The pandemic contains
a lot of moments
my emotions
must work out
before my face
displays how I feel.
It also contains a lot of static
that clings to my brain,
calculating and decoding
noise for signals
that can be labeled True.
I picture the possibility
of writing my own truth
and repeating it over and over
until others sing it back to me,
but that, once attempted,
failed to return John Prine
to the living.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 