justwrite 14 april

curled edges bungle the hedges out of their rows and off into the corn born again repeatedly in defeatedly complicated situations the stations pre-set on the dial the tone roaming alone but seeking gnomes of some consequence drenched in the trenches and wrenching commitments like the bit parts played on stage snapping fingers in lingering rhythm the schism between the have-yachts and the not-gots and what i want to know is who will write the wrong songs if i'm gone and who will throng to what empty hour cowering in lonely homely spaces the wide-open chase to the finish the race to begin it again and the scam of seeming inaction gaining traction and trailers but if you want to fail here's the ticket let's lick it and stick it to your envelope address it to the press it's a real scene you're making a heart you're breaking up against the dancehall fenceposts the walls with the most give to receive the regrets the reprieves not offered the toffee not scoffed at the coffee not cupped and the trouble bubbling up when it's bread instead of oranges the tournament goes to the peaches the far reaches of seasonal misdirection but i am can not wait to wait longer for a stronger flavor a layer of confusion the bruising on my left hand commanding my attention but if i could avoid rhyming dimension i would you must believe you must retrieve the lunch from the sack and track back a sudden daughter a slick young otter from another river bigger than a picture soon to be a fixture in the baby news after a topsy-turvy cruise on a paperwork tsunami and i'd also avoid salami if i could which would be good but i can't and so i shan't