30 january

even as the odds rise it's a quiet place to turn still / let me call you sweetheart / let the records break and the mountains climb molehills / chill and release as the tumblers clink and the ice thinks things through: true enough! the bluff is called and the listener glistens (mine is not to wonder why the words are said the palms are read the dark is night enough for me) let us all rejoice and sing from different books the easy cooks and far-off scenes (trampolines and springboards as the clocks run on past 5) we are all alive and camping through the daybreak fire brigade as the apple orchard picks itself first place in the fall parade: queen and princess at the carnival and blossoms in the spring - all the seasons for the vegetables and the seeds with packets strings and catalogs (the backlog from some other decade overplayed and under-researched) plenty of hurt and other good songs - we are the wrong that could have been righted - we are the books that cannot be knighted - i meant to say that story was great - i meant to tell you of some other fate but the words kept pooling and the tongue mischose the lines to connect them i thought to redirect them but let me say there are other ways to play along the strongest thoughts caught in the net should be shaken free and the takeaway is thankful and well worth and to reassert there's no need but indeed a pleasure just to measure those spaces those unbuckled laces tied occasionally in bows to suppose the whatifs and the hownows had cousins of maybesos and even though the haze lays thick there are no tricks to see the now blank filled no worries what's willed or wilting into building blocks to tickle anyone's anywhen clocks