one thing

There’s the place you pause as the day does its shtick. Then the night either doesn’t like the look of you, or it gives you a pass, and the shadows weigh in. There’s no telling what we’re not telling. How much is only there because they say, how much rushes in once the words have their way. There’s no telling who goes next. One way or another, we all do what we are told.

As it is we move through a world full of no there theres, all questionable foundations and hand me down Santa Clauses. We learn to abide the lies we line up behind, to rest like babes with our heads resting on the block. We die all at once, in droves or alone. Giving it all up to get to the ghost.

So I loiter and despoil along this long last stand, making a mountain from routine of resentments,  sore of body and of headedness. The bed you make is the grave you dig, the fresh hells and what have yous. I’m staggering towards the count, down to the last few threads, and that one thing that keeps me. I write it down, wrong to the very last word.