31 january

honestly creativity is one i'd need to see more of the floor of the fauna the door of the sauna heated up the window written with words and pictures absurd in the clearly defined and unlinear nature the whirr of bees in the treasonous business of honeycombing the roaming of spider webs the easy treble clefs we've leapt over and under in the basest of reasons our seasons have endings but pretending they are now will hardly make the living lighter -- brighter to the sky and higher to the wire like the tighter rope to fly and the thicker goose to try out for an alarm clock listening to the morning adorning a wester coast a chance for remote to change a channel to arrange itself whether the numbers are the same or the keys get all estranged in the oddest of all ways -- and i've played those roles before and i've opened many doors just to find more waiting down the hall and extending corners, the silent mourners shaking their heads -- even as we've read the obituaries, even as we've traced the tributaries: where do we start versus where we end up are all kinds of parking lots to drive through and talk out like doubts circled in highlighter and declared and i'm scared and i'm willing but the billing gets top treatment though there's plenty of fees spent on the admission just to stare down at your feet: get up while dancing's easier and watch the sky expand in treats of wonder - easy as the starry blunders trial and error the circles of light, the dark and the night, the morning and white-faced sandwich calendar with guts all wondering open and the pages flipping wild -- just a flapping bird unhinged and the months weeks days compiled in a random flood of minutes that no one can hold quite down as the seconds drip from hours and the lights flick out in town

30 january

even as the odds rise it's a quiet place to turn still / let me call you sweetheart / let the records break and the mountains climb molehills / chill and release as the tumblers clink and the ice thinks things through: true enough! the bluff is called and the listener glistens (mine is not to wonder why the words are said the palms are read the dark is night enough for me) let us all rejoice and sing from different books the easy cooks and far-off scenes (trampolines and springboards as the clocks run on past 5) we are all alive and camping through the daybreak fire brigade as the apple orchard picks itself first place in the fall parade: queen and princess at the carnival and blossoms in the spring - all the seasons for the vegetables and the seeds with packets strings and catalogs (the backlog from some other decade overplayed and under-researched) plenty of hurt and other good songs - we are the wrong that could have been righted - we are the books that cannot be knighted - i meant to say that story was great - i meant to tell you of some other fate but the words kept pooling and the tongue mischose the lines to connect them i thought to redirect them but let me say there are other ways to play along the strongest thoughts caught in the net should be shaken free and the takeaway is thankful and well worth and to reassert there's no need but indeed a pleasure just to measure those spaces those unbuckled laces tied occasionally in bows to suppose the whatifs and the hownows had cousins of maybesos and even though the haze lays thick there are no tricks to see the now blank filled no worries what's willed or wilting into building blocks to tickle anyone's anywhen clocks

29 january

keep me honest. ten minutes and in it to the end there are extended circumstances to dance around in to abound and expound upon the wrong side of the bed the back wide and unfed the kettle drum the ramparts and other sides of the castle stormed by norms and performance anxiety: so much piety and no one is humble! so much power and still such a mumble! we have skills and we cannot share them out loud -- too proud for an overbear, too shrouded in underworn raincoats and underthroated sighs (ours are not the reasons why -- ours are all the hours flying in the face of reasons: keep us please from marveled treasons fed from darn unraveled pleas and thanks and outer banks of mission statements -- waking tents and closing parentheses in natural surroundings) hounding the dogs on the banks and clanking around the the speakers of the house: mister g, tear down the wall! ali g oxen free: come one, come all! we are all the answers to our parents' wandering eyes! we are all the guesses that we could have better disguised! let me play a different tune while sergeants march and pickles prune: we are each the choristers the barristers the temple scribes~ know us before we arrive and we will dance the waltz with you! we will tie your running shoe so you can make your grand escape before the sun has turned too late and all the walls have come undone... leave me now to turn unstrung and i will unhook as i fall - as the evening cannon ball imagines scenes from civil wars and calendars of colonial doors: these are the things i can do without (come on) - the balking from views and the easyclose truths are the science i can't take when the baked eggs break (where has all the boiling gone?) (when were carrots metal?) these are all the paragraphs and this is how a muffin laughs - this is how the fox grows even as its tail blows answers in the wind, the growling that begins as a smile in a throat and the boat that is your abdomen hoping for the best rowing with no arms but will in no water but air - compared to seas there's something to be seen and in this scene there's a developing current unnamed but mapping as a warming trend a map i'd lend a marker to darken the greenstream it so seems and so themes admirable indeed from this angle well pleased

