justwrite 6 may

You are on my map I said and the collapsing folded in those who weren’t adapting came unshuffled and huffed their way offstage we’re caged and bottled but all the problem solves have already done their work and are off dealing with picnics at this time there’s no rhyme here and the reason is a little thin but remember in the beginning what the goals were and who cares about the mirror who cares about the steerer and the road there’re explosions in the sky and some of those are lightning the missions some of us are on imagining that the others are wrong or at least a little off we’re wondering who to scoff at and who’s right fighting the dark with colors and light and maybe it’s just superstition maybe it’s a lack of total inhibition but acting out and carrying on have a lot to say have plenty of ways to present themselves what are the reasons we can leave and why can we keep away who will I be when I’m not this one who is other will I also be other or will I someone else the felt thoughts dampen in the rain and form fuzz in the twistturn wondering who will I be and what should I do to get ready when this couch is not waiting for me in the other room and the cool air of early summer night isn’t pressing through the screen between the cross-courtyard windows and my own steaming bowl of soup cooling vaguely on the table where I left it there is only so much soup to be had at any one time and that’s fine with me though someone entering the scene at this time would be certain to ask what is that soup doing here and I would be certain to answer it’s waiting for you and so it would be and if someone eats it after this is written and that someone isn’t you it’s only because you didn’t get here soon enough