Running Through The Suburbs Like Wild Horses Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

And that is how they work
The mad populace satiated
With questions, doubts
Wry auguries.
We've no place for that in here
Only our breaths make music
Only our sighs tremble
And our souls waltz over the cities
An iridescent union
Not so much an answer
But then, the world could die, wondering.

We will run through
The dead alleys,
Through the city buoys
Through and through
My legs will never tire
I will carry you
As I shout your name
Like a crazed lover
An amaranthine amok -
We will agitate
The sleeping establishments
And disturb the populace
In their unquiet slumber
And unsettling dreams

Tell them everything.