Bacteria spawning in my mind, formulates an anchor. I allow it to stay, because I think that dark green moss belongs on my drowning rock of a head. One day perhaps I will stop being cranky and take my rock out of the dark depths of the soured river. I may choose to lay it in the sun. The bacteria’s mossy crown will dry out and fall off. My ideas could then glisten in the sun like veins of lost gold. I am afraid of how beautiful it might be. I want and don’t want people to see it. I sit on the shore and ponder, “to pull a lodged stone out of a river is most difficult only in the beginning.” Bending down, I wrap my fingers around my brain, and pull.
Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert
