justwrite 6 september

up in front of the clock we are tocking our talk so it won't run long along the tracks collecting the stacks of goods and services for which we paid while we stayed out of trouble we were searching the rubble for bricks but sticks were all we could break could find into stones and the bones of the matter flipped into cadaverous jawlines with the frauleins still serving from frothy pitchers i am not too sure about this keyboard so be warned about the futility of leaning into proclivity the rhymes won't chyme quite as brightly and i am spelling words notrightly but this too will passover like kosher macaroons with toffee crunch bunched into the middle of the aisle for ninety-nine cents and the past tense of the matter splatters longhandedly into the candidly undecided townhall the candidates brawling it all out in the middle of the circus with no rings all divorced of common sense of course the events telecast for payperview and it's true there were many their voices were plenty and the signs seemed fine until we read them closely mostly out of touch and out of sound the sights delighting in synesthesia and when i feed you muffins i am apologizing for the stuffing they have not got the spots having rotted out from the middle and they used to be blueberries but now they're just blue and you'll have to forgive the lack of flavor the bridge between now and then the empty cabins grabbing for your attention the fifth dimension jumping out of film and music we are grooving and we are losing touch with much of the idle idols of the past where have all the flours gone baked into cakes we can't take due to all the icing calls the hockey falls on its own skates making mistakes and supposing the rosiest riveters to be australian sheep dogs wandering into apartments too small for couches and a little tight for spouses but finding a sudden fit a snug bit of real estate to make the scene greener and such little inbetweener when you know what you want you must haunt it in your dreams and hunt it in between on green screens and blue prints adding up the colors by number and not by bank account but by overdrawn amounts of travel via eyescope eloping through the clouds never shrouded by sleep of the awake kind but enlightening lines of vision into collisions with beauty the duty of a thousand saints fainting in delight with flavors and sounds and when i turn up the volume you solve them all the puzzles nuzzling into my hand the pencil the pen the keys fall away and i wiggle my fingers triggering understanding in a distant manner the planners all full of other people's appointments but we we have our own time