justwrite 10 september

jump another hedge and wedge the steps up and over the window pane no gain for the weary the bleary eyes surprised at another morning in awe of the light and the silence slicing through the clouds they are loud and unmoving and the usual thing is to slip into disappearance but the delirium of pasta supposes another past one without the blast of mirrors and comparison i am seeking the forgiveness for bigness of heart i can not depart without i am a trout in a lean stream and all the rainbows turn earlier corners the mourners have hung flags too tired to fly and the messages stressed are far and far between dreaming of an incandescent light the lamp of the damp pages warming up to dry turning the cleaning gleaning gentle script earlier ripped from a mind and delivered to mine the library is a tool to employ in the excavation of a latemorning sofaplace the space perfectly sized with accompanying warmth the hearth of imagination and other such metaphors never met one i didn't like but there are two or three i could pass by without complaint i am no saint and i never said i was but the buzz of a thousand bees could not make dirt into flowers if you see what i say and you mean what i play over the loudspeakers is out of tune there is noon but it's too late for morning and way too early for night although the fork's a spoon in some circles