31 january

sometimes when the sun comes up and goes back down you develop confidence too soon that it will rise again -- but perhaps it will not. perhaps we have caught up to our luck and been found wanting. it's a daunting sky to fill when we spill hope over the coals and wait for clouds to gather. together we are something but apart we are not.

30 january

turned upside down it's a waste to answer regarding thoughts on the view. well, that's different, isn't it? but the fit is unclear and the fear is steering -- skittering far off course and sorting out the bad bits to filter down the stairs and meet the door. explore again and reconfigure -- tomorrow's shadow is even bigger from this angle and the tangle of unsorted impossibilities freezes the thought process and fills the memory with random although there is no straight access into the heart of explosions --

29 january

are you kidding me -- are you ridding me of doubts or filling me with ideas -- dizzy enough to bluff any listener -- glistening with a held breath

28 january

catch on and keep up -- the unmerry go round and have found no point in stopping -- adopting a shocking candor that demands our attention and subtracts dimensions from the broader scale -- it's a no-fail whirlygo and the first to fall is over: wait and see the curtain rise -- who will be on stage? I've phased and fazed out the doubting bits and ready for the ellipse to trail off to blank so at least i'll be sure where to park

27 january

talking to myself to you and wondering who hears -- steering clear of touchy stones that cross creeks i'd rather not ford today -- no way to win the wagon train that drains the oregon trail of baled hay and smoked cheeses -- believe this is not meat and not right but the bite of another kind of rooster is the boost you're looking for when the cows come home: roam on crazy diamond as the sky calls collect and the angels look for pins to dance on just because they can

26 january

weary is a bleary state -- the darker veil to fall -- never more than half a step away from hitting walls: these are the structures we cannot build ourselves and yet the pieces are on fire as we pass them to the builders -- will anything survive? alive might be the better garden path -- guarded last and first of all by cattle called too low and episodes we couldn't grow with green beans left to fry and a come-and-get-it whyever cantaloupe and an artichoke surprise: spiking just beneath the eyes that have it and the dark that grabs it

25 january

Can't tell how to spell it all out clearly enough but the toughest stuff is in the bag already and it's steady progress on through from here -- the clear steering means veering in and out of sense on occasion and I'm raising stakes and taking blame like it's my job to shuck and jive and eat the grass alive because green is the color of addition and there's no abstraction or subtraction of metaphors come pouring out of my pillowtop the can't-stop carbon dating when there are plenty of elements but not all of them see the options to bond covalently

24 january

not in the morning and not with any sort of ease but the miles get run and the day gets done in its own good time although sometimes faster than expected and sometimes too slowly to breathe at but anyway chin up and sleep on

23 january

sense that it will be alright although too tight to tell and too early as well although so flowing it goes evenly and breezily as the merrygo circles and the pickles all expire: tell me who to hire when the doors are hanging open and they're tripping to get in -- i am swinging from a lamp post and there's nothing here but light

22 january

I had a few things to say -- a few lumps of hay to hide under -- and those torn-asunder happenstance alarm clocks started spitting out gears and steering clear enough to strike but the bikes and the elephants made it out on time in an elegance that shines definitively as the minutes we thought might be saved and rearranged to a different bin -- maybe out or in -- but the top of the box is the tail of a fox that's already long gone by the moon song and by any other measure as well though the fell swoops run loops around the metric system if you ask me and a classy bunch of grapes is high stakes and low gloss while the floss comes through after all

21 january

to be forgotten is to be bought and sold for a song you never liked under the river by a bridge or the other way around and to ground lightning into dust that rusts at the least suggestion like a careful lesson you meant to learn but was burned from the book when nobody was looking although cooking was spoiled when the oil turned out to be hot sauce and the mental floss required to clean out the trouble left just stubble and the smell of ink but to think things through would be truly a challenge to handle so i'll hand off instead and step back for now

20 january

on the other hand it's a quiet countdown to no fingers remaining -- straining to catch on and to lean in: i've seen enough to call my own bluff and hang up before an answer. there's a chance we're missing out on the doubts we steered away from but to play dumb is a shift we can't turn back from. Switch to automatic and converts the catalytic reaction into traction to hold it up a little longer, a little higher until we wire our cables tight enough to walk across, to make the cross a sign: a line in the sand that blows away -- and who knows what there is to say --

