writing it out of my mind

Here we are in the years. Out in the open. Tweaking life in our minds and writes. Out of our minds. Out of our mine. Getting it out of the system, wrongs and rights. No way sorting them out. Then, in the sparkly mental car, going somewhere, maybe getting there. To move my physical existence in part somewhere else. I cannot live in someone else's frame. Been writing and creating images in this lonely life laboratory for too long. They just live in their own frame. Redesign that life to go. As if. I've been in this lonely life laboratory for too long. Writing my life away. And it was not right. A tweaker soul, it is never really right. So let's tweak it again, rewrite history. Well a story at least, for the road. Been there and back again. I never really got it right. Then I looked again that mental screen, switching from computer screen. The screens flickered with those ghost images, superposed. Then it moved back as one. I saw the future and it was bright. I saw the future and there was light. I was treading light at last on real streets. Real people talking like way back when. And I smiled and answered. Hi it's good to see you. Good to see me. Be here at last. It was beautiful there. Sunny summer faces. I did not even think about tweaking it. The writing fitted with life. Rhymed at last. The painting was in the right frame. It thrilled me and frightened me. And I turned back again. It's hard to face / that open space. Find the time slot for the self. This time I am not turning, or I am not taking the left turn, the past turn, but turn the page, and turn right. And write, she noted as a note to self, no more a speculative future.

Written by Ann Marie today