justwrite 24 july

as the days pass there are cash advances entranced across the floor the entrance fee paid and waylaid on the way to someone else’s pocket the cases in the docket will never get cleared a clean desk is feared like a razor without teeth or did I mean a comb either way it’s home for now and the sacred cow sings its moon-eyed song to an applesauce battalion we meant to cook we had great designs we were doing fine before the sense kept falling out of the bottom I climbed a tree but the top was wrong and too high in the sky for the gliders the great dividers I’m sorry I’m falling asleep in the deep gaps between gaffs we thought we had a plan but in scanning the lines I find we’re sorting out the wrong sorts we’ve purported to defend the money we’ve lent to misguided robbers we slobber over our own misdeeds while feeding the zoos with the higher truths there’s a secret that I’m getting to but it clearly isn’t getting through these spaghetti-clogged pipes these cholesteroled veins lamely weaving in and out of traffic the graphic organizers not quite clear enough we’ve steered past bluffs rockier than those the pirated coves kept secretly covered we hovered like lovers too close to the door the snores were too much but it’s a softhearted touch to imagine that tragedy could go differently when I was done running today that’s when the story started and I can’t imagine such an oddly parted tale except right here where I have to tell it and if you’d like to know I’ll tell you so you’re not in the dark but it’s an odd place to park such a factual tract and not much would grow anyway so let’s play along with different sounds and build around those sorts of details knowing what’s entailed won’t make you smarter or even more attractive rather like the opposite the deposits of bits of knowledge that were edited out of colleges too much for your own good too neighborly for your own hood and this is when I realize the time I consider the crimes in these films the godfather fills such hours with cowards and with heroes but with the ones and the zeroes adding up it’s hard to tell what the program will be if the catch and release program has repatriated any more confederates or mostly just dunces and if I had my druthers I’d wonder what they were and I’d probably keep them outside on a long leash just to let others tangle themselves and stay well out of my way thisaway the right way as some say where some play by my rules the right ones as the sun sets on british petroleum the wrong initials but everything else okay so they say

justwrite 23 july

if babies weren’t so sweetfaced we’d already be replaced permanently displaced by something cuter oh an ode to babies and yes we owe no maybes to that tinyfooted step effortlessly adept at bossing the bosses flossing reasonable people through tiny chubstub fingers wrapping crowns around their pink little pinkies fat like twinkies and just as stuffed with unpleasant stuff today my friend’s child so strawberry mild and happycheeked she is cooing and I don’t mean the baby there are songs spreading across the static and it’s a dynamic force of course there are more a winning score out in force on the streets this afternoon brought out by the sun by strollers and grandmothers skeptical older brothers and fathers who swagger slightly yes I made this happen adapting circumstances all around them these tiny gods survey their territory not always pleased occasionally diseased by unexplainable afflictions possibly disgust when lust for all they desire misfires into tantrums some fun they ought to be having forbidden by the underlings the giant beings who do their bidding while the pink and blue chariots are drawn along the promenade the people bow they tuck their chins to their chests and agree this is the most precious child this is the sweetest little girl the cutest little boy and it’s all one can do to keep from making comparisons to pets but certainly this wouldn’t be heard of surely you don’t understand and it’s true I don’t I never had a dog either never had a cat never had a baby got no maybes to display in this chart just all heart and no cooing no blowing kisses and calling precious and this seems fine wonder if I’ll cross that line someday that makes me want to rush out and play this game but just the same for now from a distance there’s no need for resistance just a pleasant nod at the otherwise occupied as they float by in their multicolored boats floating right on track sorry I’m just swimming thisaway and there’s a somethingelse I ought to do I’ll catch up with you somenever but surely wish you well all the same

justwrite 19 july

it's okay to feel like that sometimes to drop frozen limes into still lemonade the shade hasn't made it yet but there's time to spill we find ourselves wiping up and drinking cups full of wonder the shady turns that earn attention don't talk to me don't buy me a drink don't think i'm listening i'm turning toward a different page rearranging ages and times the meaning i've defined as my own is in a language you don't know any words of or have ever heard of when everyone is saying goodbye too easy to sigh from a missed flop a slipped lip message the chords pulled tight an early night tucked in with hopes easily remoted away clicked to pause or fast forwarded to their inevitable conclusions allow me my illusions for a few more screens a few less mean facts counteracting imaginings the strategies we seize upon at such times can easily rewind to savage truths the garden of youth and the towers of responsibility crashing in cashing out when the sound is drowned by dance club static too old to be so dramatic the loneliness is hardly traumatic but when the postcards come when the words turn tender it's an easy surrender a soft sell to render tears in silly corridors the closed doors behind protecting from any misdirection the early detection warning system shunted off to other triggers bigger than sadness i am bigger than alone and the crow and the oregano rhyme themselves into wondering why they've bene invoked surely they hope not to be cooked together not quite of any one feather this pair and this is how things work you get on a bus and you buy a ticket but who sits down with half a crown in front of you or beside is a tried and true experiment you can't predict from one moment to the next you're waiting for a text and a call comes in you didn't expect from a number you don't know and it's on with the show must go on and we know the outcome will come out any old way it chooses the truth is out there and so is the doubt but the shouting's all about life the energy that makes me tell stories that could have happened the questions you ask while waiting for surprise the sunrise and why i love flowers ask me why and i will sing you a song i will teach you to dance my dances fancy as they may be and in tripping tongues unstrung from the docks the fox trotting over the bay watching the tide tie its tie tight against the empty night waiting for the sails to fill with dreams and cover the sea with light

