justwrite 25 february

this is the end of part one this is the start where the fund runs out and the paddles haul upstream all the water there’s too much fodder to grow from I’m turning dumb but the interest is compounding the results are astounding and the bank is overwhelmed the other captain’s at the helm it seems because this one careens along the deck with half of an idea sticking out of his head and it’s better off lead read nothing in the paint nothing but a faint smell of wax the floors are being done but there’s no way to tell in advance until you step from the stairs and into confrontation that’s no way to save the nation to unite the stations and keep everyone broadcasting right the waves the saturation point the media disjointment I am hungry for something different and tired enough to sleep until it comes until it’s clear that fear can eat itself for breakfast and leave the rest of us to plan our own lunches when the crunches come I’m all bent out of shape slumped over and over there’s a treasure trove of sounds but meaning’s harder to come by there’s an unwinding sense of perspective an easy directive with corrector fluids and the shaking rattle-roll of souls second-guessing themselves their healths and their easy plots having gotten scattered like nothing else matters but a happy ending there’s no use pretending that it could happen the willing suspension of disbelief is a happy relief from circumstance but I can’t take the chance that such a thing might happen here I’d rather cheer the armada and swim the other way than pick hay with my teeth or the other way around I’ve found I’m not interested in sense-making much less tense-maintaining back and forth through predictability if the future is so clear in the past can it be called the present even before it arrives if the conclusion is foregone then where to does it go does syntax pay for itself or is there some sort of cumulative compilation can we create creation out of apathy or is it something else something with fewer ingredients and different expedients we all wait for the popcorn times we all wait for the right dropped dimes to tell us we’re doing it well whatever it might be and when the train leaves the station and the creek don’t rise then all the algebra in the world can’t help you get where you’re going on time