justwrite 23 february

I been thinking about havin the g’s dropped off I been wondering waiting supposing there are tragedies in the trees there are situations amazing and foundless we are writing words I’m just using sounds I am tired of hoping thinking about moping but what a waste ready to get into bed instead of writing at night I should wake up and go to it but still I would write about a desire to be in bed not elsewhere in the cold cold whatever night or day I would like soup but the kind you swim in if there is such and of course there isn’t we’re winking and blinking nodding in the least suave sense have I mentioned the desires we have to fire the bosses as well as the ovens up and through baking too many broth-spoliers into the mix we’re well fixed for drinks and the sink’s full of dishes that someone else ate from there is no oatmeal there is no spoon there is instant coffee and also there are bananas I cannot figure out these messages I am tired of pretending not to wonder and I am missing and missing and missing but not allowed to ask by whom by what by some sort of answer I cannot grab cannot grasp and instead I swim deeper into some other distraction here we go ‘round the somethingelse bush like the wheels on the bus going round and round all through the town all on a Sunday morning all through mourning but don’t want to start again all through the adjustment of alone again naturally there are no reasons to reopen the case the facts are still clear the sky still veers sideways under closer examination I am a microscope with telescopic hopes I have no stake no claim no name to give that sentiment nostalgia and emptiness with other goings-on not so going-on and while some are going strong the sun still goes down the town still turns dark and reading someone else’s thoughts printed long ago are not the ones I want to hear are not the same as you my dear and I’m sorry it’s ridiculous but I’m not sorry about honesty and this is where I leave you a book I just read but now I’m on to stranger in a strange land and nothing’s no one’s holding that hand waving free and cool in the winter night