11 january

feeling of falling as catching up seems too far from the other side of the fence to see to seek the greener pasture the natural disaster the coming thing as branches out doubt their own rewards at the end : pretend delights and half-hearted lights in smiles with miles to go before the sleep that darkens the night for good with understood expectations that fade as soon as they are met and yet the longterm wonderment is sent on its way as soon as another strand unravels to travel is the thing but so is longdistance jumping and so is healthy cooking and so is handstand landing and even as granddandying as the whole thing must seem to a circus there's some jerkiness in turning corners and facing mourners for the last great abandoned idea -- where have all the calendars gone? where are all the long-playing songs? let's add layers instead of spinning, let's have goals instead of winning one and then gasping for air -- but to be fair there's a great big blank -- to be fair it's an empty tank in one of those cars -- startling as that may seem it's a major scene with no script at all and the curtain call comes daily, so behaving's a must with the forward-moving trust that all will be revealed or decided and the settling out won't mean settling in or settling for -- there's nothing worse than giving up and giving in when there's plenty to swim and a big wide space : let there be chase and let there be ideas, but let there be sense and order in the hope for the golden threads float glimmerly and delicately fly