The Runaway

Our intrepid friend, for whom there is no peace.

Stretching and blurring,

A curious find that’s scraped together;

A gesticulating, metamorphic riddle,

Swimming        into                  itself                 it self                                        it          self

Vi bra ting                    and                   slow      ing

Speaking          in         s i n e s                         w  a v  e  s                                a   b   o   u   n   d

Put it away.

We do not have time.

A scoop or a shovel,

Any will do.

Where are its legs?        Where is its mind?

Nail.     Nail it down.

There is no time.

There is no friend.

Nail it down.