Unpolished Thoughts 12/15/2018
There is nothing here worth talking about.
Blah, Blah, Blah.
It’s one of those kinds of mornings?
I am going to take a detour now.
I am going to go wherever else I can go besides this pain.
I am going to go into sound because that is friendlier.
The sounds of the words are like water dripping off mountain tops.
The whisper of sister summer shelter, climbing, dining. After forever, the clever seven dwarves get together for merry laughter. Sitting with thistle blossoms in the soot-filled river.
Discussions about something or otherwise it makes no cents on the dollar. Crawling creepy-crawlies differ in their differences, one from the other.
Cast a shadow back behind the silhouette of something invisible.
Steal a cookie from the jar of January.
Cool lantern light competes with the moon in the middle of a summer afternoon.
Disappearing meanings that were meaningful once upon a time before we asked the question why.
Silver winter sky.
It doesn’t matter, disaster, it’s just the way it wasn’t supposed to be like that, this, them, us, or whichever this isn’t.
It doesn’t clatter, shatter or matter, as a matter of fact.
Take my mind off the pain in the shoulder blade.
Several weeks and weekends ago when severance pay was paid and cityscapes were scarce amongst the trees, I caught a panther in disguise, trying to reprise his role from a previous lifetime.
Cast iron pans, improvisational dance, masters of war, mirrors and plans.
Whenever winter wanders we wonder what was and what wasn’t. We wait for whatever.
Continue and don’t ask questions because it slows down the process and speeds up the anxiousness.
Soft heart, play a rhythm for my too-serious friends who bend and stretch and stretch and bend. Give them a reason to spend a quiet moment or two inside themselves before the approaching warning of the bitter end.
Cast aside all trumpets and crumpets and jumpsuits.
Feed the dog and the alligator and the refrigerator and the see-you-later.