28 february

holding on to the wrong end and it turns out to be a grudge but a nudge in a different direction means course correction deferred but absurd antidotes float through the ether or the alternative's not worth seeing well enough alone and one less leaf in the table to stabilize the agreement and the spree meant for the other purpose proposes a circus made of those rings and the lemonade brings its own reward with tart and cold instead

27 february

what's needed is a mirror although i'm sure that's been prescribed before and more or less inevitably on the way to night and dark and the park of all things heavy on the lid of sleep on the curb of deep reflection short of connection but steady as a lamp with the awning still hours away and the questions on the blink --

26 february

got thoughts caught in a tangle and there's no right angle too obtuse because what's the use in measuring if you drop all the decimals like ferris wheel fooling and a plate of rigatoni -- don't know me and don't need to -- feed through the window where the pie's left to cool and i'm true enough but the story does unravel -- the road that travels its own way has no need of tickets and even the directions get lost --

25 february

and so i stepped outside to clear the air but nothing there and my steps spilled into stars spelled into words i could not read and the need to find something solid slowly melted away too as if the gravity of the situation was irrelevant and after all there was nothing left to be done and even less to be said

24 february

packing a bag with nowhere to go is like dozens of unused metaphors waiting for their turn their ticket their train but remaining at the station stationary and with no need for stationery for there's nothing to write home about and nobody who'd want to read it to exceed its use in this space and to chase the end into sight while the night forgets to remember and the phone is left off the hook --

23 february

let the side down again and the stranded intellect pushes off from the go and mows over enough of the bluffers that it's tough words to swallow from either end and i'll pretend i see the other side from here though the fact is i can't hear --

22 february

turn in tuck up before the night comes up and propositions the prepositions to go find their own ways in the deep deep dark where the bark is worse than the bitter bite when the light isn't enough to lift the load though the road goes on past the point of interest and the splinters lean together like the kindling catching the thought --

21 february

waving away the last boat as it leaves well before realizing i should be on it or overthinking every choice that led to such imaginative navigation that leads again to no again and still the shore is blank --

20 february

darker when the sun comes up as if there were answers to be forgiven or channels to be driven through the snow and so on underwater and over landing pages across stages of our own recovery and the wondering against solutions when the use in this matter is its static permanence and a mention of its own measure which is a metric too far to carve out from the stuff of these apologies --

19 february

the sensation of separation of a space chasing emptying of the in to the out and the sure to the doubt and a tumbledown theory of economic incapacitation as a grateful nation ignites its righteous apologies and it's all we see on the big screen while the small dreams fade out and there's nothing to explain -- nothing left to claim as a toehold as a marigold underwater forgiveness plan but i'll stand on the beach and wave as long as i still can see

18 february

over and again repeated turn to the dark indicates time of day and state of graceless slide into blank when there's little in the tank but a long dash or two caught between parenthetical thoughts which ought to be independent by now with just cause to be clauses of their own standing with the random worries hurrying into subjunctive status and if that's all there's left to say then better to be still --

17 february

instead i tell myself and there are no answers but advice is nice to overhear and to steer clear of when the receiving is no gift and the rift is an earthquake while the mines tumble down lakes and rivers of overflow elegance with a dependence on else taking back from the self -- and the path though never clear is more hidden even now than the expectation and the conversation will turn instead to the weather and this sort of safely otherwise --

16 february

there are no answers and it's senseless to ask questions -- don't mention when interrogated if you've waited long enough or if the eggs are scrambled through -- it's true we order different endings and the trending is to quiet as the rain cleans clear this road -- travel on and out to else, leave behind that load --

15 february

when the wind comes up the questions go by faster get gone in gullies of rainswells circumstantial by way of unforecasted occurece even as the peace releases a statement regarding disturbance and the word that's coming to mind is nevermind and anyway and how heavy the wait this weight is bringing me down but not out and the trout in this stream have never heard of rainbows and as this goes on longer we've all heard of another way out --

14 february

gave the answer too soon and nobody herd or those that did left off their facts and tracked all the records around and back spinning like uncertainty as the full picture develops and the undecided geese switch hemispheres for here to there and back through we'll scatter all the ashes while we may and pray for the triumph of reason in a season that calls for all else while the tolls grow higher until we hear them all ring out -- 

