justwrite 6 march

There are minutes here and they are adding up they are cupping their hands to their ears and steering clear of stop signs on and on they go the flow is infinite and the tea is double-tagged we are givers of advice and the spice is in the pudding in the proof and the science isn’t math it’s a scratch pad of forgotten logarithms skimming off the intellect and collecting in vague pools the whirls and spools of twine threading their way the way that we play our songs to ourselves we are listening but the messages aren’t always clear we fear our memories are uncertain and we fear being forgotten toppling over we are straightening up into posture we are fostering the people and other bands the commands we practiced have lapsed and all the standing up has left us nothing to sit on the dipthongs and other pronunciation ideas have left us in peace in pieces of worry in hurries toward the back door the score hasn’t been kept for ages and the cages are pretty rusty at that the cattle calling out for suggestions raise other pretensions we are the cream of our own crop they stoop to say they conquer on the way and by the way they don’t mind telling you it’s a felon who robs his mother of pride it’s a wide river and hard to cross but the floss will get you through true enough and balancing rough edges and driving on foggy mountains at night we alight in the quiet escape with our groceries and novels we are here and the leaves have waited to fall to call us from our cities and cement trenches we are posing for a picture in ridiculous relief the goats and chief among them the watching-over elder who misses not a thing as we bring our feet with us through the gate and out into the pasture what matters is what he decides and we walk on as the decision is chewed over