post 18 july

justwrite 18 july

today I am sprinting across angles the sun tangles itself in my legs and I free each step with difficulty the thick black road is too soft and I sink into the earth ground up and wondering why I got carried away the myth the romance of speed the single runner the ground humming beneath an elevated state and really I am thinking of the beauty and also the sweat the space the distance opening up and closing behind me as I rush forward in a new direction but correcting for reality I am also thinking of how long it will be before I need to stop I am hurrying in a daze listening to music and imagining distances the faces of people passing by who are standing still and they are laughing about their cool calm stillness and my frenzied rush redfaced elsewhere their thighs are rested and their calves are relaxed in casual shoes dressier than Monday morning requires we fire ourselves on the weekend then remember again again but this is not my job this is my escape my new path my race to run and the sun trends itself forward I am dragging it along with me thinking to leave it at home but sleeping in deeper instead there is no thread too light no tread too heavy to keep these sleepers from their pillows the willows trend downward lending shade and aiding the watchers but we are the movers perhaps the shakers we are taking ourselves seriously we are breathing deliriously and sweating much too much the rush and the hurry the blurry views we choose ourselves poppies and queen anne’s lace facing full into the brightness the lightness that is a rush and a fear carries me past the next milestone kilometer marker sign designed by my own mind to simulate progress there is redress and there is justice but here there is only me only free and easy with the second trend toward hard I am carrying myself down the road waiting to be carried by the wind and the energy I started out with


justwrite 17 july

my computer is melting the sweltering letters bettering themselves through jumps through leaps deeper than meaning seeming to pass bounceward a chestpass counteracting the waited-for bit on the floor the score scrambled so many goose eggs trembling into quiche into doublesize pysanky my righthand fingers are wrinkled into trumbledown digits pins and needles in it the way I thought I’d sew I’d grow the pieces together and in such weather what else is there to do but to read and eat melon there are swell evenings and sleepin mornings ready to dawn their own clinical evaluations I’d like to write something worth reading but heeding such advice is nice only in the abstract can’t counteract any other versions the concrete too deep and thick luca brasi swims with the fishes and little girls in pink always get their wishes their ice cream flavors chosen by the godfather and preapproved like dancing on an uncle’s feet the polish giggled off with white patent leather toes supposing themselves ballerinas magically light and brighter than air the stairs upward leading through the ksy and closer to the stars playing halfhearted guitars in the backstage background gatherround listenup we are all admirers of a certain sort of folk we can’t help but notice the poking of the airwaves the savoring of the brainravers I am writing without thinking but when I think I drink backwards I dream outward and wonder onward where the sense will go when the cents will run out and I will have to sell my feet for some sort of bargain I cannot now imagine we have tragedies in our slippers but we find it safer to play with razors we are dancing on stage and I have caged all the birds to find out if it’s safe but the mine isn’t mine and so I let them go again promising to tell them if things get too bad here I am cut off from the right technology right now and there are cows who are more satisfied than I am there are updates downloading and the rights left the opposites negating themselves we are healthy and we are strong but often we find that we are wrong there are such things as mistakes and they’re often baked into cakes without detection but simple reflection on an average day makes it plain that most remain in clear sight heightened by our senses the easygoing dimensions that create extralarge reflections in the tooclose mirror objects could be farther than we think but mistakes are always replicated in complicated patterns look at me I’m awkward look an adolescent echo of haphazard attempts and yes again again

