you may frown but write it down

but don’t you  want to want to keep going—don’t you know nobody minds you? / will we ever get enough to be filled up, i mean so full to the brim that it’s impossible to pour it twice, that moment when the glass or the canister or the mug is filled perfectly and to take a sip would be ruining everything / fulfilled a foreverness of perfect, and that’s what we’re trying to get away from / leave your clothes unkempt and fly away into everyone on the street, don’t touch merely, remind others that you are similar, and keep in your head that this is all real life, and you can’t just quit when you lose your charger, or your phone ‘dies’ it’s still happening / and you can’t take all this so personally because realization are for the weary the old ones  only have time left for that, you take that sandwich and make the biggest commotion while eating, enjoy it like it’s the first time you ate a sandwich, 1983, road trip to santa rosa, and your grandmother packed you a homemade sandwich, that bread was still warm, oven miles away, nothing soggy, crisp at the creases of your father’s work shirts, although you never saw them being worn, you ruined it, destroyed that sandwich, let all your digestive juices turn it to mush, and fell in the toilet, but don’t you remember how good it tasted when it was still in front of you—that’s what you have to lose track of, and marking tacks on your shoes for all  the years you’ve kept  up with them won’t  help,  it needs to be the empty faces you count while waiting for the bus, or maybe it’s the same hands you see tapping away at the counter when you make that deposit, $38.45 this time, things aren’t looking too good, but it’s the pattered socks and the beard that never seems to make the cut,  the holding of hands, and bitten nails, and eyes so big they might erupt, just hold onto these, and throw away those planner while you’re at it. 

you are wonderful,

casey