The Body Politic

Unconscious intent

Long after ceilings are gone
there is wailing in the rubble
a direct line to sky
but walls remain
to pen the mourning
from where the veil split
over torn land, the ravaged
prize
suffocated in the taking
and then indefinite arrivals
forever mapped by absences
blast holes in our sentences
punctuated by lost words

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

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