Poem: No-Man’s Land

I really enjoyed this man. My good friend and I have, together, wondered about the wastelands of plastic signs and broken toys that will carnally outlive us. They are indeed real, right? They are made of the same things as you and I, but are so seemingly meaningless! When you are walking in a strip mall on the side of a major road in Denver, confronted with deadness; the advertisements and frozen stone slabs speak (?) of such chaos (ironically).Today, the via negativa, the cracks, seem limited to suburban hollows and spaces between my keyboard, the world under my bed. The drainages outside of Target are not the same cracks that the mystics crawled into. When shall we flee to the mountains? I pray for our clarity in such confusing times. The end of this poem was especially beautiful.