I’m not
here
to tell a
story.
No. I’m not here
for this,
nor for that, but this:
The
standard oil building,
the holy
grail, the under
and under
as she went
never to be
told of again.
Or, again,
in only whispered
tones;
thinking and drinking
by ones
self; down the stairs
and through
the doors, always
telling
stories,
still moving.