28 january

from the floor the ceiling is farther than the sky and the music sets up right to turn through rather than on or off: listen or don't and i will go about my own scene - drift on your own stream and i will swim anyway there are currents and also trends but in the deep end handstands are less demanding than in those shallow pools though who can see you sticking toes through the air yes the care apparent the stare is wearing thin and the boats don't float close enough for rescue - you guess true enough: there's a bluff to be called by a willing listener and a lunch to be tossed like so many salad ballads (why for the beckoning? easy enough on reckoning even as the fridge refrates, takes the cake and eats it too) wild like glue in the sticky steps adept at licking lips and forgettting to swallow whole flocks like a tooling box that has no nails even as the sails don't catch the wind won't bet and the curtain's won't call - i will fall even as you turn - away as the night comes up the dark burns - line breaks marked as the yards get hashed - bag goes in as the junk gets trashed - but also there will be introductions - also conjunctions replaced like and for but - no one likes chocolate which everyone does - gut is the reaction is the skillset that i have - even as the phone rings there's a smile to be logged - clogged like a couch where the rest of the plans went - when i leave i will still water the plants --- water the plans instead and grow them -- why wait on anyone anyone why wonder on the rightround record no deal why pause for applause why pock those lips why peck those chips why chocolate that festival why salad those days why come when called i am busy with real so real and anyway what's the question

27 january

dark white and the light's fantastic enough to see by the easy pie breaks apart in split pieces the catch and release is an easy system for people but the fish pull back and track their sprints catch the glints of their scales as they measure their paces imagine the races they might be running when suddenly they're sunning themselves unaware their healths are being toasted roasted with vegetables uncrossed are the thoughts that they never had feet in the first place and in the worst way they'd imagined seeing africa and the traffic there is minimal on some days but the plains states of the USA have their own graces for saying and saving and this is the way the table is laid and this is the way the napkins are splayed for dinner dates or fancy plates like thanksgiving but getting back to the fish it cannot be missed in the general sense although the dreams that were floating were caught in remote chances the dances of a thousand bubbles the korbel factory tour easily scored with classical waltzes in the promotional videos and however they may know the scoffer in the back of the line the feeling fine unwined diner has something of a reminder to say the play of the day again no catch this one's a pass this one's a fail this one's a market selling a boat without a sail there are oceans aplenty and sauces without dishes but the weather at the table is a beauty without misses we have made our own mistakes and we will have our own rewards but the pictures that develop are the scenes in fine accord

26 january

while the premise is factual the story will be fictional. all of the characters are real. the character named in the title will be joseph c. this is his real name. indications are that he is not joseph conrad although there is no certainty about whether this is or his not his actual surname. the only likely certainty is that he is not the actual author of heart of darkness and other such works. that the evocation is certainly evocative in a literary sense cannot be denied. the scene is a restaurant. the day is a sunny day. it is not a sunday. it is a saturday. this is both possible and true. brunch is served on both days. truly brunch is served every day. only on one day in this particular establishment is brunch served through the particularly engaging situation that is a buffet. this is not that day. that day is sunday. this day is satuday. a sunny day. the lack of buffet indicates the increased importance of a waiter. enter the title character. the indication of the importance of this character will be indicated to the reader by his appearances in the title after the style of a russian short story. the ending will not be tragic although it will not be magical. there will be no firebird. there is a fireplace in the restaurant although it will not be lit during the course of the story. it's brunch. fires are not always for brunch. there is an indication here that a fire is somewhat lit. the diners discuss this. there are two diners at this table. a two-top. the author has heard this lingo at some point. the author is uncertain of the authenticity of this lingo and will not repeat it. two diners converge and converse, one with child. to clarify, with a child who has already been born. so many words and so much to mean. the diners discuss whether the waiter is lighting a fire. one head shakes, one head nods. potential for vicarious living. potential for denial of potential. potential for pretending that something else is going on instead on some other front. potential for flickering. potential for doughnuts. potential for stopping before starting. potential for potential. potential for paying the bill. potential for tip. potential for leaving a number for joseph c. title character. story potential. begin.

25 january

even in the dark there's a lighter load to bear up to whistle down there are nonsense words aplenty when you bushel apples by the score and conduct your business by the haypenny money cents and rapid fire makes the marsh mellow enough to sink your toes into your snow's see-proof and what that means is anyday dreams are easycome true it's as simple as you can wish and the fish you eat when you climb out of sleep when you're finished with a run in a memory that might be a dream in a half-hearted shrug that slips like a stream through an album that hurts to entwine through an attic that mines too many gold hearts and stars and blue moons all the same flavor in a recent revelation that's the froot loops story in all its gory details flailing around in milk spilling out and crying the crayons the sensitivity i have got a proclivity for telling you my secrets where you are the one listening and i wish for the best and the rest of the day i play it out i trickle down doubts into no other streams into anywise themes there's no comfort there so where and why and the try is the error it's kafka it's the trial it's the shore it's the mountain it's a fountain of allusion it's the truth in confusion and i have lost interest in food but the rudest part of worry is the sense of falling farther and the carving of the pumpkin facing in without the track without the suit without the useful pieces seeds and all the call and all the answers i am checking off the boxes let me stop and start again as the roll down hill continues deeper breaks and breaths and even keels the wheels are hard to hold but the bridge is something manageable the cannon balls will call their own bluffs and even barns can stand it abandoned and homeing the owls hay and all the musty stalls and cats and bats and dan deacon songs from nowhere sudden the pretty lights aurora wild borealis styled and all those dreams those teeth so cleaned in west northwestern yes