We told ourselves a story…

    —note to the reader: you can rearrange these lines to                    suit your own taste

We never caught a glimpse of its head
We only saw its tracks
We said it lived in the woods
In truth it went every place
It owned the minutes
Alright anyway etcetera
The young thought it was old
The old said it was young
The fires out in space said nothing
The bleeding pinpoint of here and now said nothing
The winged angel fell into a shabby Parisian courtyard
So much can neither be written nor kept inside
We have such thin wrists; such brittle feelings
Everyone wants this month to hurry
It was a monster alright
Despite what you may hear
It spoke when it wanted to
It was power in circulation

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University

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