justwrite 25 june

Aside from the rest of the events the middle was fine and the happily ever after that could have been left instead earlier than expected and we hadn’t all caught on until later but when caught up I would like to begin again the strand frayed and I stayed well off-course and of course I’ve tried to start again and again I’ve drifted the feeling has lifted and the heft has settled mettling in the affairs of rain and also of dark we park ourselves in chairs benching the pressing and missing the messing around the active track set aside I’m hiding all I have to pack I’m keeping all I have on track and the all-else that will fail is the summertime that rails against the cool is the pool full of insolence and the splashing that ensues I’ve proved time and once more the scores of all these games don’t matter the scattering of clues gives us nothing to look for we cook for ourselves and stumble into trouble we’re scuttling our cabbages and keeping the beets aside I’d hide if you would seek and I’m keeping my eye out for an empty space to place myself the health of all involved the wonder of how it’s solved I am tired of telling off the scoffers I am the listener but my mouth keeps moving the semblance of soothing don’t be alarmed be charmed and we will prevail nothing to fail us now the feet tripping over themselves to be first unrehearsed stanzas clamoring for attention the dimensions lost in the poor practice the levels of meaning seeming thinner than usual the focus on the litter rather than the literal with abstract stretching through the contractions of useful motion the release and the feast to follow I ought to be taking out more trash to be running farther than sitting to be passing out open-toed mittens if such things existed I will give you what I have if I can find enough to make it worth your while here’s another and here’s for you I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience it seems this is my stop but while I’m jumping to the platform imagine how you’d perform in such a simple setting the book I’ll write is called becoming nonfiction and if I gave you that title it’s yours but I can keep it myself if you’re full up

Becoming nonfiction is the story I will tell about facts a character who is real but not real she feels and she is leaning into truth so hard she expects to fall through and wake up in reality or maybe it is about a person who feels life is too storybook and takes the opposite turns to force existence or it is about an author who tells stories and does not live them she writes fiction and her life becomes mundane she turns into a shadow an abstract and doesn’t think to eat strawberries but instead feeds them to her characters she gives them the gold and perhaps even they wonder why she doesn’t keep some for herself