O death, where is thy breach?
-I. Christensen
turned downwind
a triple threat two bodies on the cusp of morn
detected no breach in the stagnant line of safety
a neighborhood hinged on chance
a necessary night shielded from listening
porch dwellers in the age of aggression
a topical response free fall from function
supplies needed to survive stragglers cut off
in the train of those fleeing
twenty-first mentionables: extractions
or to be downloaded in an urban colloquial
arms widths of winds inward
while creeping in the damp streets
some danger pounced, so you think there exists
outside the fortress of construction
where we hoard design like lucky charms
a treasure tone of multicolored outs
bargaining to better crafted escape routes
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