justwrite 20 april

these are the words I have space to write there is spice tonight between my eyes and the sky there are final countdowns limits with me in it to win it I can’t take much less but I can ask for more I’d adore a different score but that’s just how it’s adding up the overflowing cup has too many sippers and pretty soon the dippers aren’t going to be big there are stars and there are cars but only some are in the sky only some essays get first place and the rest chase their tails in never-fail games we play with our eyes closed I’m predisposed to sleep early in this sort of a situation the information I’ve received has led me to believe that gold can’t be lead and nothing much instead of something else is a poor substitution here’s a memory a solution for a blank moment or if you condone it a replacement of the future for a temporary fix it wasn’t quick it was a long drive to arrive the far-south or at least it’s relative and there were relatives but none of my own an easter-egg hunt and I’m much too old and I was then too but it’s a group effort and I understand sleeping in the same room as unsung tunes we’ve never met driving a rental car experimentally far there is no time to kiss there’s no place to miss the family crowding pleasantly close everything exposed and the moments winding wandering we are all thinking about the future but now all that is past now all those rough drafts are tossed aside none too gently totally spent we cannot pick up any pieces still they’re hot still they’ve got some sort of glow maybe radioactive you know you can’t be too careful and so still I’m bewareful will it be a year will it be more you can’t even knock at my door it’s too far and there are no cars or stars or cares or dares that’ll get you there but I’m pretty sure I’d let you in there’s always time for tea but what would we say and how would it play out I have no doubts I’d be mixed up there’s no pick-up from where we left and even if you crash-landed I’d be empty handed with what to give but maybe that’s a lie I’m made of cookies and try and I’ll always keep dishing it out wishing the spout would turn itself off but coughing awkwardly to hide any rush of wonder too easily plundering my imagination even this vague investigation brings up questions but I’m pushing them off and learning my own lessons