justwrite 8 march

I’m telling myself not to get stuffy there’s nothing to be gained by losing a grip I trip over my fingers and gnaw on my knuckles like unlucky suckers dancing in the gutters we’re spluttering along and almost out of tissues but the disuse of those sneakers is creepier the closer that vague race runs tightly strung like overtired hamstrings after a calendar bout we’re trout and also rainbows but the fiddler is ready to come down and it’s a bow it’s a show with no waiting no seats and no dating on any sort of schedule where any means none and the pond and its scum can get along fine just you yours me mine and our overwondered fingers lingering in the air as if smelling a better spelling of opportunity and freezing the breeze for another time another basement dime I spent calling an important number I cannot now remember the fenders and the benders and all the characters we lend in endeavors without end it’s a project it’s collaborative the give and take is a mistake worth repeating we’re heating in the moment and passing on the doughnuts but if the clock keeps doing that then I’ll be forced to take action an undeniable attraction to anywhere else just a stealthy thought caught in the elevator shaft laughing its way toward a door and it’ll be here any moment but for now we’re going to zone it off limits and swim in some other river that might as well be right for now or at least headed that way