justwrite 7 january

Piling on the smiles miles in the making we are taking the cake and serving it to guests we are the guests and the next best thing to serving is knowing what to do otherwise the broad grins and downcast not-understanding glances that imply more than what can be implied that attempt understanding when I’d rather be standing under the table is it a problem of language or of place of situation or of face there is nothing I have to say here and this fact is more than abundantly clear but I will listen and I will eat this salad this one without meat and here I am pleased here I am thankful and I make new promises to myself to be kinder to these to those who give to those who live sweetly by my side so far away these are the people who ought to be close to be these are the people in my neighborhood and what would mister rogers say what would all the advice-givers advise and the way I feel on the inside the straight-out signal with green light in the middle of the night holding my computer up in the window stretching past the lamp and the closed door signaling no more to the little ‘round-runner and his Barbie-loving sister we are the tantrums of tempers we are the burners to embers having a rest and taking time we are celebrating holidays and few days in between there’s remont there’s what you want even without asking and it’s a gift so you must and it’s from a place you can trust if you can open up your hand it’ll be placed right there and they care more than reason and it’s a season I can’t see ending even now with time to spare I’m cutting down days even as the long view shortens how will this ever be different and how can it stay the same

justwrite 6 january

When you create your own luck you’re dumping a truck full of yes in a mouthful of please and hoping that some will get chewed you’ll get used to this writing if you just keep reading but I can’t help feeding sunshine into this mill will it be good or should I stop and if I ought do I want we have got in the british phrasing—an extra word to my taste—an unexpectably untraced pattern of pleasant progress whatever the attraction it seems more than a slipped contraction that an apostrophe could fix there’s nothing broken at the moment though there’s one road under repair just the builders can’t decide which blueprints to use—there are varying reports—but the cart and the horse were on their way out before the barn door closed anyway so it’s a play to develop see out walk through and at this point I’m truly interested to see where the dialogue goes what the action shows and how easy it is to fall into/ how hard to watch from the bank

justwrite 5 january

The same problem seeks to solve itself by revealing in a new way putting off what can’t stay in bed what can’t be unsaid I am tired of feeling expired but looking for renewal it seems more expensive than I’d imagined the tragedies of catalogs and digital designs yours and mine to seek and find we are tired and ironed and if I were to write in the morning a different dawning a sound more like yawning as the curtains come up we are stuck in cycles buying remorse and adding up what’s worse to subtract from the total we’re living with remotes full of pre-programmed channels wise enough to cancel those extra packages those star attractions those smooth battle-talk brands when we are wondering about the words absurdly heard from our own mouths we travel south and cross borders searching for warmth and sense in new scenes we make dreams of brighter colors adding the numbers to see where the sums will come from where the hums will drum from and what beat we’ll dance to it’s a new tune and the quiet moon is waiting for its turn as the dripping sink still learns we are all patient as the station changes fuzzing into static and seeking the dramatic though the commonplace is where we are is where the car will stop for the night and we’ll shuffle inside and under the covers hoping for a dark of sweet comfort

justwrite 4 january

Haven’t got it in me just now let it out to play and it never came back I’m cracked from the head up and there’s a scattering of brains somewhere out there with my name on them I’ve got to get it back in got to keep in touch with what matters not the shattering of sounds on my ears or the glare of light slicing into my eyes soft and tender and raw the pounding astounds listeners of whom there are none since there’s nothing to be done but crawl into the dark curl into a spiral a shell of myself dream toward health toward sleep dive into deep waters and swim painfirst into the quiet river let it all be washed away to wake up on some distant shore cured and cooled with sunwarmed cheeks

justwrite 3 january

If I wake up earlier I will take up a cup full of morning the lips clouds the warm heat and the sleep washes away

if I wake up asleep I will take the eggs and crack them like windows to the day scattering sunshine wet across the fryingpan sky

if I wake up tired I will fire all the cannons and salute the gunners on the unemployment line taking their time before they make their next moves grooving to record sales and record breaking infrastructure conjectures on how to build a new economy

if I wake up after the time has passed to be elsewhere I will giggle into my pillow and shrug into the wallpaper apologize to the floorboards and shake my head at the windowsill

if I wake up angry at the confusion of my dreams I will taste green pen in my notebook and see what’s cooked up between the blue and black ink of my days

if I wake up lonely I will fry potatoes and as they sizzle and crackle I will run laps around this city keeping my sneakers clean and my head above ground

if I wake up with a headache as is sometimes the case I will go back to sleep through cottoncloud chocolatehaze the dark sicksweet kind of indulgence which is the only way to handle is the only candle to hold to disappointed plans this is all I can do and working through means not working

