Signs and Stars

Like anyone,

I don’t suspect

We’ll live through this.

 

Left with

just enough hope

to build bridges                              

out of wood chips 

 

It turns out

The wind itself

is the greatest detriment

to freewill

 

We are pulled

like orchard apples

 

We are sung by

Auto-Tuned pop stars

in padded rooms

 

We want to turn out

to not be  blades of  grass

scorched on cloudless afternoons

in the suburbs

 

The sky erases

all understanding.

 

 

By: Jake Adams