justwrite 30 march

With its sicksweet smell
its certain scintillation
crooked imagination unfolds
seeps through the dark/ the mind—
posing questions: without hesitation
raised, praised, staged for review—
lips licked thick with appetite,
ragged edges caught on night and wonder

the plunder of midnight consideration:
a weak harvest—crops too beautiful to grow/
ideas planted and dug up, shrugged off—
the fruits of some other wonder
where I’m going next, other subtexts
too uncertain to hurtle forward in any direction,
under and over-correction, constant rejection

(the twenty-minute-late watch
beeps in the hallway drawer,
twenty minutes after some unknown hour,
already passed)

the strands, uncommanded, run rampant,
rushing to unfurl flags, to drag along sufficient attention –
to sink to some unworthy dimension simply to feign interest—
the brisk trade in yes and no—
the rare pause to pick apart a clause
that could grasp a golden nugget—
but that one’s not mine to mine—
the long-imagined shine of opportunity coinciding with availability/ eligibility

this is a self-important text
but insomnia works likewise—
disguised as worry and unabashed confusion—
the illusion that these decisions are so important/
that morning will never come if no solutions are reached—
once more into the breach, the dark parts of things—