I Smell god

I can run very far

Run like a car on the borderline

Like a rabbit sticking out his tongue before the gun

He can outrun the sun

But I never run

I’ve never really run

I only slip from one page to another

From one form 

Still wearing the same cloth, I, as the crop, am lopped off from

One into another one

In the shape of a man with a uniform

A sweat bead that beats the stick to the drum

I take the flame and I strip its wax off 

All gone and dried to the glass drapes 

It lives on

I take a word from my counterfeit pocket

And I only hope it hasn’t grown to be something pretty obvious yet

Until I’ve expressed all of the mint out of it

I never run

I only press a foot on the stump

And look from where I’ve come

A trial of unending racket

Wreaking of blood and love

The only makings of perfect ashes

I smell god sniffing around above the sweeping clouds

And I’m never curious as the man who’d stick around