19 january

personally is the only way to take it -- to make anything out of nothing is, something to excel in if you're thin on opportunities or wide on other issues -- the truth is a sentiment of the moment -- a hocus circus poking out the eyeteeth of pretenders, defenders of alchemy and comedy -- worrying by committee of one committed individual fool: we are all the cattle call, we are the hope that floats away -- staying out of time and stepping out of rhyme: by the time you know the thesis all the evidence pours in: sink in the swimming, wade out of time and wander slowly into dark, fading to undertow, fading to nevermind

18 january

There comes a time when you know there is nothing else you can do -- nothing more to be gained, no closer to come -- and some piece of you knows that this is what you have been looking for all along. Incomplete success. A piece missing. Alphabet with the choice letters washed away. Spell your own way out of this -- sometimes y is gone, always u -- i will be last, will be left, and it will all come out clear as a map: walking to a point that doesn't exist, don't be surprised when you get lost. Remember you've found what you were headed toward anything.

17 january

Settling is unsettling and the bottom falls out when nobody is looking -- and sometimes even when I know I'm looking there's suddenly nothing to see. It's quiet now and the echoes are on fire with everything -- the breath drawn out, subtracted. Dry and dark is the aim but there is something like a meadow in the mind and the dream is to run through with sun and damp flowers tangled in our legs --

16 january

just two more layers and the pile is complete -- i'll meet you after midnight when dreams are readyfresh and we can catalog the pieces in words we'll invent for the purpose and then tangle in images too tender to download -- explosions in the clouds means it's too light to hold down too heavydark to park in the corner without tilting the focus askew-- and mind you i don't but hope does pull the rope sometimes and it's a struggle not to follow -- and why wallow in stored-up boredom or misbegotten distrust rusting uevenly parallel ready to be barred from the floor -- and what's more i'd rather not settle for less --

15 january

Oh well -- and then it was too deep. Weep for the rain and quiet for the snow: sun takes its own good time while the rest of us rise and fall in our separate seasons. No reason to imagine otherwise than what is real, but no living without wonder -- no dream -- both holes poked in the dark cloth of expectation -- bright enough to shine through like stars and lead us to temptation.

14 january

Let's take a break from staking claims -- there's no way to rhyme reason with these seven seasons of mad gladness and the last that stretches to cold. To fold hands and enter commands return keys in breezy brisk efficiency, to send away dependency with swift strokes -- it's a high hope to run wild with childish abandon, to hand in the keys to all the locked doors and wander more freely upstairs and beyond. Ponds deep and highways long: simple words to a complicated song strung out stretched enough to bluff even the most careful listener -- the winter of a table of contents is open for the season.

13 january

sometimes as it's ending you find you've been defending the wrong player - layers of story means heros and glory are only in the angles, tangled dark and weathered wild - child of a different idea. the fees we pay for the prices we stay ahead of above and beyond a pond of seas and a sleepy breeze of discontent - i meant to say something else there but it's still fair to redeem our coupons while the soup's on and someone else can come and get it while it's hot -

12 january

aside from that, there's not much else -- wealth is for those who want it, haste is for those who waste it -- where will all the saving go? holes in the pocket and a cannon ball. wait until the water boils and we will sort our numbers out. carry the three and wander the wild: there is nothing left to say here. find the words another stream --

11 january

I wasn't going very fast and the path was unclear, but I was sure I was getting somewhere. There were very few signs and those I found appeared to be in a language I'd never seen before. It was impossible to tell if the arrows were suggesting danger up ahead or a perfect place to stretch out and rest, eyes closed, while the path ahead sorted itself out.

