The book does not end on its close;
on its final period on its final page:
the book rolls over its spine unto its
cover and rewrites; mixing the hard
font of the title and tiny handwriting
of the copyright; chapters restroked,
leafs unbound, as lies are scratched
out and restored with meaningless
truths and the live quill of humanity:
of life’s most obvious secrets hidden;
or love’s true purpose remembered in
silent alleys or rowdy bars or humid
valleys and atop mountain ranches;
and below roaring streams, drenched,
dodging the protruding rocks, as it
flows out through the celestial water
bearer’s jug unto the woven hair
of earth’s magnificent children.
This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.
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