The Following

These spectors who follow behind
seek to prove we are villains.
And while running, I contemplate many things.
Mostly of the shadows,
because each face favors a different feature.
From friends before they were lovers,
father before his drowning and mother
before she drew back her raft.
From sisters who like me,
slither between spaces with electric eyes
from shorted circuits.

And I prefer an empty road,
broad in the horizon before us
and guiltless
because no one follows to remember who we left behind.


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I hail from the sunny southwest. I wait, unkempt and unbidden.

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