Stories

It’s a zoo.
Not a story about a zoo, but a zoo of stories,
actually not even stories,
just story lines,
tens, hundreds of them,
small, big,
beautiful, shocking,
odd, true,
fictions based on an ego,
or lack thereof,
toppling over each other,
and every time I breathe,
think of nothing,
there’s another one,
wanting to be heard,
heard in a herd of a zoo of story lines,
good luck.

first instinct to capture them,
organise them, categories them,
lock them up,
who knows breed them,
raise them, feed them,
into at least one good story,
the kind one buys a book for,
not online,
no,
walks to a book store
and pays in cash for.
good luck.

So I sit,
in the middle of the zoo,
watching them race
through the grounds,
some circle or halt,
some mate,
some grow,
but none stays,
why would they,
they’re just random lines,
created in a head,
creating a zoo,
which I now observe,
unable to make more of it.
Just my luck.

~ by spasmicallyperfect on March 7, 2009.