Street dreams

I walk down a street
that has a story.
I know nothing about.
So I make up my own.
This path leads to Never where.
A place that never was,
but always is.
A place that has no secrets,
yet tells no tales.
It is what it is
and it is what it isn't.
Its occupants come and go.
But you'd never know.
It changes with time,
but I'm not aware how.
It was here a baby was born.
It was over there a god was seen
wearing fake devil horns on hollow's eve.
They say the first story never
penned was never told
by a blind traveler who saw everything
and forgot it the next instant.
Here lies
the first stone stolen
from the first pyramid.
Built by a drunk to keep the roach
he captured under a cup from getting out.
I think that one was made up.
But who cares.
That stoop sitter will start a war,
commission a new compiled history
once he wins simply to make it a true story.
The bodies will be countless,
but he'd damn all hell
if he'd let a good story
go to waste.