Boston 4/15/13

At the end of the marathon everyone’s legs are gone.
Most just want to rest, stripped of their grievances,
humanity, civilization. Glycogen stores depleted.

But there were emergency vehicles, and screaming.
Confusion and heat. Shards of metal from barricades
meant to keep the runners from their loved ones.

Safe.

At the end of the marathon everyone’s euphoric.
Strangers around them breaking through enemies
and therefore soldiers, brothers you’d run with.

Our animus burned away. For four days no one
moved, left, blinked, slept. Poured over photography
and evidence. “Come out, if you want to live.”

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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