justwrite 19 20 december

well it’s hard to tell and when you look at it this way there’s a fair set of plays and there’s a book full of fouls and you don’t need to be an owl to see which way those breadcrumbs are scattered something the matter and the watch won’t tick there’s a stickpin holding itself in at the seams and we all have dreams some of them are simple and some make dimples in the list by their very insertion making certain that there are words in the way of ideas gives others something to hold on to something to mold shoulders against whether it’s pushing or pulling or fooling around the cobbler’s bench that monkey’s chasing and this time there’s a wrench in his plans just a wench in the stands or a maiden with hands laden with something delicious but who wants nutritious when there’s something else to be had scattered lines and lanes allow traffic to stop toppling to a standstill a landfill and a half crafted to its own design finding reminders tied around wrists and fingers the significance lingers but the feelings turn colors we paint by numbers and we learn by blunders but the rainbows close up for the night turning on a different light and this is another story there are many and they never end the tangents tend to find themselves on windy streets meeting the pavement with new songs singing along to uncertain verses waiting for the chorus for better or for worse is the hardest part ready to depart but not quite sure about that itinerary carrying eggs in a basket and dropping them repeatedly assuming’s too conceitedly incorrect can’t neglect the facts even if relaxing interpretation leads to greater fascination we are the creators or our own truths and we’re used to painting out stories to someone else’s greater glories but when it’s our own thrones we’re seeking the news that’s leaking out leads to doubt and the thought of being nice is left to the mice with the scraps and the traps and the foundation won’t collapse but it could use at least an address a point worth tracing home to where it seems quite worth to roam to and all the syntax doesn’t distract just lacks a bit of flow but if you’re in the know you’ve sown these seeds and you read what you shall find you seek what you wouldn’t mind knowing more about having the score about and there’s no rush there’s no fuss while the cannonballs fly there’s a different-colored sky just around the riverbend the trip won’t end but the falling will continue through any season the sideways reasons collect leaves and trees and forests seeing themselves in lakelike puddles doubling as wishing wells collecting tales to tell and hands to hold while the story’s told in unrhymed time