Freedom to fly
to another side
to have a truism
that is just a ride
to be trumpeted
where the dusted
canvas leans. Each
greased palm gleans
harmony in these
steps we’re taking.
The hum of the tracks
means there’s no going
back, remove your
hands so I can see
your face. In the smoke
and growls we can be
free; in the choking of
vowels, we are glee.
“The hum of the tracks means there’s no going back”-So I’ve learned.
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