hyphen

It plays out

in cheap street theater

punch-and-judy style

as the snow blows across current landscapes

it seems so far away

and still somehow omniscient

in the forethought of the past

manifested in moments that could-have-been

as the undaunted march of time

tramples us into oblivion.

And still,

We rise from the cracks in the asphalt

Only to have our seeds swept in the wind

Luxuriant and orgasmic

As if life itself

Naturally emergent

to the imagination of possibility. 


it scrapes like a card against the table 

as we draw into the future

play-by-play 

as all existence is but a game

as we draw heavier and heavier hands

resolved unto the agency of ourselves