Pure Leaf

Glass rattles to the sound
Of teeth chattering
Arms folded to conserve warmth
Restrict loss to a trickle,
The mountains have said themselves
That our voices encompass their tallest peaks
Even in whispers
An earthquake contained
Between hands and aluminum caskets
A gathering of places
Wearing state lines like faces
Flickering from tilted fence to Xanax
A home is forged
So faintly
So fleeting
Another patch
Of clothing  left behind
To find oneself
Through the process of dilution,
Consume and concentrate
The stars are aligned tonight
Smoking in the back of a shit van
Somewhere west of Carolina
It takes a lot to remain grounded
And there’s enough temptation
To just float freely


Author: Montana Svoboda

I'm a genderless poet currently living in Central Michigan where I attend college for Environmental Science and English. Nature's some cool shit, frisbee's a neat activity, fountain pens are best pens, Latakia for life, coffee and tea keep these gears turning.

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