And where does it lie, this belief in some . . .
higher, something beyond our meager . . .
for food, shelter, sex? What drive coaxes . . .
out along the edges of our lives . . .
to hunt for a definition that . . .
satisfy, like a cat curled purring . . .
a chair? But questions come too late for . . .
. . . sense to make a difference between
the words . . . speak to ourselves and others.
Laughter breaks through the cracks in language; . . .
failure propped up on fragmented nerve . . .
. . . , an audacity which still cannot
stand against the onslaught of the world . . .
The sad remnants of the stories we tell.
(August 2001-April 2003)
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