The Well No More

The past is terribly long
For a prologue. Could it be
It’s just the whole collection,

More like an episodic
Series, periodical,
Than like a single drama?

You wait to find out what’s new,
Once it’s already finished
And available to you.

Then, for a while, nothing much
Seems to happen but rumors,
And you get tired of waiting,

And keen anticipation
Lapses to inattention,
Until something new comes out

Everyone’s talking about,
And the past gets interesting
Again. Climb back into that?

No. Sound like old news? Sometimes.
That past is a wishing well.
Everything you want’s down there

And nothing you want at all,
And it’s deep, and it’s dark, and
You keep hauling water out,

Bucketful by bucketful,
And you keep drawing stories,
Pulling out what you can’t help

And coming back for some more,
But that deep well’s always full.
How is there always some more?

Whose body is in the well?
Who wished? Who pushed? Keep watching.
Skies keep dropping episodes.