i wrote a page of my life

very hastily, as i usually scrawl

in black ink across a sheet

demarked with lines —

then i came to the climax

of that tale and didn’t know

what to say, so i waited for inspiration —

when it came it was both

anti-climax and comedic ending —

(sans the wedding, naturally)

the resolution brought me joy

and i came to a full stop.

so now the fable is walled away

with the amontillado and bells

that jingled merrily for a time

but now are silenced without rhyme.

perhaps another day i shall

tear down the bricks and

peep in at that page to see

what happened to the characters

i dreamily crafted, but the

mortar is setting and the bricks

are flushly aligned and neat —

my grandfather was a bricklayer.

behind that wall the past

lies stifled.  today i hid

the amontillado for the

sake of a free future. like

benedick, i conclude that

man is a giddy thing.