Mutate

Would he rather be
the storyteller or
a story told
with nails? A hammer or
a sickle threshing prairie
grass on a roof
overlooking a bridge
where lost

stories go to–
to do what? To leap
over faith toward a longer
narrative, or to jump
into an abrupt ending, or
to cross with others
to the other side
of a river

that never gets named. Then what?
It’s too late

to become a lyric
gesture, sound turned
down low.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s