a mute people
we gave our voices to the satellites
we reached for the stars
and paid the price

gutless
hollow
we scurry
alwaysbusyalwayslookingforwardalwaysrunning    
for if we stop
there is no wind left
to stoke our dying embers

to stop
will destroy us

all of it a thin veneer
a greasy smear
ash in the hands. 

Mitchell Biggs is a writer based out of the Skagit Valley in Washington State. Growing up near the Salish Sea, he found his creative muses in the natural world, in the DIY music scene and in endless stacks of thrifted paperbacks. His poetry has been featured in Writer’s Hour Magazine, Dissident Voice, 50-Word Stories and A Sufferer’s Digest with a forthcoming appearance in Headstone Zine vol. 1 from Sserp Press. Find him at mitchellbiggs.blogspot.com