justwrite 6 april

remember I was going to write a I was going to take down and the dust was going to flip off the shelves and into a bowl to feed it to history the pages raging overhead we are instead our own worriers we hurry ourselves into the lists of to-do and to-have and we grab our pockets by our purse-strings and we sing ourselves awake we take no chances no prisoners there is no room in this wagon for anything but socks and we are ticking ourselves off we are done with the lists we are resisting wax and other issues we are sucking up the color and growing fat off of the extra the special the once and present the alternate future and a dream of the past blasting through sense and arriving in an alley with a seeming dead end but with a last-minute secret door opening smoothly with the touch of the right hand and not escape but sudden elsewhere-being the kind with breeze and cool pillows that might be shoulders or laps or some other shade of picnic comfort where love is the main idea but sunlight is also pretty good