What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

Nothing Lasts Forever…


Throw the man a bone, but don’t forget the wipe the slobber off first, at worst, awash in gum-stuck dreams, we’ll have to cut his long hair clean off, dirty the sterling scissor blades, but have a lock to hang inside your pendant, when that stock picture shows itself to the crowd, shout loudly that the ding-dong witch is not yet quite dead, raiding childhood hiding places and raining cliches on the masses, rays of brain beams, train passengers craning necks to see the sex that’s going on inside their own minds when that high-heeled lady passed by, I’ve eaten less onions by this time this summer compared to last, or should I say fewer, or do I so rarely miswrite that this is a passing moment to look back upon with a strange mix of shame and pride, I’d show you the skin that lines the inside of my lower lip if I thought there would be any sign there worth seeing, I’d be the best line-driver in the world if only I’d had a different birth, I’d lift her up into her highest heights if I were any stronger-limbed, stronger-willed, strong-eyed enough to see how the future will find a way to happen how it will regardless of our hang-ups and worries, hurry or we’ll be late to the latest hip screening, screeching and screaming toward one another without bothering to find a common tongue in one mouth or the other, this time it’s a moth sitting on the edges of my eyelids, threatening to flit, but never quite taking flight, weighted enough to hinder my sight, but not enough to close them and force me to sleep, I can’t think of any other words to write than quiet and rage, I want the page to burn or in this case melt, I want the fingers broken or bitten off, I want the teeth grinding out pulp like grist until they’ve gone soft, I want the ears to realize that they are more important than eyes, that hearing is not the same as listening, but it’s a damn good trait in it’s own right, I want the night to pause sometimes so I can rest without fear that the beep will soon sound, set down the toy that is sleep and destroy the town that I’ve created in less than a minute, and within it or without, I’ll doubt as much as I can get away with without having to put faith and grace through a grueling trial for nothing more than the mere publicity of the matter, it doesn’t matter, this doesn’t matter, the matter doesn’t satisfy the fatter mouths anymore, ding-dong ding-dong, the witch is slaying a skinny calf now, and dinner won’t be ready for an age, cage the hairy man then cut his hair until he looks like someone we would care about and throw a callback to the callback so the caller backing callback can call back…
Don’t you worry. In there you’re safe. 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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