Several times today, I stepped into stories
being presented as appeals for
belief because the teller says

this is what one of us knows, you must believe,
then know…

eh? I lift both brows, wrinkle my face,
quizzically,

and I recall knowing that in the universal truth,
there are bubbles of truths about stories,
told with idle words that fail to spark
the swallow reflex, too sweet…

ah, the family time at a theme park,
what is the theme

Apollo here, Isis there, Jesus, look, it is a ghost,
the Ghost of America as we wish it were,
we wish it were
we wish it
we wisht
weshit…

This is it. 2020. The real future.