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