• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 11
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The Finishing Line

The leather sac of your eye,
a darkened pool, flickerings of reprisal,
the sound of a distant shot moving nearer,
a crook stumbling in the corner of a field,
the rider dethroned, your buck conceit,
insulated from fate, dampening all reflection,
you eye the final hurdle, rushing the finishing line.