What Direction Now? Life at the intersection…

Whenever you’ve a mind to (Dear Shadwick 8)

W

Plaintive past the point of understanding, beyond logic, after all the cogs rust through will the clock in its obsolencence still be beautiful, silence without function, arms without a hand, fingering the junction between the last moment and this one is for the finders, for the binders bound by fate and time for faith is long gone, on and on and once I heard a parable about a broken pitcher pieced back together by precious metals but I can’t remember how it ends for what it’s worth the mind seems to lose value the more it grows in its own estimation, do you have a moment to talk about salvation, no? then what about masturbation, common fixation on the television tide, soft blue and buzzing through the night despite the sleeper’s best intention, despite the rest I’ve taken lately, I’ve never been more worn out, threadbare, sure, but more so used up and tossed away, underexposed but overdressed, composed yet failing to impress the portion of the people who care about things such as random finger streaks and squeaks, raw and unremoved, yes, left in whether right or wrong or sing a song of six strings, a bottle full of rye, an awful auger of leak and lapse and please let this metaphor seem both apt and poignant, drink it down in one swallow without thinking of the taste, of the place I was made my mother ground down into blue, into toothless smiles of one sort or the other thing about pity is that it helps no one, does nothing, does nothing, does nothing sound right in a deaf world dying of fever and shame, on you go to the next world spinning round and round and right about now I’m wondering if this should stop, or could, and can you hear the whir, the light buzzing overhead, showing every thing pale and dry, in high contrast, silent scream, if you’re the last one out, please turn around, please please don’t leave
Far may you run, my child, far may you run
ac

(Inspiration and title from “Rain” 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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