justwrite 21 may

holy moley the rolling pins are spinning out of control cajoling each doughy glob into crust into a rustic reminder of the finer things in life the wife and the mother cleaning up after another bothering no wind any ill spilling into confusion the illusions of sense bench pressed into distressed laurels resting on no morals quarreling in a contentious vein no gain for the wicked no pain for the weary travellers unraveling the strands of demanding paths collapsing the distance into a closer view and what ails you is a tree root poking out of the ground having rounded off the edges bent some hedges sliced cleanly by helicopter blades the faded blue of jeans too clean to keep a steep increase in the minimum wage just trying to save the time to fend off crimes to stymie each attempt at misspelling dwelling deep underground rounding out each doubt a bout of silence breeding self-reliance i will reject the wrong dreams i will join the a-team and the eighteen wheelers will squeal from the parking lot having gotten rotten with the waiting fading into stupidity i'm sorry to see what's happening there it's so unfair to be uncaring so loudly a crowd scene disrupting itself and on what shelf will you find yourself will you be high or low reachable or disgustingly dusty out of touch with a much more reasonable set of associates and the bets you place will chase you into the distance and where you end and where you land is outstanding in your field yielding crops no one wants to adopt dropping yourself on your head instead of neglecting the texting for even a moment whether or not a doughnut is tossed into your field of vision just another collision with reality we plainly see ourselves reflected in neglected mirrors grown nearer by sideview objects