What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

Oh, Hello…


Oh, Hello, yes, but wait, you should know before we start that I’m really here to sell you this line: the end of everything is in the air. Yeah, so, I’m no salesman for sure but if somehow you bought that one, here’s one more for free: nothing really ever ends if it never stops moving, that is, if air is there to wind it up and never let it down. Ok, now, repair back to the beginning and prepare your salutation again. Ahem. Oh, Hello, there, friend. I see you’re still breathing, well, still standing, still…and well, with no water, the sun sometimes scares me, I’ve seen it still drown at the edge of the empty lake—I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it—and three times makes truth, my grandaddy said—but somehow it always returns, always turns the dark back to gray so white day can take its turn to try and dream up a better breed of dreamers. Now, break the surface and follow the stream no further because this is where it ends, in flash and warmth, uncovered, unshaded, untended and extending wildly, intended more than most can ever see, let alone know.


Lay out the plate after your feast of take its and leaves so that I may lick it clean of after-dinner ultimatum ashes, passing shoulder to elbow with almost all of  the finest slam dance champions only to notice my crawl and grovel starting a gravel brawl between my knees and toes, scrawl those words quickly, clearly and grab a bra for this evening, my love, for gods and mothers want a modest bride to be above all other modern tastes and pleasures, measuring the salt, piecemeal, grain by grain, all into blocks, to give the deer tongues a reason to be, a season to free the fauns and does from just constant needing, casing and seeding, the seats of kings and birds alike with discontent, since content only to fly, never to simply sit and wait for the bait to be cast, wrapped around a hook, don’t bite, just looks and don’t forget to pass the plate when you’re through.
..and it’s true, you’ll never beat but you’ll never break…

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What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

About Andrew.

Andrew Cartwright grew up in Indianapolis, IN, but has lived over the years in such places as Denver, CO; Fairfax, VA; and Rivne, Ukraine. He is a former nonfiction editor for both Indiana Review and phoebe; he has also worked for the intersectional feminist journal, So To Speak, and the national literary magazine, Electric Literature. His work has appeared in The Normal School Online, Copper Nickel, Esquire Ukraine, Literary Hub, and Word Riot.

For more information about me and links to other writing, visit my author page at cartwriter.com

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A Day at a Time…

December 2019
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