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Is That It?

Is that it? Or do we keep moving along?
Without a push?  Without a wrong?
At the end of a face tracing a line
Or just one touch to behind.

We know not where we’re headed.
4-D or on the spot
Treading in space wedded.
Or single wherever we’re not.

Trees by streams remove your bark.
Spring at nothing stark.
Change rolls when you are told.
You’re older than the mold.

But what is to be passed?
The scent of noses
The art of iron cast.
All sorts of explosives.

Slow down now. Look it over.
Be assured you won’t last.
Don’t linger from the mover.
Upstream you’ll be cast.

Wilted solutions keep in mind
What an awesome venue!
But I assure you fish aren’t blind.
They can’t order the menu!

Take into account number and size,
Someone somewhere will remember.
Otherwise the schools won’t rise.
They ‘ll rest there and dismember.

Published in Poetry