not until it is

not until it is

If it is. Going. There is will. There are ways. Days of light. Going inside the growing thing. Obscure. Reference. Distant ring of the obvious gone strange. Totally dark.

Unfathomable. Green. The scene between the two of you. The outdoors. Concern. Growth of an engine. Distribute the cash and carry bottles amongst the living. There is no one who has eyes you dare look into.

You can look over there. Peace be with you. He is overwrought by arrows on the side of the road. Jane is laughing. Hysterical. Naked. In her room. By the window. There’s a light that is looking.

Come over here. Billy picks it up. There’s a line forming to the right. He says excuse me. He walks through the frowns and the misery and the spent out caring. It’s a comfort to be near this unmistaken pain. There’s no pretense in the egg this morning.

Fear and dread in the footnotes. Skip over them. Print is too small, anyway. Nothing wants to be seen any more. It’s all too much out there in the dust, in the wind. Sheets blowing on the line. Like the smell of laundry use to mean something to someone sitting in the next to the last row, by the aisle, of course.

There’s no peace of mind in your pocket any more. Just a worry stone. At least that. Better than the tea at this hour. It’s ok for Mary, right now. John is out still walking everywhere. Yesterday he did feel tired for the first time. It was bound to happen.

Grass is green. There are feelings in the in between of things they’re hiding from the wall. When you look at the shadows, you don’t feel it as much. Henry knows this. He was saying it to Cathy’s girlfriend. They were nodding heads. Commiserating. They know trouble when they see it. They both keep it under their hats. It’s the same stye hat that they’re wearing. They’ve got blue light rings. They’re a team in disguise.

It will happen.

All you have to know is their names.


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