the only
death is
the death of
the narrative
truth
stands outside
of the experience
of stories

if the sum of words
fail us
we are always
fighting against
language
itself to say
what we really mean
then silence
must have predated
all language
and language
was alas invented
by kings
to serve
serfdom
on the minds
to make the
boundaries
of their kingdoms
seem more
supreme
All this, see this,
they said,
my kingdom
all you can see
here lies
Mountains move
borders
erased with
the last map
and all that
remains
are two footprints
in a bog
some extinct
biped
two of them
wrestling in the
sand
waves rolling
over them
until eternity
and high
tide became
low tide
and then
the bottom
of the ocean
the only
narrative
was the
motion
of the water
the play of
light upon
the complex
waves

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