justwrite 31 may

didn’t know this day existed until I woke up glad to find such a thing while the calendar surprised me the day disguised itself as normal as pleasant warm around the edges hot on the marshrutka pressed up against even calf-back to calf-back and that’s an unusual one I feel the weight carrying itself but there is music playing which is motion which is devoting itself to other work to attention it cannot stand to turn off I am scoffing at my inability to write while listening to music but the scoffing is in a mirror and it becomes less clear what the goal is even as I struggle bungling notes and letters sweating the big stuff the little stuff toughing through the rest whatever that may be and I’m pleased to see clean hair in the morning mirror whenever that comes and the bagels that may be we’re trying to please ourselves and it’s not impossible there are waffles but no waffling we are confident we are offered a preponderance of options the tight stillgrowing skin on my left heel felt with every stretch catching downward dogs by a bony paw and slicing fire for hire and also this music is going faster I cannot catch up with any thoughts I have to turn it down okay off that’s a better choice and he may be king of the bongo but I cannot take that all into account when I’m emptying my mind thanks just trying to drop off what I’ve been carrying what’s wearing me down a little around the edges catching self-doubt and tossing it out the workout schedule just not working out and the trout flying upstream catching a second wind or some sort of metaphor mixed in before all the ingredients were ready we’re happily steady in a forward lurching sort of way there are plays to be determined and Xs to toss to Os but we suppose ourselves too present in the now to be caught up somehow in such abstract contractions lifting bits out of the middle and leaving little lines we’re twining good times up but not sealing the pickles are wheeling their own deals and we are in the now now now and how how how

juswrite 30 may

when I have dreams like that I can’t shake off the colors the angles and the mirrors too near to see I am afraid to have those silences and the breathing that seems too loud but sleep is better is the weather I cannot do without the heavy quiet pressing down around angled wings and rustling things this night will be different will be better a morning shower will feel right but between now and then the brightness will be with me and the colors will stay calm the almonds and the petticoats the billygoats and the bananabread we are all treading in our complex lives on the compound words we absurdly press before us protecting our interests glimmering shimmerwise my pockets are full of express and the rest of the nest goes up in smoky eyes and absolute nostalgia remember when we weren’t there yet and remember when it was still early but honestly it’s hard to and the rosecolored glasses are slipping down are smudgy and I am trudging through the files begrudging vaguely unfair smiles but we each take our turn earn walks in the sun and sums that add up just right but for me again it’s just night and more of the same to come

justwrite 29 may

the best-laid sandals walk off scandals like nobody’s best pajamas it’s a game no one plays better than those who sleep through the starting bell and swell with attention and importance right in the middle of the third quarter oh here I am and square you are I’d like to tell you all the riddles but the answers come with questions the hidden dimensions the language lessons no one can anticipate the twists of fate fickle like sweet charity the disparity between winning and losing cruising over the Danube and snoozing to lose picking up clues and setting down clowns SHARIKEE is the word I’m trying to remember from the bus hours ago and it’s true I forgot and it’s an easily bought attention or maybe just rented but either way spent in thoughtless pursuit comparing cahoots I’d like to be in and sinking in swimsand before I ever get to the shore what’s more is less and the quarrel rests in the mouth of the beholder we smolder and attention lessens that’s one of many lessons I’d rather be teaching too easily reaching into the heart as the departing pieces are snatched out the doubts that replace lace everything up tight but some bits are missing some shiny glistening edges left raw this is when I decided to realize there are other dreams and if those that seem so crucial in pop songs can go wrong than what else could be better what in other weather seems worth shining for even as rain pours and the yoga moves I can’t do all press through my bones and up against fat where muscle could be at and rounding corners that ought not to be if it were up to me and of course it is then we’d fizzle out what we like and raise up what we want we would grow tulips and say our pieces beautiful bloomings of language wrangling ideas and letting them go glowing sunwise over our heads

justwrite 27 may

but then when I realize I’m not writing I have nothing to say about it there are no words to describe herds of thoughts having bought more days and now straying far from the path catching and collapsing heaps of sheep meryl and otherwise I’m disguising my voice but you can always tell by my words how absurd these sounds appear to be so clear to me so dense and unmentionable if I make cookies that are also brownies who will know the difference and who will know the sameness it’s with lameness I rearrange my thoughts to lay down on the cots of narrow lines roughly defined by the margins enlarging ideas and rumbling fingers onward too awake to sleep deeply until the morning comes again and strums a hand over uneven chords fording various rivers and letting other levees take some time off take a load off for the scoffers are eating up the wheatfields the high yield and the open fields stretching out to elsewhere there’s an uncaring police brigade and a mayor up for a laugh carafe of grape juice in hand and standing in the middle of the square wearing yellow socks the school of hard knock-knock jokes laughing as the smoke signals its own distress pointing out the fire from whence it came but making more of a name for itself in the sky in the wide-open paradise that is blue with clouds you’re not allowed to live there but you can swim in the deep end all day long you can pretend what you like and ride your own bike like in that song that kate likes so much and clearly I like it too or I wouldn’t do something like share it I’d fare it well elsewhere but in this case an heiress of many colors not too rich on numbers the up and comers the bystanders the passers-by and other such group the watchers but not in the singular capitalized sense that’s much too intense to think about and I doubt I’ll deal with that situation any time soon I’ll just hope that by noon of some distant day it’ll play out without me and I’ll be free of needless concern completely unearned maybe bought by a smile but it’s just a vague style I’ve adopted in lieu of the alternative which doesn’t give much of anything to anyone and I’ve come this far in such a way and I plan to stay mostly the same in the smile department anyway so hopefully that shopping will be done elsewhere who can compare any other angle without trying there are too many degrees to add up and not enough separation

