justwrite 28 february

I just want to be wary to carry my circle around the block the square unclocked the cork unplugged the socks are bugged and the heater is indiscreet but the feet up and down the steps crown the leapt-off cliff with tired lips I am eclipsing the sun totally I am having fun notably in the quotably true brew of notes I have snatched up from the fingers of the birds there are absurdly pulsing colors between my temples where no one worships where no sacred things come unhinged I am tired of the rust trusting its success on what’s left of my vision the multiplication is no table too able to defeat

justwrite 27 february

well so it was like this like a kiss of rain and a mist of spain there are plane janes and there are no mary buckles I am tucking in my toes and supposing that the growth rate will exceed the puddles will endeavor to bubble up overward overhaving overheard another day coming we are running in place I am escaping the chase scene and stepping into the august the sky the October November we are telling each other to remember the seasons and the reasons although none of them are Christmas and all of them are white bright like a night light coming through the attitude let’s hide under the table and pick the shoes we like we can invite anyone we want to haunt the underfood party and the conversation’s better and the weather’s always fine there is no wine to dine with no climb to mount we are doubting our shoe sizes but rising to every occasion now it is the season of my vocation and I am halfway through I am wondering too many answers into questions and this is what happens when I teach my own lessons and this is what happens when I trap my own tail in a bag and drag it along the bus route tooting my own horn and calling my own phone in the end zone we are listening to the scores called in and the medals counted but I have no idea where to go from there I care and I share excitement but in that time will the world end and will we pretend that nothing ever happened like that nothing ever petted that cat in the three o’clock shade and the blanket spread across the yellow the knit pattern scattered like sunbeams in and out of view and you pull up the windows and fling out your suppositions and wonder who will listen and the answers enchant you and you can’t view the inside the same way again

justwrite 26 february

reaching out each hand we pretend to fend for ourselves but on the inside our wealths are made up of spades and clubs but mostly hearts and rarely do diamonds define what’s in and what’s out and the doubts we have in our own hears are clear from our eyes when we see the surprise when we have tender guides to these ideas we are listening and nodding I am holding my own hand I command my own army and there we go you know you show your map-pointing finger and there are no rings no triggers no figures to add up without cupping up water and splashing it without cashing in all those wonders and answering with a certainty of a sort we purport to tell our own stories though we listen to those of others the lending tree the fending we do for ourselves I should be planning now and not later I should be waiting I should be creating more than spacetaking the filling the feeling wheeling in and out and I would like to say I would like today to be another such I would like to wake up early and realize things I would like to swim through a pool of sunshine and come up floating surprised and wiser I do not need to know the price I cannot offer any advice I am wondering what pushing makes sense and that kind builds a fence I am understanding I am undemanding but still I am confused too used to making up my own answers to imagine that the time passes the grass is green but so is the sky and we fly our own planets about orbiting and shouting back and forth warning about weather and other small talk there’s a chance of rocks rolling over the hills and down into the donut pass there’s a crash and a burn and a fern and a forest and the violets glorious quietly below in the mossy snow the color of spring

justwrite 25 february

wait for the chorus we are waiting for more we miss our kings and spring our rings around the rosie there are trousers and they swish they wish they were worn by gym teachers echoing off the bleachers with whistles and tweezers teasing the soul out of a sullen white-soled sneakerboxer wearing all the right colors the socks that lock in line with the rules defined by the makers the takers shaking up the trunks and pulling out the cars far enough ahead of the red line you can’t stand behind if you’re going to get ahead there are rear-view mirrors and there are front windows I am sticking out my arm and my belly and letting them wash away today I need just my feet today I need an ear and once I hear that kind of music there’s truth in it we spin our webs we compare our pears and stare out where the pair piece ought to be in this puzzle I am wiggling my fingers which might mean typing I want you to know how I feel how are you and the truth is a double-album I am leaking out of my boots I am disappearing into the dirt we are considering our options I am making plans but they lead straight up and I haven’t got a ladder I have got a british-trotting tongue we have got unstrung we are wondering which one is better whether the honour of the weather is worth the curse of mislaid u’s and there is no news that I can tell there is no song that I can’t smell from a distance and again it’s proven that I can’t listen to music and write at the same time sorry about that

