Scenes From My Fugitivity

I assemble all I possess, out of the ground./At certain moments,/something’s rude, another thing prefixed/by everything I do./I’ve managed so far/to stay away from the precipice./Both things, ground and precipice,/are in an order;/one denies the other/in the wav of each feature./Time occupies with what’s inborn, native./My assemblies under control,/I find myself running/along a creek bed without water./Senses dull from the heights,/I slowly arrange myself and stop./Vast fires had taken hold./I wanted to make it to the woods, untouched./I wanted to stay ahead of the fire./It started, I knew,/from my last drag on a cigarette./I kept running, panting,/working on a series of numbers,/new symbols, each one code./A new code, a challenge,/all I ever dreamed of./Fires burn all around me./But I have not been burned./My escape bears out,/jugular and swift./I’m on my back, flat,/flapping my arms just in case/the wildlife around me/wants to know if I too/am an animal that runs in packs.

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