justwrite 17 september

following the calling the birds herd into an unheard-of pattern the lantern tilting slightly to spill lightning bugs all over the view the landscape who ought to be a what but objects slightly to being objectified hides in the shadows and wonders where the swallows fly the trained eye sees the symbols but the crashing is much too loud and the volume comes down and down another round of scattered glories and the worries all get washed away like gray in the laundry appearing where once there was white or at least cream but in between the spinnings and the rinsings the thin things have grown holey and the marco-polo scolding of the upstairs children has got to come down has got has ought has aught got not where the others have some but the pudding's too thick and the porridge won't stick to anyone's bones if you ask me it's a tragedy the way that the meat comes first an unrehearsed apology i am telling me and yelling you backward into the past but forward we cast our glances the trances of accidental attention we are at our desks and next the scene changes the war wages on in search of wages of an equitable sort the court of last resort having turned to torte law a raspberry cream dreaming of leaves and teacups the cusp of an invention at the bottom of the to-do list whisked away like caramel twisting up a dimple and into surprise