Once I walked for miles on end
and told myself several stories
as a means of getting around a large river,
just standing there in the middle of the road.
I tried asking it to move, but that didn’t work
so I tried something else. I recalled
when all my rivers were rivers
and broke like bones over rocks.
I practiced patience and understanding
and then I hit it with a rock.
That river is still standing here
in the middle of the god damn road
so now everyday I have to ford that river
to find the payphone I use
to say meet me here at dawn
to say that maybe rivers
were not what we thought they were
and to report on all the things I have not done.
I have not memorized the books of the bible
nor the capitals of the states
and I could not spell Monongahela
without looking it up in a book.
And all the books have been set on fire
and thrown in the ocean
where, screaming, they drowned.
After that is anybodies guess these days.
After that I lay myself down in a field of green grass.
I tell myself a story about rivers.
In this story there are no rivers.
In this story we all have great jobs
and health insurance and we get to bed on time.
We have kept our drinking in check
and eat well-balanced diets. This story
is just a story though. I am lying
face down in a stubborn river. I can feel it
with my mouth, which is full of trouble,
all the way down to my bones
which are just laughing at all of this
just rolling around on the ground and once
I walked for miles on end only to end up
face down in a river. If this story
appeals to you, I ask that you come on down to the river
and carry me home.