As reality got more popular, we were accidentally OK.
I couldn't very well say I wanted his money; I was overly
confident, I questioned my decision.
As reality got more popular, we were acting as if we weren't
lost.
I couldn't very well say I do not like the word aroma without invoking my duplicitous
smile.
As reality got more popular, the soundtrack in my head was what
I remembered of a magpie wake.
I couldn't very well say this is an automatic transmission.
As reality got more popular, a great horned owl was taunted
by jay birds.
I couldn't very well say whom I should feel sorry for though
I questioned the assumption.
As reality got more popular, I still believed it immoral to
say that the "universe" has a "plan."
There should be some meaning in
bindweed wrapped 'round a thistle. Instead there are whoops and applause from
the children's ball game across the highway and there is the cellular structure
of chlorophyll. There are the shrill
cries of the robin whose baby my dog has killed. There are clouds stacked on
clouds and rays of "god light." There are phone calls not made and
forgotten grief that, nonetheless, persists. There should be some meaning in
the way the ocean is permission to sit and do nothing. There are waves in the
grass as the wind pushes through. The bird's call, as I try to sing it back,
changes.
I couldn't very well say we were accidentally OK.
