the guts behind
bat-shit and double barreled
I stand corrected
I leave my guts behind
thinking just maybe I'd be faster
scotch tape holds my head in
my stumped feet
and their copper caps
clump the walk, scrape the pavement
my folded soul has un-ironed lines
I smirk, blame static cling
teethy crowds point and laugh
friends among them
my bubble alien head
strikes streetlights as I turn to run
my wounded knees
rusty, like hinges screaming
I have tattoos for each enemy
each broken heart and every battle
I look to them for strange comfort
they form a map to here
This angry snowy street
its mindless equatorial mob
smacked stupid by a pitchfork pulse
I thought maybe I could outrun them all