Skin is dust from roots,

dug up botany strains fashion to ensemble cortege spreads

lay rest to casual distress,

structure without array,

strangled margins functioned to age with parity.

What’s left behind isn’t for you & I to comprehend,

all we can do is retrieve limits.

Mashed chickpeas hum us to murmur hunger paste in black,

outlining the outset of hyalites.

Pared pedals & perished parchments grant short shrifts. 

A poem written by A. M. Foster in Partnership with 360°Nation Biz Catalyst.

Written by Andrew M. Foster a/k/a Declaration in Partnership & Global Syndication with 360°Nation BizCatalyst & Dennis Pitocco

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