Bar None

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.

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