250/365: The Rocks That Fold the Water

brick walls are bad for heads

Nearly all that has been written down
for ten years —
here and in notebooks,
on napkins and receipts and business cards —
deals with the symptoms,
echoes of events circling echoes,
outcroppings of motion,
my story now a syndrome that circumnavigates
the hidden artifacts of a secret life.
I describe the whorls I trace
with my mind's finger
and pretend facts.
It is a wonder that stories are told at all
with our laundry lists
of anxieties and angers, loves and denials,
each of which hinges on incidents
we fail to reveal.
We watch
the waters that eddy,
rather than the rocks that fold the water.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com

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