Puny Universe
My story has no story.
My story is no story.
The wind blew away my mask.
Autumn falling in August.
Madman on rented bicycle
veering wildly through the park
avoids the plummets of acorn, chestnuts
but can't shake the magpie's
cackle of rage. I can't see
what it really means.
Mothers continue to be full of pride.
Joy is immeasurable.
A red rubber ball keeps bouncing.
The trees have more eyes than ever.
I can't see what it really means.
Everything so clear.
She's holding an invisible violin
played by the wind. It's always been
somebody else's music running
in the background, until now.
Boom. Blunders thunder.
Lightening from the core of the tree.
August 30,
2020
Jeff Gburek
Image c/o Charles De Graaf
