State of Fleeing

They descended the smoothed, unfortunate slope.

Careful, but loud, sustained, avoiding sincope.

Twist and turn, wriggle in the straitjacket,

We have to get out, accelerate, be rabid.

The bars of night obstruct the glass.

They were stuck opening it, then finally pass,

With the path finally shown, we choke on green air,

Hind legs loosen, wind blew through our hair.

They make their way to green, but also tan.

Taken aback, we pause and absorb the trees.

Finally close to our home, we fall to our knees.

Our course, preoccupied with escape, can

Last forever if we make it. Though just a tease,

Detachment from cold steel won’t put us with the bees.

The wretched, lurking, pigeons don’t hide,

Though they pay no mind,

Like us, they’d prefer just to survive.

There’s never fear of the end being near, in fact,

No attention is paid to the abstract.

However, the ugly, broken, chewed up and swallowed,

Can’t escape pain without being followed.