justwrite 27 april

there are flowers and there are hours and hours of glowering leaves making like trees and screaming green thoughts in bright ecstasy a cover version of religion marketed under original copyright delight and the gist of it is the bliss of it all the sense that mentioning reality keeps it real and safe in a pocket lockbox talking our heads off until they spill overfilled with nostalgia i am everyone i have wanted to be and me and me and we have overcome ourselves the elves of our former ideals have tweaked their peaked caps and lapsed into shoes too nimble to use for walking the stockings strained draining all of their names into essence the sense that our tenses are imperfect is a wideopen panorama glamourpuss mistake the wake and the sleep the creeping tentacles opening circles in the air flailing without bailing and answering all the calls in time to leave messages the stressages of avoiding complimentary massages assuaging the vocabulary out of the words and what i've heard is absurd to repeat is too tough to reheat with any semblance of edibility up to date with the wait and we've all had enough of talking and we're balking it's the least we can do the most we can chew with our mouths full