A story in many unequal parts, some missing – 01

Part 01

I want to write that story
the story with no beginning
whose end I cannot know
there’s only a bit of the middle
the knots not yet untangled
the moon in the witness box
commits dastardly perjury
the stars gossip with
idle townsfolk in the bazaar
night after fucking night

the story so ordinary
like cheap clothes on sidewalk racks
flapping empty skins under a
sky muddy grey-brown
nothing big happens to anyone
no one becomes anything big
a story you see out of a bus window
someone crossing the road
someone waiting to cross
someone dead under the last

rush of a beat-up car
a step too late
a wheel too soon
just that much rain to wet your shoes
and keep you uncomfortable
the bus lurching ahead
but now through wet glass
odd smears of coloured light
and the illusion of a world still moving
everything a star, everything a moon

a story, faceless, nameless
unravelling inside itself
a story washing its dirty
parts so it can be
clean enough to tell