running inside and out of poverty
the finish line is barely visible
a thin papered strip of memories
held in place by bookend angels
with nothing but time to burn
sometimes the light is further
than what side view mirrors can see
other times up front and flashing
like an ambulance called on the scene
its influence fading inside a
tunnel of diminishing returns
where mind and body separate
if only for a moment in time
innocent lives cast inside
neighborhoods mostly off limits
practice running and gunning
and killing lights that
one day were once inspiring
september two thousand fifteen
copyright j matthew waters
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