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Sonnets From Other Lives: Lute

Dry leaves rustle, imitating footsteps.
Chinook wind whispering conspiracies
that in his mind begin making weird sense…
Intelligence or stochasticity?
Mare said the stars had had it in for him.
His mother’s version was all sin & wages.
Whatever. All of the documentation
he’d seen thus far while pouring through the pages
of way too many books brought him to this:
People can imagine anything
& put it into writing. Did he miss
his warm & fuzzy certitude & thinking
that everything was part of The Great Plan?
Whatever. I mean hey, shit happens man.