13 february

if you pick up the cards you will find they are stacked although it's hard to say how to call the bluff in advance on the off chance a game is called and set up topped off with the wilds spiced the right way and the comewhatmay dealing leaves reeling in the aisles and rolling in the streets with the neat hands landed and the few more left to draw -- and if you don't pick up the cards the game ends fast --

12 february

shadow on the edge of a sprain twisted under and torn up from the path while the last set of steps missed the dance after all and the ball anyway dropped from the top of the calendar staircase to a steeplechase rodeo that sets off in speed with bells on and the well's gone dry but still looking for the rain until hope itself gives up the sky and dark turns dry and cold

11 february

sharing space with rain and turning salt to ice -- too nice to challenge the elements -- the steps meant to lean forward but pulling hard in revers -- a worse than wear arrangement with a strange bent to the left behind and entwined with the overunder that wonders whether there's a different path with simpler math we ought to stop subtracting from but the clinging's gone straight to the point and far gone out of joint like a nose sniffing up the wrong ending -- 

10 february

cleaning up should be out and over but the prepositions don't match and there's no catch to release while the fleece meets the eyes and the can'ts meet the tries -- waiting for nothing and it can't come soon enough -- tough steps on the present track but can't take back the lines already sung while we've sprung our own leaks and tried to hide the puddles -- though the muddle's quite clear enough and the dark gets raised at last

9 february

sit in the sun and stun brain cells with chemical reactions choking traction out of a slippery slope and the hope is the steps though they go both ways and the shortwaves give long answers when the chance for misconceptions delivers and there are still no answers left once the library is closed --

8 february

where the wild wanders and the night turns out to be another season there are questions nobody wants to ask and tasks we cannot complete in out own good time with the names that rhyme with jealousy storming in instead and redfaced hearing of all the wrong answers taking chances at a more perfect listener when the dark and all the bluffs we were warned of by state park trail signs end up defining the course we can't but take

7 february

waiting to melt to puddle to pedal through to refreeze trees in the reflections of ice untrimmed like alabaster sails and erstwhile wells deeper than expected and collecting all the wishes in exchange for change said to do one good and collect all twelve while the elves advance the plot and the rest of us get caught in the cogs and bogged down with the colds we tried hard to burn off

6 february

because after starting there is no way to stop even as the head drops low and the blood flows more coldly -- the lonely track trailing off and the uncertainty about movement in really any direction -- waiting for a course correction that cannot will not ever come -- numb to the morning to the middle to the muddle and leaning hard into the dark the night the elsewhere there is no reason left to stumble, nowhere deeper still to fall --

5 february

what's next is uncertain and i'm hurting in the selfsame ways that mean i've seen this mirror before but to store up the memory is a collection of reflection rather than a collusion of solutions and i cannot find my way out while the doubts flood the gates with stated claims on the union's disillusion and the disintegration of the nation that cannot be united enough through the bluffs and stony winds that blow as we grow out of our own stories and trip over walls we can't stop building --

4 february

we are the angels of our own uncertainty visited loudly on the edge of some other day that might never come if we keep this up no matter how many children clap their hands or ring their bells and while we have only ourselves to blame there is no clearer mirror than the future we don't want knocking at the door though we have sent the invitation first class priority and express

3 february

yet somehow it becomes impossible to see past and it falls flat before the door -- can't pass more than one step up if stuck in the middle which is to say there is no list to work through to burn true and bright enough with a bluff and a wink if you think of it but the trick is to settle out of bounds and come unwound in some other setting -- never forgetting we create our own future and more so the present and i've bent the barometer already but might still find hope for rain

2 february

we mind our own business and sure it runs deep so keep your eyes on the rhododendrons and their tendencies to exaggerate fate for their own floral blends which lends the question of choice and borrows back again on when and why

1 february

somewhere there is a wind and it's hard to tell when the winding will unfurl its tail and all those other twisted pieces with the creases ironed sharp then departed in the dark with thoughts of rain and the plainly held beliefs that sleep will heal the rest