justwrite 28 march

when I want to start at the beginning I always end up in the middle so let’s focus on the introduction let’s strum along a melody that starts with a chord you’ve never heard before it’s not the one that goes like and it’s not the one that turns right from wrong-headed hands the scandal is that we can handle all kinds of answers except the truth and I’m used to doing it this way so let’s start again I want to talk about walking home from school the other day it takes an hour from door to door and what’s more I realized upon checking the stopwatch that kept going that I’m knowing more and sure enough another bluff that’s been called how far I can get in that amount of time just fine I’m sure but it used to be a different town around the other side of the spacetime and from my door to Baltimore just one hour no more and the less seen along those highways the more sidewalks talking back I am stunned and undone the markers are less start the reminders the maps collapsed into turns and another right makes it quite to the point where we’re left off except this time it’s just me and leaving from many to arrive at blank I’m filling a bank full of these observations ready to catch as I can and no way to cash out no doubt a piggy full of these would still fly just as easily the sky just as feasibly traversed the worst of the best the rest the test I wish I was passing but there’s no one to give grades there’s no fade to have made there’s no trade in the shade everything’s out on the open everything’s hoping for a man behind the curtain to turn some certain dial and instead of smoke and fire it’s just denial and we file forward to our reward pinning our smiles on our faces lacing our shoes a little tighter we’re brighter than all that we’re capitalized and we’re making the most of it our host can’t afford toast but for this birthday I’ve rehearsed a practical sort of joke the kind you can poke and it won’t hold a grudge we are budging no further forward with the scheming of the beginning and now I’m nearly at the end I thought I’d pretend to try nonfiction but I have a predilection for sound that drowns meaning not completely but sweetly and discreetly so while you can hold onto a few words at a time the rhyme in each line chimes so many clocktowers so many highflowered romances out of your mind that before you know it you’ve grown it into something else a chance at health and fresh air you care too much for sense and we’re entrenched in meaning so I’m simply trying to add some scening that ought to be a word some scenery perhaps you’ve heard instead so well-read you are so green with yellow with colors I am numberless with speech and here we’ve reached the end with no beginning in sight