an empty, cracked plastic planter

an empty, cracked plastic planter

between an end table and an oval coffee table

both too nice to set out for free by the sidewalk

yet officially reassigned to no new purpose back here

under the backyard carport

where no car ever parks —

those items are all of us:

existing in limbo like symbols

in an unseen poet’s idle musings

that’s the freest place to be:

removed from the past, equally distant from a certain future,

and relieved even of the burden of

being the one who must find meaning

in this state of existence we find ourselves in