if I wake up embarrassed it will not be the first time I’ve counted my shoestrings before tripping out the door and into the public light the spot too bright for my taste and the waste too watered down to matter in these circumstances as the dances go on and I am second-guessing lies and the over-tightened ties of the mistakes I am still making

if I wake up taking a deep breath I am hoping to see Christmas lights in the cross-courtyard windows left inexplicably on and into the wrong season there are reasons in other countries but I prefer to see delay as a purposeful rejection of the over-rushed affection for movingfast hurryingpast each scheduled occasion for this is a nation of sitters and eaters but also of doers and greeters and dancers and thinkers of laughers and drinkers

if I wake up and I am thirsty I will wonder about tea and two kinds of honey and for my money there’s only one and it’s not sugar but if there’s a fir tree without a star and I twinkle wondering where you are I will wake up with eyes of blue and dream they’ve turned to green

justwrite 2 january

Late in the morning when the day gets stewed the list gets used to itself and toasts its health with an awkward schedule the olives are waiting nestled in the bottom of a can on the top shelf of the fridge wishing that the pizzas had been bigger shining in glossy black richness the taste of earth in cool relief having been briefed on the upcomings the dishes are cleaned and the leanings are forward and onto and out of there is time and tension runs through it there are goals and various ways to approve them disprove them confuse them we are walking through the hours we are lifting knees and four-tire jumping up up back back and keeping track of minutes drink some water eat some fruit in sweet cahoots with communicative methods lessening the numbers and adding up the colors we are clearing the decks but it’s hard to tell what’s next give me something to read let me take the lead and give it up it’s a cup that can’t run over it’s a bowl with a handle too and the tea’s for one not two as the saints go marching through these are the holidays the holy ways of keeping track of studying relaxing and counteracting resolutions we make ourselves these sweet solutions but how do they dissolve how can we revolve when it’s the earth should do the work when it’s the syllables that jerk their way out of candor promise to tell what’s the matter and I will always listen if there’s a truth that glistens in a midnight garden show then the fireworks that sow their light into the dark have some real high yield and it cannot be concealed as the viewers are the brewers of their own misfortunes and joys coddled like toys in their eggy shells the heavens and hells all wrapped up in arms bared and born again the storm we send ourselves is lost on the mail and the snow and the hail will take their time will end their rhymes while I prefer to deal in slant sounds where sense abounds but words are fair I just can’t care too much for any of these bluffs to be listened to and if I ask you I’m sure to hear the difference I’m sure to quote a delirious assumption you know nothing about and I’m sorry it’s just doubt behind by turned-front shoulder the worry grows it bolder but I’m pressing on ahead there’s much better else instead

justwrite 1 january

Happy new and in with the on and other prepositions we’ve got our suppositions and those are still flexible the next most correctible the easygoing views are useful in their armchairs and we can’t compare the quiet stares and the silent smiles the darknight miles that wait between leaning into poetry instead of onto facts we collapse everything we know and build up the snow the missing flakes the taken cakes and all the other bits we’re missing some pieces the puzzle’s got a muzzle and hardly can speak but the leak is cracked and the track has sprung a well the creek has no paddles and the idioms are restless passing another stress test isn’t in these cards at all but the cannonball caterwaul and all the king’s horses are filing for divorces as the rates of else run high and the pie that split the sky turns out to rain cherries the chariots of fire and other impossible dreams the races we stream live and in color over channels we can’t handle with the details easily failing us would you write the address clearly would you change your mission yearly and what will all the neighbors think what would you choose as an afternoon drink let me tell you the spell you’re wobbling under leaves plenty to plunder and seems a bit contagious the phenomenon outrageous but nonetheless I’ve paid this ticket price and I’m waiting for the show there’s a few bits left to go on ahead but instead of worrying I’m leaning back I’m keeping track of hydration and wondering on invitations I hope you’re not alone and I hope you’re keeping well the deep end the pretend the imaginings of tragedies and all the plot-go twists it’s all within the wrists but the fingers also help and if you can free yourself from that sort of a mold then the story to be told has a lot more to offer it’s a silver tray now proffered with engravings and the shavings of other sorts of previews but get used to that and you’ll skin no cats with proverbs it’s easily the reverb and the shy times the quiet crimes of honesty undone and the less than fortunate ones who are cleaning up the pieces the confetti as it releases into the sky the pop and surmise of an open-air adventure without which nothing gained and the naming of all games is just a step in the playing although there’s a better way to day-in stay-out of raw doubt and to play with open hands