justwrite 23 may

waiting for the soup to boil i will toil no longer into any sun there are rhymes undone by times like these i am breezing through ages of pages in stages many phases of confusion craft a careful street illusion cheap enough for imitation the fascination of the piles miles of results the schmaltz of such certainty the obnoxious delirium the fear of some crumbs being eaten in the path left behind we will never find our way into the past we will last into the future we will wonder how we wandered out of the present with each hesitant step neglecting to direct our finer features into releasers of positivity the smiles you see are a fib but they're short the teeth are made up but the tongue is real this feels like it's happened before we cannot ignore what our brains process but the less that's more is storing up cups of noodles and oodles of suggestions spring backward and fall into a timechanging station there is no need to feed those expectations with heatlamped clams or alligator sauce we will slosh in our boots and wonder about galoshes the oshkosh having gotten out bygosh and by hook or crooked straight they will make those rough places plain enough to scuff again