long
hours whetstone or waterstone but heavy against an oiled wall. no chance to
improve no one to praise us such internal motivation. Inner City Blues, manicured
problems, so facial, so impolite, we know something is wrong. hang-ups and letdowns
and bad breaks; taxes on mediocrity or feelings in ditches while neighbors knew
before it happened. so much color such digitized responses such prejudgment—our
dispositions our calories our bacon with rice pudding. a bit left a bit gray
while Al Green mourns Grits. how have we judged each other? how have we forsook
each other? but it seems we adjust well.
a problem with breathing or an issue with dying while trying to fit
in-between. a bag of laundry a ceiling with binoculars while many spreads the
walls with peanut butter. it can’t be
living, such shady finances, bills to roofs and above to skies. a toothache
might cost much, bloodwork is more, while gas in now close to five-dollars a
gallon. but heyday or haystack a needle too small to cause such distress. a
smokestack a firehouse a farm inside-out; a fever a gut a miracle according to
St. John. too much to slowdown or too little to pull a job, or known prior to
arriving. can’t blame us for needing – even more than companionship – albeit, a
person is a wonderful garden. a xyst path a set of watching trees or sparrows
listening to the unsaid. it couldn’t be living it couldn’t be that way, while
we praise total invisibility. or sudden into atmosphere a person steeped in
study as it professes its presence – such facts on abstracts on photoshop on
the preacher’s radio. aside a pew near a backrow a few bibles dance in private –
a girl knows haven or hysteria, or gate hounds – as living in shadows or
studied for more while intelligence is watched keenly. such sweet blues
arhythmic music or asthmatic jazz.
