Condensation, or The past Won’t pass Away

By Matt Praxmarer

Once we ended history and all that was
Was gone and just as tangible as before
And only forward allowed at once to what
Is now instead of whys once soaked by hatred,
Splashed by tribes of fathers ago (the hand to drown,
Rather to shake one awake or putting the breath before the because)
But clouded pasts still valves
Antipathy release with floods of present permeating
Soils of possible now, an ark almost always nearly never necessary.