Litkicks Message Board Archive

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Posted to Action Poetry




the hounds are sniffing... inside a parameter gate...
make great hurtles cross thick speeds of air....
the wardens flashing lights and i freeze.... the face lit like film-noir black and white....
the barbwired wraps circles round the square...
pump the legs like clocks at 75 mph...
so much space left but who to run from.... the black angel, the saints..... the man who shouts alphabets of pain through stern lips...

the mugshot vision staring vaguely into flash, as dams release, and lights hit bad eyes.... squint, don't focus... it all may catch up with you in the end...

the batons point, but there is now or never... break the fall or keep running away from the black-suited squadron....

colliding with fear like aeroplanes hanging low....

got to leave, spin out of the jail guarding clothes back into real life khakis and t-shirt in the still familiar neighborhood...