justwrite 2 march

Waiting for a sound I’ve found there are things I’d rather do there are words I’d rather chew through muddle over and under the numbers we add up are cupped like water in our hands landing on feet turned upside down by irrational cattle and otherways-leaning sheep we keep deep thoughts from steeping with our tea but we freeze our wonder in weary diamonds no they’re not forever our weather patterns emerge with urgent relief from abstract topographs the crafty ways we mean what we say when what comes out is something in doubt of veracity the tenacity with which we hold to our useless truths is fair is where we belong when our hearts are on fire I’d retire but there are other places to go first so I’ll go forth and sometimes fifth it’s a risk but someone has to bake that cake has to fake that stake-out and raise that flag if I’m dragging here as is eminently clear I’d like to plead the case that the wild erasures have gone far enough it’s okay to leave something it’s okay to see bluffing as a sideways-written game I’m tame enough to play along sometimes but it’s hard to find sense in a case like that it’s hard to lift tracks from a secondary number what you’re against and what you’re under how you call and how you listen there are missing pieces of any puzzle but the ones you choose to work on the ones you pull your chair up to and listen through with all their jagged edges we are peering over the hedges and seeing what we’ve got we envy what we’ve caught even as we toss it to the waiters as we turn those carbon-daters into stone into sparkle we hearken back to bygone eras the care as we remember it is hard enough to call out is wild enough to flail about on its own gas just its own task measured out in spades and raised on crocodile elegance our malfeasance and other problems you’re waiting to solve them but the oven’s on fire there are reasons that we mire ourselves in happenstance an ugly dance of excuses our realities all so useless when we’re looking for the otherwise the thin disguise between seams and ripping we’re tripping over our own floors what’s mine is yours but I’m also looking for my own