In the sink. Everything is everywhere and everyone again. Until you say hello. And a character is listening. A listing of saved documents.

There is a voice. And I like it. There are voices. Should I call them that still? What does it mean? Is there ever only one? And speaking. And writing. And getting it right. In the moment of it.

I write to make it happen. It is now. It is happening. There are different ways of it going, to be going on. Going to be going. And seen that way. To be that way.

And then reading back what is written. And there is something to say about it. Something to be said for it. About it. Something that’s beyond it. It is interesting.

Spoken for against, to go on living. In case of glass, don’t break it. Today is a Sunday on a Monday kind of Thursday. We were thinking, and it was okay. The implementation devices in collusion with a hand-to-finger ratio arrangement with a pen, a keypad, a keyboard, finger pointing, scratching and inscribing the inscription. Scribe script scripture. Knife and brush. A cool, long painting. Choosing what exactly? My heart, beating faster.

Going against the grain with another grain. Talking out loud. On the phone. Long distance. And remember. There was something in the details. Just stay where you are. Overture and overtime allowed. For us, the beginning once again is starting to believe. Be clear towards the date of recompense. Over in the bus. Some things ring more true than others. The best part is when you lose sight of it, but are clear to all of it.

If I had any encouragement, people would know it and look out for it.

A paragraph will fill in feeling for you. Over in the basement, baseball diamond cutter, fortune smiling in a different hat. Be careful, just enough to let them know that you’re not going overboard overseas overnight again to prove a point no one wants to argue with to start with. Painting by numbers and a dog named Trigger. Johnny-Walks-A-Lot. Jane is interesting crazy. And Jen looks out a window. She is waiting to see what or who. Trigger, the dog, wags his tail.

Johnny-Walks-A-Lot is following the sound of water running underground. Sometimes, it is understood that it is underneath.

When there is enough, then it is done. Okay by me.



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I am mjboyce, author of 2 novels: Monkey & Anderson (Pedlar Press). Working on my 3rd novel & a book of poetry (sort of). I also make photos & music.