TUNNELS
Escapism
Run, run like the light that never goes out, the bullied
charm of the matador pain-projector, also called the cousin
of the law in uniform, flashing suspicion on the escapees, escapists
breaking from and within the corners rattled by barbs,
shackles, ex-lives, cuffs, left-handed lies.
Whiskers there, paw signals everywhere
sharp eye contact
the language verified
by the generous
sources from the crime scene. The year
of the cat feeds
on artificial intelligence,
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