justwrite 17 august

i was journal writing i was igniting delight in the dusk and the cusp of each wave raged in its own glory there was a salty story to be told but old bread instead of rabbits as the saying goes as the dust explodes its own potential destroys its own dimension in the lessons of another crowd too loud for paradise too nice the dice that hold these folds flats we are all plaid today we are all paid to play our roles and to eat our tolls for dinner swallowing down birds absurd words and happenstance the chance of a lifetime which you have earned with each breath and what's next is the enlightenment or if you've seen that one before play the renaissance and spell if more clearly than the new windshield after the rock truck stuck in fast forward back from the mine from the quarry and the story there is never to be told the bold struggle buggling out its eyes in surprise each time the clock strikes its own face the chase is on the case is beating itself about the bush you said to push and i said how high you said we are all our own worst and i said you have never been a bother and any day now we will wake up facing the wall and call out for each new leaf to turn a kinder cheek and the orange and the red instead will rustle but the echo will be closer and the warmth will kindle kindly closer and the open-ended smile will fill in with teeth and there will be no biting no dust no rust in the joints we will reach toward each end and the leaping will go on long into the next new day with the wooden furniture waiting its dusty turn