POETRY
Back to PoemsAnatomy of a Quagmire
What do you do
When you tell a story?
Do you tell the story,
Or sell the story?
Do you live the story,
Or dream the story?
Can the story make them laugh and cry?
Can the story make a hundred bucks?
Is every other sentence a lie?
Can the truth even exist
As a fragmented glimpse
Of uninterrupted humanity?
What do you do
When you smile?
Do you fake the smile,
Or feel the smile?
Is it merely a reflex
Of muscle and skin,
Or a motion of the heart?
(I rarely smile because
most of the time
I honestly just don’t know.)
What do you know
When you know what you know?
Or think that you know
What you think,
And you know
That you know how to think,
But not what to think…
Funny how it escapes you
When you’re alone
Staring into your own eyes.