post 24 november

would you know it was your author if he sat down beside you if she tried to confide in you that she knew everything about you and couldn’t help you still couldn’t fill your voids couldn’t help you to avoid pain what about that name and other considerations would you face with hesitation a conversation about your destination would you want to know or would you push away would you deny the possibility would you exercise free will are you still asking who this is are you worried are you thrilled what questions would you ask what task would you take him to what wringer would you put her through and what about when you were three and that didn’t have to be but now it was and then it is and the tenses get all mixed up if the future is already known but can you just stand up and walk away and what will he say and how will she stay away if you are the creation can you live without that pen can you go on without that song being sung to you along the way through lifting you up in the morning into a dawning without warning of some new something a humdrum no-fun or a thrill-a-minute cinemascope there is hope for Technicolor there is hope for no other escape but life but love and all the shoving has got to go but the flow is so easy to fall into like autumn but we’re meaning spring and stringing along like a guitar on the roof of a car and a tambourine seldom seen but between the seats but we will meet and we will decide and when you find the answer you like your bike will not take you fast enough to share the air but when the decision’s in collision with your dreams it seems impossible to reconcile all the while the time it goes the clock it goes and the rain it goes as well in the sense of reality not the abstract you see but the song in my head cannot be read by anyone else but me I thought we’ve got to figure this out as the doubts pile up and the cup overflows as well in mismatched paradigms