justwrite 21 november

now I will tell you a boring story no I can’t there are too many syllables between here and the other end of a clear line of sight the bright lights hit right in the middle of my ears and I’m steering clear of sense there’s a fence so high I can’t jump it I’m lumping all those cycles into a freeze-dried hydropark we are running through the dark and wearing wet hair on rainy days no one needs to pay to play but sometimes that helps along the way there’s a system and the way it’s written leaves me smitten with nonsense the light and the colors but we’ve got other fish to fry or to feed and indeed we have our moments but they add up to hours and I will shower you with reasons why I don’t want to try too much harder there are cans in the larder and gold under the floor but between north and south there are too many east-west fests to test truly to rhyme duly but what can I tell about the smell of such a story the glory of the candidates is lost in their election I have finished this series today and I can play it again but the story won’t change I can rearrange the angle but the view will still be true a piece of a different puzzle in a sideways-muzzled landscape traipsing around with trappings of a borrowed tongue hung out to dry and fried like a newspaper headline minutes before quitting time once the press has got to start once the surgery the open-heart has begun we make debates we take the cakes and we deliver shivering statistics measuring the ballistics and other details failing to flail and mailing each check before it can bounce we trounce all comers and we call all numbers waiting for the trace racing toward the space and praising each name we can spell on our own these characters those thrones we are going into business we are drinking honeyed tea and lemony words absurd theories and delirious weariness drifting us off toward wonder plundering our dreams for fictional themes we can lift to the page and rearrange in stages unlocking all the cages and seeing how they play together whether some other weather will flush out the gutters if the dialogue will flow or the words will all splutter in half-hearted mouths gambling with mixed development hesitant about development