***

***

we slip, two upbeats, through the thin tunnel,
we whip, too beatdown, over the noisy scimitar of a road
i lose my focus to the catacomb's orange strobe
halfway in quarter blinks compromised by
deafening shadows and blinding sound-
or was it, i can't remember old friend,
the other way a round?
properly this-oriented we fly, too fast
from the throat of the mountain into the soda pop night
and i let in the wind, i invoke it, i let it in and
my hair dances in berserk might until each wild strand
ends in a frantic Lovers' Not and licks my temples with forked tongue.
it's no use, you know, i will thrash and persist until
wings or bones sprout from my shoulders and,
either way, i'll get away in chaotic flight.
did i forget again old friend,
but now i remember-
that freedom is silver 

***