What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

All My Surrounding Sounding


Down for good, or better, but never out forever, not as long as lungs hold air and let it out again, not as long as brain holds cliché back for not even one moment before firing toward fingertips, slipping from synapse to synapse with no resistance to speak of, no tongue to say, No, tongue to call its own and only, one and lonely one and the same way the good leader leaks the lessons through action, solution back toward solvency, tracking catch-up days like mustard seeds, the wheels rusting in weedy fields only need some care and tending, toward bent comfort, bending soundness, founded soundless findings amid the muddled buzz, dog muzzle nuzzles and nurtured notions of nothing in particular, something general to salute with enough attention to satisfy the herd, please conceive of yourself before blurting broadly, proudly producing quips to prod the chipper claim-makers neck deep in their clams, hush now, and hunger no more, my deer, my time is nearer than not, which is to say I’m shot through with electricity today, but no telling where the energy will escape from and to, what singed sparking holes left behind, what voice singing from which parched tongue burnt out, tomorrow.
Down the mountain range of my left-side brain…

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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