we run like snakes do. we run like wings do. we run like trains do, like leaves in autumn do, like light through tinted windows does, like fingers pointing down the block do like smoke around eyes does,

(unseen never sly, shackled without a body, through flashing lights and screeches, departing from a home hoping not for rebirth, hazy but beautiful, directionless and tired, stinging and maddening and tiring and still going because hotboxes in hay burn from the inside,)

we run like ourselves & we run from ourselves: the one from yesterday—

away.