11 september

And so, as is usually the case, it once again turns out to be my birthday. Funny how I almost wrote that in the past tense, even as it applies to the most immediate present. Really the more immediate present is taken up by realizing and remembering that I've forgotten that this button-- the second down on the front of my dress-- has a habit of slipping sideways and more or less shrugging off its work, shirking its simple stance to dance into distraction, even as language lifts my sense from being made to dropped and splayed all over the pavement-- what I say, what I meant-- the tracks of trains on rainy plains in Spain diverged in yellow woods misunderstood and overwrought, having bought too many tickets and being low on destinations-- this is the information stage, the retrieval craze being in a different film, with Tuttle and Buttle and Robert DeNiro, where no one's the hero and the future looks dark, though where we're meant to park our hopes is unclear-- just certain fear  and cautionary failings, inadequate railings and immodest social structures thrown up as conjunctions with reforms the conjectures that new norms will prove improvement-- the idea that movement is always better, even with a lack of direction-- and no one positioned for correcting authority-- but what? and anyway, and thankfully, that was an allusion and apologies for the confusion that spun off on that trail, flailing like an overeager mocker in the ribbon round of rhythmic gymnastics awkward but internally beautiful and oddly enough compelling

10 september

The x-rays were negative
  she informed her listeners
  the flock she saw as her own
  those without elsewhere to wait
  elsewhere to escape this exchange
  unavoidable pleasantries
  catch and release of inane details
  acquaintanceship sailing on
while I wondered what else they could be
x-rays so rarely being positive
  no color, no sound
  light exchanged for information
  yes for no
  interpretation upon delivery
Listeners, passengers, thick white bones all,
we waited for the train
for further diagnosis, lightning quick and data dark
answers beating down the dull ribbed track

justbits 9 september

the feeling of being glad your parents are driving as the rain pours even as you wonder what the delay is in getting into the left lane for the upcoming turn

being not all that lonely really but seeing saturday sunday grocery shopping couples lazy in their togethercomfort and so turning away, vaguely wishing for a shared list of agreed-upon specifics

justwrite 8 september

While waiting for the footsteps to land for the hour to strike vanilla is lit in my room and the facts are making themselves quite plain my nails too long for folly for lollipops and dressing rooms we are waiting for the conclusions but the evidence is scant the cancellations and hesitations I am prepared to make a plan and these shall be the numbers and the numbers shall be three with two missing and I am the one who will be the remainder I will be carried along in the backseat of forgotten journeys mine is not to lead to drive mine is to sway to carry on despite to close my eyes at light and turn each shade in turn the burning wonder and the steady motion the staying still and the worrying through my muscles are rebelling but my mind twines on I will make a puzzle and I will solve it I will adapt fastidious habits I will be a real writer I will study to be a student and I will apply to be a teacher featuring every sort of possibility I am reaching out and this much is plain I am raining and declaring a parade in the same breath the way chests full of jewels are empty in the last scene the prescription plans and the scandalous calls for reimbursement we’re worse sent away and we’re tossed all the play books we can handle the wrangling of exotic hounds and the calamine lotion that won’t keep off the itch to go to do to move to be more qualified to be smarter more clever to know the answers and to keep the tongue untwisted in communicative attempts we are remedying ourselves in the singular and I’m wringing worth from wonder in the everyother blunder I am an oatmeal cookie in which I mean absurdity is accuracy and the boxes I keep wanting to buy would too easily be filled with nothing and anyway I’m shopping alone there’s a poem in that too and I will take notes I will put my hopes on paper and turn them into and in

justwrite 5 september

Most of the walking is in one place and the tired seeps in through my feet the hanging-upside-down feeling reels me back in and flattened out I pancake up at the ceiling and wonder where the day went how I spent x number of hours in why why what and other questions I cannot wait to drink coffee after I have showered after I have run after I have woken up early and the saddest part is how little sleep there is between now and then but the longer we sleep the less we eat and the less we run as well the fell swoop and other techniques knocking me over and about at the door and through the truth remains to be seen in it’s polite to offer tea or coffee if the coffers aren’t quite bare and it’s fair to say I’m at a loss I’m crossing fingers and lingering over wonders the part where I make a list the jist being just barely grasped I collapse my metal leaves inward steaming and streaming gentle encouragement elsewhere the others there and about have no doubt they’re getting this yes this love this plus a push of positive even as I drift backward into the otherwise thinking of titles like ozine like clever things on the front even when the middle is empty my fingernails get longer and longer and every night I have a dream that maybe should be written down the steps are there to be taken but my feet are done for the day

justwrite 4 september

Vaguely disconnected the floating returns feeling burned by the length of fingernails and ginger sails in the orange mornings the dawning of accidental alarm clocks rigged up to sound sweeter than delight the evening and the night tense not worth mentioning but the facts you see the details that freeze into place a puzzle unmuddled and solved into solidness the easy bliss of knowing tomorrow will come and the angles that rhyme their riddles into politics in turning on the radio the television is clear and the novels on the shelves will make their answers known the introductions thrown out of sorts the chief retorts resuming their natural stances the slow-we-go dances and the stepping on toes I am ready for the something and unsure what it will be I am jogging around the block and waiting for the pain to follow the ache that breaks a head above a heart apart we are singular the royal toil of making up the story as you go along I’ve sung this song before but the separateness is far more pushy the bushy beard disguising the future and the fog that stomps in without much in the way of manners leaves the city planners and their sideways glances off to their own chances their disguised devices their mechanical cats and mice is the answer to be told or is there a salary in it I ought to use this time I ought to run faster to write more now is the time of resolutions the pre-birthday confusions of adjustment and assessment a community needs survey where the community dwindles in size and widens in wonder these are the eyes that do not cross and the tease that do not dot

justwrite 3 september

One of the ideas here is irony is having plenty of time to do what’s desired and firing it up through other pursuits in cahoots with health and wealth and wisdom the sinking swimming feeling rises up and dives again arrives again in full splendor there on a fridge picture hanging in the middle the writer at her work and here the jerking feeling the lurking sense of tragedy being pulled away from nothing into something these are the days of moving forward you’ve been forewarned but no one’s waiting no one’s holding out a hand on the other side of the crossover it’s crosswords and no waiting it’s carbon dating the evidence and watching too much mystery if anything is a comedy the script may have been lost I’ve tossed my lot in with thinking thin and wandering into employ the coy way of hoping that enough applications have been sent that I’m really paying noneatall rent and that’s good for now but how I feel and how what’s real seems far away the playing music and the truth bethrough it we’re trying to solve we’re vaguely involved in plans the scandal of unable-to-handle rabble rousers the trousers of intrigue and the scissors that don’t come in pairs there’s a poem in that I’m reminded I’ll find it when I spend time looking when I wonder where the cooking ought to get to when we’re bitten through like crackers and flushed like fiber the diverse options and the kettle bells swinging in those exercise routines I mean well and I do intend to improve but there’s a groove to get back to carve anew and through these and other realizations I intend to create reality of a more improved sort yes once that and the other are dealt with we’ll really have somewhere to start