justwrite 22 october

Young rain stains its path as it trains its hope downward there’s nowhere else to go the air flows and the season breathes in we are listening for clues the useful answers dancing past their casts of thousands dropping in stopping by we well and we buy we try on for size and in the meantime I wanted to add something about color these are the numbers we remember these are the slumbers into November as my eyes close and the novel opens the right page the first stage and on come the characters bringing all their ragged baggage and other trite metaphors representatives for ideas that we’re afraid to mention the inner dimensions let out to play on vast white pages the curtain raises hope and the exit is still far off there are so many words to herd in the right direction no time for correction and the black and white spots moo into motion the easy devotion to practice to chewing a cud to nursing a muddled thought true to fruition there’s benefit to listening the tongue so fastglistening can also rest can pause between tests there’s no skill to being sharp there’s a shot in the dark and a tangled departure if that’s how it’ll be then take one for free and I’m off skipping maybe a stone maybe sinking maybe linking verbs into absurd chains the daisy plains waving in the breeze the forest and the trees the lentils and the cheese we are imagining the best and we are creating it the rest is not for today the rest have their own way and we see different colors we see we please ourselves and look outside there are windows and they go both ways we imagine some other phase and our fingers keep moving grooving into the keys and busier than trees by which I mean bumbling over stumbling blocks we have clocks but they don’t have us our certainties rust if not tested we too easily grow nested in comfortable stacks build up against attacks and forget to check the weather you could stay in there forever and send out for updates order in for cupcakes and when the rain comes when the floods wash away when nothing gold can stay you’ll forsake even frost and forget what was lost when all that’s clung to is what you’ve hung to the insides of the walls and there’s nothing outside at all from such an inside view and it’s probably true that I’ve lost you along this strand but it’s not canned it’s fresh and it’s not tex it’s mesh and if that’s what’s coming next than I am searching for a wreck to sail away there’s more time today than I thought there’d be and I imagine the same to infinity like tomorrow when the sun comes again as I imagine it’ll do then there’s much more that seems true enough to hope for and there’s a rope for climbing out but there’s another for pulling along and if this is a boat if there’s an over-wise goat then I don’t know where it’s going but I’d like to ride along and if you were to sing this back to me I’d laugh straight at your song