justtwrite 28 march

One more go at the show of an insomnia bouquet we play our parts but the start is hard to follow and the middle’s much too shallow we’re fallow like fields that can’t yield the wonder the worry the plunder of pirates stealing the stage caging all the geraniums and leaving the roots to rust can you trust that sort of logic can you toss sense out of reach I am slow on ideas still they’re spilling everyelsewhere there’s no way to compare potential with dimensions of possibility the truth we see and the numbers we add up the coupled digits and the illegitimate fingers pointing out the lingering the doubts we sing on the streetcorner merrygorounds we’ve found our offices convenient but the lenient press can’t have their shirts ready on time can’t wine while dining can’t spit while shining this is a topic I can’t stick to an unworkable glue and an alabaster brush the way certain words herd themselves together the feathers we’re all of forever and forever the whether or not the dawn and the lion the witch and the wardrobe the earlobes heavy with mis-aimed commentary staring back in the face of interruption what I’m not getting done is piling upward an absurd number of pages upstaged by running or juice or eggs without end we’re pretending I’m a writer we’re pretending I can do this and sometimes that’s enough but you fall and catch your bluff even as it passes you by plummeting down it slips and someone else calls out yes I see it I see it and I can get it for you if you want but it haunts you and you see through to the end of abstraction the contraction’s over and all that’s left is the apostrophe where something better might have been