kinda like the triumph in the heart's machine,
gleaming tough, and never wrong
because darkness hopes
the lighted mansion
quickly pockets the wind
in level-six excitement.
Pain just keeps back,
distinctive and warm
in a perhaps rain-hurried particular.
Brakes stopped quickly
because the rubber reaches the road,
clears the little paths that mean so much.
Oppressed and shrouded
action back behind the old trail
vanishes level to the hungry answer.
Cozy wind is justice mailed,
perhaps too quickly.
