Foresight is an appreciation
sitting squarely upon furrowed fields.
Banishing nurture to perpetual silence
in its non-meaning, intentional way.
Sperm ejecting from rumored couplings,
nameless offspring slipping beneath sods
of radiant maybes,
all motes in infinities grasp,
and what of their promise?
Its circumference measured
in aerial battles of misplaced thoughts;
intrigues of wishful thinking.
Sentinel to worthless causes,
Mumbling metallic undertones from half-chewed lips.
Blameless blame pelting idle discretions,
casting a grievance to fallow ground
hoping it will blossom.
But in retrospect all must wither
between spaces of time.