justwrite 25 july

down on the corner where the light goes out where the tide steps about for a nightcap and tips it doffs it if you will to the lady on the pavement crooning at the moon she used to have a tambourine but left it in another scene the will to live to give to shiver in the cool air while waiting for someone to offer a ticket elsewhere it’s not fair but why should it be and how could it be any other way we play but we pay our dues we tie our shoes tight enough we try not to always fight the bluffs just let them blow by let the bright sky turn dark with embarrassed reflections the stars and their connections tell stories in tabloids the glories of nursery plumbers and the crew we thought we knew they rented bicycles and left for the afternoon one Thursday and they never came back we had a plan of attack for how to proceed but I can’t say I need more thought on that one it was a clear-cut case of absolute waste the sandwiches packed left untouched as clues on the old stone wall by the park the part where the train tracks ran out of time and climbed into ivy driving themselves into abstraction the collection of cadillacs and heart attacks all along the gobbledygook were waiting for crooks to steal them but no one thought we’d feel the aftershocks down the blocks and around the corner everyone’s a mourner but some of us still live everyone’s a foreigner but some of us share tongues we are hung up on our own cleverness the further bliss we find behind our own mirrors seeing clearer than the view the truth we set free on our own the tomes we compose while flushing the toilet the dialogue we write in the sleepless night preparing to do battle with the rabble of the next day the mainstays of the economy the rulers of the world wondering and waiting for our clues checking our shoes for indications of the new creations we will inspire before we retire at the distant end of unimaginable days we stay and we teach others to reach and our magnitude grows the heavier the load we can heft the less that’s left to offer elsewhere but we don’t care we are the imaginers of ourselves and the satire left to the elves to divine is lying fine and quiet on the other side of the door and what’s more it’s safer left alone