I Have a Stone
I lick a stone. The pores of my tongue match the pores of the stone. my
tongue dries up and travels to the other side of the stone that touches
the soil and has some mold glued on it like blood. suddenly my
tongue becomes moist again; it moistens the stone which slides in my
mouth.
I call this stone Oedipus, because like Oedipus the stone is irregular
with deep gouges in the eyes. It too tumbles with swollen ankles.
When it stays still, it hides under it a fate, a serpent, my forgotten self.
I call this stone Oedipus because it has no meaning on its own it has
the shape and weight of the choice.
so I name it, and I lick it
to the end of my story
until I understand what choice means
until I understand what end means
