justwrite 3 december

underneath the sidewalk the blazing saves itself keeps warmer the route forward we are tired of making meaning with our words we’d rather you heard what we felt like saying instead of playing along within the lines the colors are fine but the pumpkin is squash and there are no more vegetables waiting in the snow it’s a cold wind blowing but the buttons are all sewing themselves right on singing getalong songs in the back of the auditorium the boring funs around the track counteract the view and it’s true that it’s the same but the game gets played anyway like why do the commercials always work when the recording skips over key sorts of details it never fails the pie gets baked a thousand mistakes at a time but there’s no worry no rush no foul no fuss and we don’t even have to play baseball to swing that one we don’t have to trust a busted set of chops hopping over the fence into the woods and through the other side of day we are playing those songs that we used to remember but now we forget and we’re wondering when it’ll hit us that all that’s past is gone and the stronger lines have already been spoken the TV remote has always been broken and we haven’t got a chance I was never one for dance of the public sort the distortion of mirrors is not enough to bluff this viewer the truer the look the faster the exit and it would take a lot of smoke to shoot down that attitude to light that fire all the drier sheets in the world couldn’t lap up that static and when the sound comes in from the hall I will wonder again if it’s a child a cat if it’s a scattering anything that needs to be gathered up there’s too much time on the screen and not enough on the clock and when I pick up what I’ve bought I’ll wonder about the receipt I will keep the records discreet but when you play them save them softly ride them like rafts into crafts of different sorts distorted or purportedly straightforwardly those are for you and the usefulness has worn off I am scoffing at my feet in the double socks and slippers and I am still not taking anything off I haven’t got anything to hide but I’ve tried to seek and tried to find and pay no mind to the time it takes to look and the books I’ve still to write are waiting in the overthere and they can stay for now they can sit for now and they can roll over for later we all have our own best tricks