Fugitives

a train station

with a nation overlooking the cliff

we’re on the drift

with dull senses, sharp mind

hand your ticket

to the picket line protestor in charge

we’re still at large

with short tempers, long knife

trouble brews

as the clues bring the puzzle together

we’re keepin clever

open vision, closed eyes

tuck and roll

in control as we thicken the plot

we’re never caught

with curved angles, straight lines

and we run