27 december

sticking to the concrete never fails even as the abstract flails through metaphor the solid floor is stuck upon with gum and other humdrum realities and these are the pickles in which we dip our toes the roses we smell and also the trash when we cash our vacations down to pennies and return to apartments to open doors which heretofore had kept closed this stink we'd kept undisclosed to our neighbors but mostly our own selves and it's our own healths we toast now with opened windows to bring those levels to more even parameters the whirrs of sense that had spun some time ago and so and all we count the calls and keep the counsel easy enough to brush off a cough we thought to simply scoff - no need for remedy thanks, the trash will find its tank - and yet and yet and yet - the path here from concrete to beaten direction is not without surprise - the metaphor, discovered, hovered only briefly before relieving itself into reality again : scandal in the facts! traction gained and nothing gold remains of the glimmering fiction we meant to create - dinner dates and unplanned melodies - those are the trees that have only roots, ours are the sidewalks that never end - those are the stars with guitars caught in avalanches, ours are the nights that go on without watches