The Runaway
A poem by Michael Andrés Herrera
©2025
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.