What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

I thought I had my finger on the pulse (Dear Shadwick 2)

I

New breath, less weight, less of me to worry and worry about and hurry now because you never know when the drive will end, when the great regaining will commence, will the sense of things ever start making, start taking the ready remedy rather than waiting for the real one, a stowaway stolen away steeled against the coming knife blow, nice how the show holds the curtain until I’m able to catch up and understand, until I get the gist that this is meant to be mystery rather than melodrama, rather than morality play let’s say sinful work, knee-jerk spasms attacking the sleeper, stacking pain on top of anxiety for some sort of insomnia cocktail swallowed with no relish like a dry hot dog, no, that won’t pass mustard, won’t you please catch up with me so that we can understand each other outside of the brother mold, the other others won’t bother to bunch up at the entrance, they’d rather run late and lunge toward the door at literally the last second, literal literary irony seeing as their watches all just stopped cold, metal-made and pedal-pressed, heartrate risen like Easter Sunday beating in threes to high heaven, the father’s son is the son’s biggest problem, the ghost of self stultifying, stewing in stupor, fighting a losing fight against petrification, wood you rather end up here or somewhere, else you land in the barren windsweeps, the victim of some sort of divine broom, perhaps, tell me, Shadwick, what the answer is to the question that you won’t even think of asking, which even imagination is welded away from, the mind zoomed out, orbiting orbiting, but never circling closer, not even a bit, not ever a fit for these funny fickle days, these pickled times in which we brine, this rhyme that could never, wait, umm, pull itself? out of this pit, no, that’s not it, and neither is this
Cause you don’t care about the truth, I know you only ever want to feel good
(broken) ac


(Inspiration and title from “Broken Guitar” by Quiet Hollers)

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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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