Shell

Turn a card, turn a page
The action sure to start
Second-stage reaction
To illogical thoughts on random lines —
In a Borges dream we move toward
The writing of lives
Leave it out, leave it in, no edits —
With a shout, with a grin I said
It was a certainty that I’d arrive
In an Escher sketch
We walk around the drawing of lines
The character uncertainty
As he contemplates his lot
And tries to move with urgency
Though he’s rooted to the spot
On the brink, on the edge
But lately what I think
What I said escapes me
In a flash, a tiger burning bright —
Does the visionary trance obscure
The burgeoning night?
And she said «What are you doing?»
And he said «What do you think?»
Oh, no, what on earth are we doing?
The characters procrastinate
On the threshold of the door;
There’s something here that fascinates
Though the meaning’s still unsure
And the plot so thick
Is it some kind of history?
Sketch the thumbnail to the quick
Oh, even though it’s full of contradiction
Though it’s flawed in the design
This is no fiction
It’s a lifeline
Here we are, there we went, full circle
Shooting stars, heaven-sent
Turned turtle on the beach
Our shells are left behind
Life a library, like a memory
Of our ghost-written lives