Speed

The grass stands
while the unlawful
rest their feet.
That line-up
of broken toes
giving away the runners
with how they push
when getting ahead,
these pressure points
act like fingers
when all our
eyes are closed,
leaving us to stagger
while the light shifts
and loses itself behind us.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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