justwrite 31 august

i am running away from running away and today the keys are too loud to shroud the silence in noise i will rewind will replay will refund all the keys and collect the locks in the mean time speaking of which there are stitches that could save some but how tight we would be

justwrite 30 august

this is where i will write in the night although it'll be morning by the time i do so now this spot is saved this time is raved in right on through to you over the internet and across the screen to my right that's right you're right everybody's right and nobody's left behind

now it is now and when was it then and how much have the keys touched the space between letters the numbers bugging each other and jostling for the next best space erasing each character to start a new spin-out there are signs the designs have been reexamined tested for faults for when the earth quakes and the bough breaks and the situation is well in hand like an apple dappled with raisins in praise of waldorf in cahoots with a co-hort of sports moguls and other such pleasant-sounding rounds of letters the consonants dancing all around the vowelly bush the monkey chases the race until it starts and then hasn't the heart to win over the past and to spin a disaster in the right direction the corrections not worth living too soon for forgiving the potatoes and their friends lending normalcy to the mission and glistening with relief as the grief passes its stages like classes with rages and tears spilling over fears and moving toward acceptance

justwrite 29 august

a chain of links over the brink and through the brook looks like way too much to ask for the task force was trying to tell me but i thought they'd sell me short given the chance and the lance pierced the armor the storming troops in cahoots with the blooper reel steals the show again and i am amazed at how much the packing smacks of explosivity a madeup word for the absurd ability of items to multiply exponentially when given a sideview or nosee escape route to do so when i turn around the ground is rising so it's a good thing we're in the valley to start with i am on a hill and i have no shirt too green for the mistakes we've made i have played the game regularly the rules have all been collared and there are no rings built to hold this circus this red river running rampant across the moss-covered rock face the chase goes on and comes back for more the store buys back the record time and escapes without the fine the officers had imagined the tragedy had been badgered back to invisibility the chill we see a thrill apiece and the keyboard melts in my fingers i am yearning for pencil burning for a fire the smoke in the late summer air pretending into autumn we are adopting a tentative pleasure with the cool air but we are skeptical of the outcome and how it will come out

justwrite 28 august

scanning images without a cribbage board a crib sheet the notes each sale you smote with your smittens all over the glass pressed up against the future view breathing on the oxygen and laughing at the gas there is trash but i am trying to recycle all of it i recall the fits we tried to tie the shoes we aimed to lie about and the doubts with their bouts of conscience flittering along with vacuum tendencies just sucking it up and taking it in like a breath of something newer something sleepier creeping along let me start again i had breakfast but that was an uncertainty i have plastic bags that seal and tomorrow the deal will be dealt the surprises will be felt in echoing darkness where have all the parks gone and why the songs not sung in backward verse and rhythm connecting to the schism between the price of books and the looks given in exchange for the offer for the traffic copper and the irony the silver metal shining back into the locker there are drafts i've kept in the closet for use when the caboose arrives too late to debate on the floor but with plenty more air time ready for filling the prescription fitting the bill and passing it right on through to law a claw and its horse and its boy and remorse for the lost film that could not be processed that must be overdue even though you and your neighbors have already given it away

justwrite 27 august

in conclusion the illusions you have seen are real
if you could step this way you would play along
you would see the words of the song as you sing
each note remote from the next the octave sharper than a tack
relax your embarrassment your expectations
there are nations that fall when you call the wrong number
the pass is too lasting a challenge
you will wear that red shirt and you will be there longer
you will smile even when there are too many at the water fountain
the foundation of a weak statue is its toes
ballerinas never spell their casts wrong
orthodontists never cast their teeth straight
when we have finished here we will start again down the hall
i am appreciative of the efforts
the lamp is nicely dusted
the rusted calendar has been oiled with ink
water from the sink is legible again
i cannot play this game without your signature
let me just check about the lunch
punch the clock the red juice ringing around your clown smile

justwrite 26 august

finish service and keep the engine running in order to add forearms to press into the best buy the wise old apple sitting on the teacher's desk leaning into what's next and the text distorting from latin to splattering on the dishcloth the soup scooped up in greedy handfuls hoping for gazpacho but turning into stew into fresh-brewed amusement i am losing the train i am dismounting from the mountain and the debt is ready to rise to look into the tide and surmise surprise in the mirror it is clearer when the hearer is out of range is calling the audible is changing the channel from english to cyrillic named for a blamegamer struck with inspiration again the train choo-chooses to depart in pieces in the name of peace of peaches not picked freshly just imported from the local orchards clearing each branch each breath guessing at what's left and refreshing the dregs the passion the tea the free the proud the few the loud the familiar deluge of people creeping pas the street of steeples the market the square the pottery spot the slots of what's not for dinner and the traffic that wraps itself in narrow lanes rearranged for want of development for need of water and the hotter it gets the development sits softer on the ledge learning out of view until the feeling passes until the ceiling lasts its warning into a new cracked morning breaking open and scrambling on the sidewalk we can't talk about what we mean but we toss up the screen and the silk and force through ink to spread the message on a defenseless passage the northwest the explorers and all the china in fort knox locks its tea in the stocks and laughs senselessly again losing its edge

nearsighted military

The nearsighted military will never be able to cast their vision out along the boundaries of here/now and then. If it makes sense now then it must be right, but how many times has it not been just so? What would it take to make the clear decisions the right ones? Going through the jungle, always on alert, hypersensitive to changes in sound, temperature or smell. The click of a safety being released, the coolness of the air under a well hidden hanging net, the odour of sulfur from a hastily lit then extinguished match. It was our country first. We didn't even smoke cigarettes until they came. The sound of a tripwire releasing a spray of death. Hopefully that will be the last time. They really should learn.