Pick Up the Phone

Stories start with darkness.
Then something moves.

Sometimes it’s sex,
sometimes breath.

Sometimes with clay.
Sometimes rocks.

Often it’s a god.
Voila! There’s us!

Then we are naughty
and things become as

they are, which is kind
of good with bad shot

through, all in a clump
like strands of cotton candy.

Which brings me to today
when I’ve bought the wrong

thing for a birthday. And
not bought a bus ticket.

And forgot who knows what
else. Where are the gods

like that? Stressed, muddled,
plugging away at a switch

board like in old movies? Hello?
Hello? It’s dark. There’s a noise.

But isn’t that another movie?
Some other story altogether?

No one. No story.
Nothing’s there.


One thought on “Pick Up the Phone

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