherwise thinking of titles like ozine like clever things on the front even when the middle is empty my fingernails get longer and longer and every night I have a dream that maybe should be written down the steps are there to be taken but my feet are done for the day