Silent Rivers:

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For the first time in forever, I appreciated the silence. The humming heater gently soothing the cold air. The front door wide open, allowing the foggy steam to blanket a warmth to the door.

Meanwhile, daybreak went rogue. Stretched across all the shadows in the night  Then the soul-people gather themselves together huddled through tapered curtains of flesh.

A prize to be alive and not know it. Prize- dreams for the soul-people, dreams that die and are born again. Dreams, staying up all night. Dreams that turn souls into rivers.

rivers bursting through the cracks.
strong, lighthearted, genuine, persistent,
gullable steep, shallow memories.
walking rivers joined at the hip.

standing bodies
what’s eating these waters
in gutters bursting
half skating skeletons

American dreams eating us,
spittle down seeds something
we can grow
rivers, I suppose
un-used rivers
cold, chemicalized,
calculated tides but
what’s a river
with all our old shoes
torn, crunchy cereal boxes
tires, bloated fish
oil spills, garnish
sacred, holy prayers

rivers gotta run
gotta flood out ~kindness sis. Krissy

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Published by: Visionariekind

Krissy Mosley is a story-teller. Recalling stories to build bridges of peace. A folklorist to bring sounds of joy and healing vibrations. Krissy Marie is a writer /feminist, mother advocating for change surrounding women’s rights and women's’ issues.

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