Born with the Caul

Such a particular story,
alone as seen in a minds eye yeah – it'll be a Friday night,
and the phone's ring will bounce off the thought of drowning
and bounce again off the gray kitchen tiles

tho the fridge was once new
it's now-sequined, with magnets from Graceland and some pizza shop,
it has beautifully sharp edges and lines
so there's no mistaking the lands it separates, inside cold,
packed with things that should be but are not
discarded

yeah, you might be able to get there from here,
out the back door - in the mind's eye this
is always a possibility, when only a slow backwards glance
can cradle the feather of a past particular story,
prescience be damned – whadda do with the information anyway?
make a song? sketch the scene?
no, it festers or grows, yeah

food's not enough, you need a small space too,
and you need to count,
add one again
just keep adding things to the story
and not be so damned sure about it all.