Keith Moul

 

 

A Story of Pseudo-Factual Distractions

 

She asked

if I could tell her

a happy story,

just the way small

children would.

 

Dogged by realities

of the moment,

I blurted “No.”

 

She asked then if

I might know

another kind of story,

maybe not so happy,

but one not to make

her be afraid.

 

Dogged by realities

of history of our world,

I answered slowly “No.”

 

Our silences mixed

like two wide rivers

that obey their law,

quite poignantly

I thought.

 

So I made do

with downward force

so I wouldn't have to define

gravity itself; attraction

as if it were affection,

suitable for a little girl;

and flowing rivers motion.

 

Buoyed by pseudo-factual

distractions, I proposed

a story of dishonor,

a sanitized history

of Donald Trump

and Mitch McConnell.

 

 

Keith Moul © 2020

Colorless Night Pressing without Demand

 

 

My neighbor's dog barks after...

 

A boy passed by during...

 

Sometime more barks...

 

Sometime hungry...

 

We speed into hunger ever.

 

Quiet sharpens gut grumbles lately.

 

Later is a first time, my engrossment

cleaves into hunger, neighborhoods and a dog.

 

Then later again, no sounds except electrons

demonstrating formal hubris in a molecule.

My split attention

widens and neither I nor a neighbor

explain animal limited brain power

barks to toll a dinner bell

and ventilates through its tongue.

 

Dog-empathy halts a clock.

Chew on this then.

 

 

Keith Moul © 2020