Y d J

You should have fled when you could
the short summer of '89--a wild mare
that wouldn't be harnessed
Time's fated grasp nearly caged her flight
but
you would've been safe on her back
far above
out of reach
from the dark arms of even the tallest city towers
and cold prisons where lonely people
slowly choke on the same dreams
where late night streets sprayed with water
become dark, wet rivers
wherein reflections of tired electric eyes
sleepily glitter
and desperate ones like you
dragged down
under
the burden of heavy ironhearts
drown