10 january

somewhere in the distance a path -- hard to see if i'm on it now or where the next steps dance or slide or cha-cha -- apples from the sky, rain from the trees -- all of the truths we held - evidently to ourselves -- the health of a nation and the state of uncertainty -- we're pleased to see some pictures of the past but it can't last through supper -- what for every single episode is a download of explosions and the whims we've yet to waft -- lost in the channels as the ads play on

9 january

somewhere in the middle i was thinking of saying a few words -- i meant to mean something else and i bargained a shelf full of peanuts on a elephant gamble -- wait until the cows come home and the creek pulls up to dry: i've got the rattlesnake brigade with some chili on the side -- wait until the weather turns to see which way to go: yours until the kitchen crows and sinks hang out to dry --

8 january

I had a few thoughts, but I would like to begin with space. This is where you may expand to -- may extend olive branches or sweet romances or those tiny dancers once held close. I will wait out the doubts that keep you from saying or even meaning -- wait beyond the minutes of the nonexistent meeting where once upon a time it all came out. In the space you may feel free to lay down everything you've been carrying all this time -- yours or mine or anybody else's -- it's not selfish to breathe out for yourself. In this space I do not pace expectantly as if I know what will show up next -- have read ahead in some sanctified seek-and-find script ripped from the headlines of reality. In the space I make my peace with explanations and turn instead -- wide open -- to listen and to see.

7 january

a date is just a day with numbers -- keep the light on when you want to see -- circulating carbon dating footprints you can't miss while the organ grinder poorly defines your views for only pennies -- when we've seen the sunrise at different times the dotted lines are harder to cut -- what a nuisance the truth seems in between heartstrokes -- broken down cattle ranches and chickens without coops -- loops to where we started and the questions once again -- where are you wishing and how do you go -- moon or sun or swimming pool -- carry your pockets and wipe your footprints -- these are the tracks you will run yourself over -- carrying trains on the wind of their song

6 january

sometimes there is the kind of connection that is not -- i am reaching but -- something like magnets, maybe? -- who put what in the pocket and all the strips went haywire -- elevator dysfunction breakfast is a rutabaga, snow eats july for dinner: freeze affects us all. merry-go the other way, flop like an easel collapsed under the weight of waiting -- a vision of schism and the sideburns to match -- carry out the cabbage patch and lock the door when gone --

5 january

in this picture there are multiple angles and also frames and in the meantime i rearranged the focus: hocus pocus and hokey pokey! holy smokes and a painted pony! let me call the kettle back in time for tea: there are decisions to be made and i forgot to bread the butter! while the table is scratched and the back is spread, i'll tell you how the jam is made: catch those cradled cats by their tails and lick away with a spoon! there's a cloudy sky and a heavy forecast: no one will dream empty now --

4 january

more answers than questions and the chance to expand -- strands of stars but only the dark to share with -- miss out and opt otherwise: no surprises to disguise the operations! the conversations and condensation all evaporate eventually. what was there to say? how much play did the dominoes get? did you see that piece that came out of nowhere? know it will never go back -- there is no fit like a kitten with lion paws -- a film no one will bake, a cake no one will scratch.

3 january

Sometimes going and going -- but will it be possible to know when you have arrived? These are puzzle pieces and new releases and infinite jets of fresh flavor and savory air bubbles and troubles aplenty and potpurri scented like something unreal -- but you feel you are losing the track and it's hard to think back to a starting gate that was too early to count for much anyway. Play your cards and try harder than the cold shoulder rolls -- let the polls close early but keep your mind on empty.

2 january

above these lines i see a note scribbled last night by my own hand but not in my own writing -- pressed between lids of sleep and the certainty of a dream that would spin into a fine tale if given the opportunity to breathe past dark -- and yet i cannot do more than honor them briefly as i am pressed between invisible forces -- vices pressing my temples at some sinful prayer too heavy for sundays and too overladen to be holy -- only the dark will help and these lines will wait as well, deeper still --

1 january

When you think about all the possibilities -- all the infinite number of directions we could possibly redirect our energy -- it's astonishing that real movement in any consistent manner actually takes place. The sense of awe and wonder overtakes me sometimes and I find I have been sitting still for several minutes. I have not seen myself as stuck, but maybe an observer would imagine so. Of course, in the presence of an observer, I might not spend so much time wallowing in reflection. To be at home more than usual is to examine the walls of one's tank -- to review the food supply, the various accessories placed inside by the zookeepers for the amusement of the occupant. Reflection again. To leave? To stay? Where else is there to be but another variation of the same -- the seeking of comfort in varying flavors, the wandering toward warmth and attention, the wonder of other worlds and paths of possibility. Fresh pages and roads ahead again, as always. Every day is a new motion, still.