Strong stubborn hands massage
thoughts: of nothing,
miserable nothing
that lurks like city traffic:
uniformed focus
uniformed sight
uniformed rage
on a roundabout in-sanity,

Squeezing knots pressing through
opening roads to sweeter tears
that cascade free onto wider roads
through highways and rush forth:
like the night after day,

Rubbing through more tender thoughts
bare skin, bare touch,
pulling naked into desire,
perspiring, breathing deep into the fire,

And as hands release
roads wind
roundabouts return
all to knots
thoughts of nothing
and dance to raging horns.




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