justwrite 11 august

I am scooping up the waiting and ladling it out the window it’s hindering the doing and the brewing is bitter the side of that edge that sledge that hammer the temples falling down caving in on themselves we are toasting our own healths and shelving all the rest there are better there is best we can test our own feet but why bother we can stay up late and rate all the sounds around but the answer is much chancier we are prancing on rooftops waiting for the sleigh to drop having come unhitched waiting for the twitch of reconnection the flying airwild elsewhere I have no complaints but I can always make them I can take a cake with them and eat or serve such undeserved slices I cannot tell how many minutes have been spent in it but more than plenty I am finished with the wall but that’s all that’s it there’s a spit and it’s turning there’s a fire but it’s burning somewhere else and at some other hour now it’s cooling now the nightair blows the silvermeshed moon out of tune and I am sighing in a sour thought the note written in the key of c and the piano key stubbornly playing flats sharply aiming toward the natural but not to be the national inter splintering the countries have their names changing the same for new letters different values scrabble the travel version the relations vacations and exhausting hesitation recalling a prescription but abandoning admissions of unease disease crazy freezes of sense and Popsicle intellect collecting all the straws and choosing which one to draw which pencil lines which colors fined paying up all their coinage rolling along empty pocket alleys calling for the cats to come dance on trashcans skidding on the lids and keeping the night alive far from lonely jazz only forward through to purple and no stopping on the blues