post 24 february

justwrite 24 february

as a date that’s due will this one come true or would that be too easy do you borrow or do you lend do you pretend they’re the same and name them both with the same letters in the same order of the same word having heard all the options and choosing no others we are encouraged by our mothers and we wonder how we happen to be and whether the sea is really so wide whether the tide takes turns in earning its keep in the deep or is it always on the beach is it that layer of warmer storms washed from the tropics ready to drop its treasure into a weather vane waning with the moon and waxing a new spoon trying to keep it shiny trying to work its shiny ways forward we are worried about the progress but it is not only ours to make we are cake and we are bake we are the end and the doing the effect with its cause freed of clauses and stuck in the closet in anticipation of a uniting nation pulled apart the start of a dill and a pickle and a trickle of spices or should I say greens and when in between the courses the human events do we pay our own rent and do we send tents skyward packing tracking in all the mud of the ground around and downtown and besides there are lots of shoes to buy


justwrite 23 february

one minute I was standing up and the next I was sitting down I was listening to the music and then it was gone then it was quiet then the riot of noise outside calmed down the storm back to the norm and more or less everyone was snug as a bug in a classroom which is not to say that there are bugs in classrooms and I very much hope there aren’t which reminds me of the times with the old orange carped right from the sixties and smack on the floor of Walkersville high school my school but no more and when they tore up the mess they replaced what was left with white linoleum the sole color and a few others in blue and gold squares for school colors there are numbers in this story but I don’t remember them what year or how clear the directions were I’ll just say to myself and the health of this handwriting is quite in doubt

justwrite 22 february

it was an idea it was a good one and it would be fun and the summer would be longer for it the spring would be stronger family warm garden we would harden our resolve in the solving of equations saving the sense for a hardware store and imagining more than we could build filling up notebooks with sketches whatever catches your imagination is your saving grace and you need to chase it even if you’re building a rock out of mud and a square Tupperware and advice from the dictionary it doesn’t mean you’ll make it that doesn’t mean you’ll take it out and show it around like a piece of success but what’s next will be easier if you don’t say no to fancy to fantasy it’s a chance we take and bake our cakes out of wildflowers and weeds which are mostly the same except to children and grandmothers who know better but we’re forgetting the start in the heart of the winter we shivered and pretended summer and one said a fort and another said a teepee and we were pleased as could be with the idea for the beans to grow through it and to brew it up in the middle of the garden so we sketched then fetched up a spring ready and waiting and found the perfect beams seemingly made for the job cleared a circle worked and built and called into existence a spilt pile of straight lines that met at the top and waited for the beans but we didn’t wait for the bees they came on their own and as we saw the first green tendrils so did they and as we drifted toward the soon-enough blossoms they were already there and it wasn’t too fair or square but there was no way we were going to play in a triangle of bees but still spring released them and the beans and the summer came and we reframed our view from the porch with lemonade and watched the shade and where it laid out into the stretching view of disappointment and contentment

justwrite 21 february

when I look at this picture a twitch in the fissure the confusion of the fusion that draws us together sketches us stretches our patience our balance our abilities we see these trees and those colors that autumn folding into the sky there are mountains but we are high and we see and cannot be seen we are looking out and also in I can see you the back of your head threaded into the colors and the season the smell and the reasons are all clear we are not on our way somewhere else we are here we are seeing and not just looking we are not living on a shelf sticking to the highway the track the collapsing map hurrying toward a destination there is only fascination in the process and the results are as yet unclear how to steer toward the sky how to aim into the blue fading in and out of distance the mountains and the sky the rivers twined in between and the streams trickling down to keep us watered to strengthen our roots while we fly I didn’t think I’d pull over but maybe this time and maybe a little walk and then the view and I see it and I see you and I can tell the sounds from the wind will spin together that faraway traffic into our future but for now we are balanced we are separate together we are only steps from each other with ginger and honey mouths and fingers fit together instead of gloves in this weather we have love and we are warm