Like anyone else, I can sit for hours
telling stories. Regale the whole room
with an easy, off-kilter grace that swoops up
everyone there. Then as it winds out and down
to a perfect close - the unexpected surprise
that makes the whole thing fall in place backwards,
and mean something completely else, something
it had to be; inevitable really
Then - like anyone else,
I can look up at the room and smile,
seeing. Knowing
if anyone else had been there, well
they'd have had to be there.
These stories aren't hard to tell.
Anyone can tell them. We all
have them in us. All we need
is the room.
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