Writing about s…

Writing about something isn’t as difficult once you caught something between the lines. Paddle here to there the doors are left open for us to mope around. With no corners around in the open. I’ve been around, there hasn’t been a time since I realized there was a time for us. For us to understand where we’ve left it all behind. For remembrance of a kind to take us indoor. The indoor expanses hollow corridors voices burst around in rancor. Swift prayers brush the angst of ashes bruised over the floor. Tatter leaves remote as winter sings the last phrases of her grey sun. Shallow by the under hours have they ever come. Rested on the stars for a light to burst our skins ready for a few to collide on the wheels.


What the devil do you think you’re doing there. Can’t you see we need the pizza’s right away. Pull them out, quickly now. We have a line of customers waiting outside. Here take this, put it on top. Yes, this is the wrong box. This is totally wrong. This is totally wrong. No, don’t you see how wrong you are. With all the wrong steps you’ve taken in this light. I haven’t seen you burst as high as you say you are. You’re full of it. Did you know that? I bet you thought you knew that too didn’t you, I burst your bubble there too didn’t I? You’re a sucker. A prune in the weed. What a wasteful of mind.

I can’t see you do anything the minute I turn my back you’re scattering things left and right. Nothing lands where it ought to be.

Next, time, there won’t be a next time. Do I make myself clear. I want you to move quickly, briskly, whatever word or thoughts impend your lively succored head. I want them to be swept clear for the mainframe of your focus. You’re objective should full focused throughout the time you give us here. No  more mistakes. No more gathering out far in the corner of the swing. Pick up the slack.


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