It Comes In Fragment

Contests and incidents, /in a race with the wind, /they cause sweat on the palms./It’s a source of much silver,/ passing between bunks,/in downtowns and whistle stops/ the heart’s carriage hovers,/benign on the brink of the moons / obedience divided/ between the bagman and thief./I thought out loud,/ of the handful of women,/they make life what it is./ Jilted lovers in squadrons,/they bomb out in blues /agog in a doubt’s paradise,attacked by thousands at vespers, /imprisoned by the hum of a diesel./The ledge of ruined tyrants/where they’re unleashed by others/hear the bells peal;/a moment of blinding release./They break the bounds of the night.

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