There Was A Place, Then There Was Nothing

Thin sticks snapped in half
Plucked purposely as if our beating hearts
Were special, souls ripe and fragile,
Beneath what heroes is this moment owed to?

For long tomorrow, cloaked in razor’s mist
Alone, out beyond where crickets dance
And fish become airborne,
To what celestial bodies are responsible
For the placement of you and I here together
Cradled in cedar wicker baskets?

A swish of river water, a toast
To concord finally, breathing so gently
We are where we need to be
But like birds’ nests our presence will only be noticed
Long after we’ve fucked and flown away and our children are no longer crying

Evidence existing simply in decay-
A ragged collection of once life,
Amazing how skin cells
Become the epitaph for happenstance,

Foot prints leading to soot
Hiding within them an abstract
Pattern of context migratory diagrams
Synced flying straight to smoke
Signals sat broken
Under oh, great blanket of missed opportunity
Warm and comforting
What have we done to deserve this?

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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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