justwrite 9 july

outside this morning the right words hurried sunflurries into my mouth and through my head ready to be written down smitten with their own clowning and owning the right devices the figurative deliveries the shivery correctness of each step blissfully forward I was in a field afield in the flowers aflowering showers of wildlight colors queen anne’s lace waist high and periwinkle thistles tickling skyward while poppies in papery shy surprise at their own brightness taste pieces of the wind and flutter in bashful excitement the yellow paintbrushes the rush of primary colors this is where the world begins to unpack itself to settle in and set up shop to hop onto the roadside and sell itself to passers by and I am filled I was thrilled with the joy of accomplishment no speeding past no records set but still out of bed and into the day dawning cloudy and cool but no excuses worth considering no more lingering I am heading into the else the rest of the picture opens up and the cows do their best to do what they do and so they see through the excitement their bites meant to be chewed more times than we know how and they show their meditative states in brown glazed eyes hardly spying in hiding merely nearby and I stop to walk I slow to talk in motion to say there is no need to worry I’m not a danger and they have no stranger fears they can see it’s just me the same one to whom the old man called and where are we running to? but when his voice came through my music I had already laughingly waved and on the loop back another track camouflaged his follow-up and I cupped the joke in the air and swatted it down with a smile with style to say I have no idea what words I ought to have heard but I know how to respond I have seen the fishing pond and I am still and I am ready to catch to be caught and what ought to be will and I know that’s fair to say but it’s an easy play to sketch out at this point and at this joint in my finger a lingering sensation of wind typing but the colors mostly lost tossed throughout the laundry day and stretched across the meager balcony to soak up the part that’s not partly cloudy rowdy beams pushing through windy angles tangling up my socks and summerwear even there as my swimsuit treads air I am going under in no hurry to surface until I remember the cool half-melon waiting for dessert

justwrite 8 july

halfway between then and where I was thinking about time traveling between the lines and the meaning seemed obscure I was seeing pictures from a different age a fine time but another one a different sun rising but the same one setting I am getting myself confused I’ve abused this notion past the point of sense but I can’t help mentioning that the past and the future get awkwardly sutured sometimes and the rhymes are crimes messing with the times and neglecting to present the present in a reasonable timeframe rearranging our expectations and changing the stations to settle on static it’s much less dramatic but clearly germane to remain fluid to be fluent to speak freely to blend easily the ideas and the tongue with colors and numbers pulled from thin air and sculpted into elsewhat otherwhere and stranger combinations of sounds we’re around the block and again we go and I thought I’d know more by now but it’s a strange cow that rings its own bell that calls itself in from the pasture and I know I want no master I’m asking for no disaster but the correction of a little direction would not go to waste I’m running but not chaste and I’ve got no need for haste just rather no place like the present no time like here and steering clear of the concrete I sweeten the abstract with love and lively lines the language fine when the ideas are not I caught a fish in a soup pot but I didn’t cook it I couldn’t look it in the eye without making a wish and granting it so we’re having salad again we’re in those sorts of days the watermelon haze settles over us and sweetens our lips we are eclipsed by juice and sticky fingers lingering in dreams we see ourselves whole and ripe we have our pick of the crop and we wrap the strands of our imaginings in gentle fantasy there is no story but the one I write there is no sleep but there is night writing of parallel days the future haze of a different plain a universe remaining out of reach preaching neither right nor wrong but other and this is the butter for our morning toast popping up sunrise high and fresh

justwrite 6 july

riding on the train a gain in miles the idle whiles proposing trials and accepting smiles with grateful hunger a change in the menu no way to pretend you love every minute of it the cramped legs of toolong and tooshort colliding riding the rails entails savvy and patience the questionable maintenance and everybody’s vague sense that others are in the way that nothing loud should stay quiet or the other way around we’ve found our busykeeping plans in high demand are books without a high level of thought required something to fire the page turning but nothing earning comprised pauses all the clauses added up the independent thought bought for a song with the singalong rattling cataloging high-yield fields the unwieldy land scandalously standing unworked the dark dirt and the uncertain goats on spokes on ropes pinning their hopes on narrowing circles with the answers and the pickings honestly lying within the UFO evidence overnight disappearing with enough rain and magic the nextdoor traveling crew unraveling toothfulls of seeds leading to high demand across the land and rising up with yellow faces tracing the sun unstrung from the sky and scattered into obedient rows predisposed to smile with upturned pleasure and there are papery poppies too breezy in true red dreamform and the cows lying down waiting for the rain are also the rain and their warmth presses into the cool grass turning the earth in new directions churning ring tones and sleep babble into sense don’t mention the radio the steady calls for tea or coffee and the baggage sorting shuffles stopping and starting relocking and undocking the flurry of platform offers apricots and vareneky buckets of tomatoes and cups of raspberries an aisle-long call for ice cream who wants it who taunts it out of us in fine form the baba bag norm offering supposed insulation but the vague information that it heats corn cobs robs such a belief of sense don’t mention it look past the number of tickets the little ones tucked in to shared beds the grannies with upper tickets who overnight sit at my feet or get swapped without question the tension of who goes to bed in what order and what’s fair is it kicking out to state your claim and unroll the lower bed instead of waiting for the waiting game to begin or has it already