JO KATA 1-31

Every day I hobble out to the mud
to wield unbalance in these plastic shoes
try for that easiness that pays no mind,
moving the non-stick stick through air
letting it crash over my head to the dense clogged earth
wobble pivoting on this plot between plots
I used to call Mathew next door mathematics
and he called me kiwi
now he’s a real estate DJ but still comes home
to party in the treehouse
and I’m out here moving through space, it’s so hard to do
maybe he sees me, i’ve always been around
trying to grow or kill things
I flip the non-stick stick, try to let the golden sky be seen, 
it’s so hard to do
hear the sirens and the seagulls, a far off train,
so hard to do
last night I waited for the light to change, 
people of the night were pushing and chasing
slouching and straightening
flimsy barriers, the manual locks on my doors, rudolf red
blood behind my skin, and theirs
me, the inside air, the outside air, and them
girls in thongs and santa hats, Krispy Kreme, Office Max
me spinning, tripping, remembering to not
remember -- the air's still here, it never stopped,
plus all this mist that pays
no mind.