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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