When I used to fall in love with rocks I
admired their smooth and jagged cuts.
The way they stuck up from their earthly ruts
or how they rolled evenly inside of caky sand.
Rocks were really my only love life plans.
Yet always still a rock.
And always from the earth, the rock will
form from violence into chalk.
When I used to fervor rocks
I would notice with great care
the way they curved and bent, allowing me to stare.
Indeed, I feel deeply in despair for my romantic love affair
with the always quiet rock
who would always fill me with hours of endless empty talk.
And after some years of this chatter and also through
witnessing the secret
violence of a smooth and steady stone
against soft and brittle human bones
I agreed that I would no longer fall in love with any type of rock.
The conclusion is now that
I no longer fall in love with any type of rock: a stone.
