I don't know how tell that story now,
the one about the time we got so drunk
that I passed out on an ant hill,
and then I got up,
and we drank some more and smoked roll-your-owns
until I had to go hide in a ditch,
and I cried until sunrise.
I want to tell all the stories,
push them out of myself into a book
where I can point to the places that they are now.
You would say
Remember that time?,
and I would say
Yes. It's right here on page 247.
It would have a place,
and my finger would be on it.