justwrite 26 may

having recovered we discovered the apple had to grow from something which had to be planted which had to be cultivated or at least coddled in a pocket for a while smiling quietly in an unsprung sort of way waiting for the day for the earth and sun and water there is so little to ask for and so much to receive when we ask we task ourselves with waiting for answers last night I read a book on Buddhism when I woke up from a bad dream and now I feel more balanced but also tired there are many things to simply accept but this does not suggest passivity is the best action it is not an action there is no attraction in such spaceless placeness and other madeup concepts I didn’t take the trash out and so it’s still there I spilled the sugar and I find it under my feet crunching against ceramic tile there is a smile in realizing where things come from and there is safety in knowing where they are there is no way to know where they will go and so this is the present this is what we’re left with this gift we give ourselves but don’t always accept this chance to neglect which is rarely a good idea this semblance of ambling down a quiet road and waiting for the light to explode never just the right light never just the right angle but somehow it is and when it comes I can finish writing in this vaguely philosophical sense it’s hard to keep up when outside my window three floors down and across to the courtyard hard drunkish laughing crackles through the night harshly sawing in an unseen way hitting high notes the dark windows could do without and so we go on and close our eyes recognizing pleasure in its many forms denying as it does others’ norms

justwrite 25 may

unexpectedly cold but she had a dream and I had a sandwich these are sometimes the same thing have you ever had a tripledecker grilled cheese and when he did she made it special just to let you know he had Nantucket lemonade it came in a bottle and this was new jersey it was a different place and also a different time and she always made this for him I didn’t know her name then and I don’t know it now which is fine she left behind white waxy paper folded crinkly into a bag and off we went into nomore there wasn’t much story after that except the long goingalong and come to think of it our story was very short in the real sense the present tense just four months and a swish toward the elsewhere and sometimes I wonder when that happened or who played the guitar that way who sang songs in that voice and loved REM and MTX and what’s more knew who they were magnetic poetry on the ceiling and the feeling that this was all new because it was there were rice krispie treats and furry happy monsters feeling glad a crocheted afghan and no roommate a tie and sneakers this was along around a while ago short hair and painted nails the feeling that the university is the universe and we are all studying philosophy I made plato out of playdoh and read at open mic nights but not too many I had plaid pants and a dress that moved when I stood still I was the queen of a cafeteria dreaming of what a mongoose might say if he had the chance but this was a dance with forgotten steps and if he were to call and ask how I remember I would say because yes you do too and there are angles and tries and can’ts along the way too many spaces to replace with sense I can’t even mention all of them some varied pains some friends remaindered out of the way a picture frame on a bedside table turned face down at an inopportune moment we choose our pieces and collage them as we will there are many things I miss about that time and many people I wish I held closer but how can we move when we grab too tight we crush ourselves in tiny rooms filled with balloons the light brightness of those we love of those we want beside us those we want to reach out and touch in the dark and if I had a stamp I would send him a letter and he would send me an address and someone would tell me what to say and how not to stay in one place and how this movingforward sometimes brings you back you’d keep track of all the brokenheart pieces a catch and release program rebuilding it’s the kind of art you look at and say I could do that but you couldn’t and you wouldn’t this isn’t your frame any more but maybe it’s a door and not just a window

justwrite 24 may

while I was eating my lunch from a plastic takeaway bag cash and carry at the teatralna square vopak I sat on a wooden bench in the center and watched two dogs worrying three chicken feet watched by an old woman who waited with a deep plastic plate and a bottle of water the woman sitting next to me got up and walked over to talk to her and I don’t know what she said possibly what are you doing and are these your dogs and do you do this to every dog you find and how can you possibly spend your day like this but I was thinking about what happened to the other foot and wondering if the woman’s bag was filled with chicken feet arrested suddenly in their development and useful for nothing but gnawing of dogs a few yards away pigeons walked by with feigned disinterest fearing to glance down at their own spare digits wondering who would gnaw their feet and knowing there would be little to be had but this never stops spare dogs ready for anything they are waiting for mismatched women to bring them something they can use something true enough to examine in the shade of the sometimes Christmas trees naked for the summer season throwing off convention and boldly sunning themselves the trio of piney sirens calling everyone into the great square swarming with color and pressed with summer the ice cream vendors and the sunglasses salesgirls cool too cool for the sunshine they hide in the shade of their own displays black eyes defending them coolly everything glassy and smooth nothing we’re used to but our own reflections looking back looking pale and unready for the change in season we are reasoning with professionalism and wearing black pants the uniform of a sparse cabinet in rotation but sandals nonetheless and the season’s first blister still considering itself but still early I watched and waited and still the chickenfoot giver continued to address her questioner the woman who had sat beside me tossing crumbs of her own lunch to hopeful and slowly watchful pigeons and I have finished my own lunch no crumbs to toss no feet to pass out and an old man looks right at me and sits beside me in the empty bench space after a minute I check the time and stand up to throw my trash away as I exit the scene he leans and lurches into my vacated spot the better side of the bench the better from which to see my dear