WE BLOW IN THE WIND #poetry by jay

as stiff as a backboard 
protruding—
jutted bone / fetid waste
the smell of weeping willows 

tears rolling on the blackbirds
little-black-face

cars whiz by in a hurried pace
we fiddle the locks to close out
the last of what remains

no feeling of need 
to be on time
or need—
to be someplace

it’s like that these days
we blow in the wind 
like dandelion seeds

fuzz drifting 
every which way

landing momentarily
then floating away.




©Jay Mora-Shihadeh

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