The Story

And when the story ends the song is over
                                                            Evan Boland
The story never ends;
the song never stops.
Radiation glows all
its fingers touch; glasses
sing in tune with sound.
The ecstatic wail of sex
connects, compliments,
the contrapuntal keening
of a mother lost in 
stillbirth’s lament.
“The noise of myth”
is a white noise,
like fluorescent lights’ hum,
or the universe exploding
into infinite suns.
The echoes wrap our speech
in the way we stand in a doorway,
in the way we look to the sky:
the story contains us
comfortable as our skin.
(circa 1990-1994, from:  If This is a Comedy, Then Why aren’t we Laughing)

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