justwrite 7 march

days have passed the past has laughed and the future can’t get itself together there’s weather to be bypassed and winter still to outlast but we’re moving right along and the floor is mostly clean we have thrown beans all about and doubted their growth the most of the least of the dimes of the times new roman has been wandering about all the clout and none of the sense and here I’ll mention a highway man and a birthday charm there’s no alarm like the kind to turn off there’s no carbon that doesn’t get moleculed and the jeweled hat you’ve taken to wearing has little to thrill me even comparing with an accidental ball cap wrapped around Americanism the schism between tourism and belonging we’re longing for the decisions to be made so we can fade gently out but there are too many trout in that stream too many words that I can’t dream and when I see the sky open I hear the shriek of recognition the sudden snow brings and the children still play and the swings still creak we are waiting for the scarves to be unwound to bound across the mud into something more solid still the snow falls out from below and yet we’ll get there we’ll fare well and eat enough and across the courtyard men untuck their hands from winter’s pockets and shake hello and shake goodbye we will see each other again and we will do the same thing we go around and through the tunnel and the women stuff their fingers into the corners and wait for their phones to ring we are bringing ourselves sandwiches and also wine and we are dialing all the digits that add up to delivery but it never comes it always suns itself on some other website burning up its half-life in a radioactive scene we know what we mean and we have plainly met our matches in the darkened kitchens wondering about the pilot light and hoping for the captain to turn on the right sign you are free to move about the cabin and we will keep making progress anyway you can read your magazine you can preen your eyebrows and your dreams and the story will keep going last night my dreams were longer than my day and the green ink took up two pages while the black ink of reality took maybe five lines I didn’t leave I still won’t grieve the passing but the class has got to be answered for all that entails with the fails sailing backward and into their seats meeting recovery and knocking it square in the eye I am the king I am the sky and all of those other ideas are waiting for their finger-realization but their current destination is to be announced for by this point they’re trounced by stagnation and there’s no information as to when this state will abate