A Story Poem by Walt Ostrander

I thought of a story
One that I’ve had in the back of my mind as long as I can remember,
In the most definitive sense of the phrase.
I thought of a story of a human who thought of a story
And told it to the world.
And the world was stories.
It was a story.
It was tales
In chapters
In books
In volumes
In collections
And it was completely intertwined as tightly as
“We.”


I dreamt of an illusionist
One who invaded my dreams
As a mouse invades my cupboards
Stealing
Gnawing rapidly yet taking little away
Allowing me to wake to infinity
To power
To the cosmos
To a woman
To a bed
And as I dusted the sand from my eyes
I wept.


I closed my eyes in a taxi cab
I closed my eyes to the torn leather
The cold leather that surrounded me
The unfamiliar leather that brought me home
All’s fare in this cab of human existence
With the stained leather that smelled of
Fucking
Laughing
Dreaming
Dying
And I let my muscles take in the rough leather
That smelled of crying.

I listened to her sing to me that night
I listened to the words swim from her lips
Words that beckoned with sweet perfumes
Words that could cleanse the hand of Lady Macbeth
The words that slowly unbuttoned my shirt
Then tore it open
And embraced
And kissed
And loved
And stabbed
I listened until she had finished her song
And slept.



I dreamt of trains that run on time
And dusted the sand from my eyes
And wept.