Scenes From My Fugitive Nature

I assemble all I have, out of the ground. At certain moments, some things are rude, others prefixed by what I do. I have managed to stay away from the precipice. Both things, ground and precipice are ordered, but deny each other in every wave and feature.Time occupies these things more rude than native. These assessments under control, I find myself running along a dry creek bed out of water. My senses dulled by the height of these things; I slowly arrange to stop. A vast fire had taken hold. I wanted to make it to the green woods, untouched. I kept running ahead of the fire. I lit it by the last pull on a cigarette, this I knew. I kept running, panting. Working over a series of numbers, each symbol what I wanted. Code. A new code, challenging, frightening, unceasing. I bear out my wily escape, the escape itself a thing swift and jugular. Fire burns around me. But I have not been burned. I’m on the ground, flapping my arms, just in case the wilderness around me asks if I too am an animal that runs in packs.

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