by Matt Schultz, 3.24am November 10th 2021
We have become like magnets turned upon one another:
slipping across translucent fields, skittering upon waves
as ancient as the planets tracing an inconspicuous transit,
torn asunder like the birds chattering their long goodbyes
before taking winter’s flight toward the hot southern sun.
Everything follows a script. And we, playing our part,
have attracted each other to the brink of an impossible rift
where art and discourse overlap. No, that can’t be right.