justwrite 25 august

imagine mourning tomorrow as the end of today the stay can't wait and the date turns late into the cupboard reaching up for another but it's all out and you'll have to try something new some stew everyone's talking about just plenty to go round or at least once and the hours pounce on pockets for leftovers for crumbs strung along a path the last to make it to first place and the chase to be won by manhattan again with the banks again the river laps up those crossed legs and it's the dregs of the mission left behind just a blind eye turned toward the sun just like i always say the hay that's made while the sun shines has got landed mimes hiding inside waiting to pretend it's raining and no one can trust those pretenders those benders of fenders with their guitars and old cars up on blocks to sing the tops off of birthday suits the truth pursued by infamy with a claw hammer and a shopping cart and the scene closes there with no need for repair no evenhanded stare fit to wake the neighbors over or under the influence of garden parties the start is the races is off like a horse without a course and a wind without a wave just like the permanent fixture in overly forgivable hair i have got to apologize for all of this tryingness it's just a phase like everything else it's just a shelf i've got to sit up high on and spy on the rest of the present trying hard to become the future but turning instead into the past