the safe race

weaping walker (without tennis balls)
amid languid season OR a breach of humanity
maybe no less humane, but certainly draining
like bricks from the street. like ignorance.
i told myself i'd stop judging violence
but i don't see it that way. a tunnel's a tunnel
where i can't see by the light of a cocktail
casting stone, spitting lung. god damned darkness.

a soft hand thrust down to knock sense into irrational
but that's just not me. i'm too safe for understanding.
still in swirling a fantasy family underquoted yet so pressed
amid friends swept arrested, i charge with abandon. what rage!
what courage! where's the badge? and who said we couldn't?!?

i can't remember the combination to a simple lock.
so to satiate my helpless cleats, i walk...and then i walk further.
i rant to the trees, the thatch, whatever has my attention.
i bind it, conform it, mash it like grease into my intricate parts.
new motions now setting, emotions in skin, a thin ring of wisdom.

hand to foot to knee to toe to chin to eye to heading.
i call this crawling. our baby race barely beginning.