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| michael aaron casares |  | 1. Mists of Arkansas Passed the misting cotton veils, thinned beneath the hiding trees, there is a river stretching vastly here to there. Home to Brinkley for the day, different customs for similar ways and quiet on a Sunday noon. People sitting in their fasting blue, pronouncing words as strident skies and awake for curiosity, unlikely to dissolve or quiet, but mannered happily either way. What can you say in another place, where the unknown lies out passed your way? Where are you then if you cannot make amends? Are you forced to see the wake of absent nothingness? The void that you create, absent as a rowdy child, may bring you things you do not want. Taking heed with softer words decisive to be positive with no fear behind your worth, saying prayers not always worshipping but wishing well inside your voice, a void is a hole left to be filled. Nothing will cease to exist if you think about it, so hold your shovels and begin filling with this dirt and fulfilling our foundation over this new found nothingness. I have faith in you, and I have faith in me. What more could we ask for? | |
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