That defines you, you erase you.
Take imagery and wring its neck.
Avoid dramatis personae.
Above all, keep a watchful eye
On the shadows of narrative
Slipping in and out of the trees.
Everyone knows what stories do,
But nobody knows why stories.
Possibly because they’re compact
And they keep all their pieces linked,
Which helps keeps memory stable,
Allows language to encode more
Data than it otherwise could.
Sounds plausible, but plausible
Will always teeter on the brink
Where explanations plunge to tales.
Recognizing that brink, the fall,
Takes all your energy, tempts you
To paint images of abyss.
Just remember Hell is vacant,
Heaven, too. Absence becomes you.