by davidchrzanowski

Crossing boys with beards and men with sunken, low brow attitudes together ducking suspicious glances while eternal rest was granted with familiar haste. The time came to leave with the river as it bedded down amongst curtains of pine and leaf dwelling inhabitants; natural criminals that feed so insignificantly. Infants of the all-natural tundra, melted over the last three years into shags of plastic. We left it behind, but it did not grieve us and both flourished without caution, gravity or restraint. A congregation of dignified widows; no nod to deities, a lack of cross where they prey. When we are buried miles away we will have what we had and forget what we didn’t. Miniscule, it maybe, but our thoughts left spoken in conversations are still deemed too magnified for the State of Planet Earth.