Bepæcestre

Jon E. H. Burton
Dec 15, 2017 · 1 min read

One thousand seconds zip by in an instant
Don’t blink, you’ll miss the signs
Tucked under mounds of subtlety and experience
Like frogs in winter, your instinct
Antifreeze in your blood, you’re not human
You’ve been around the block so many times
they named the whole goddamn block after you
as a warning to us mortals: there’s evil in these streets

Upon the block, my head
I can hear you pacing, planning
With no proof other than sketches and idle thoughts
Call it a hunch
But like a magic eight ball, all signs point to yes
The silence makes its own sense, the distance, more

I’ve lined the roads with warnings
Woken the town with alarms and bells
To anyone that goes near her, beware
You’ll lose your heart
And quite honestly, too many years
It’ll all be wasted
There’s no satisfaction to be had here

Roll the stones, pick up, draw again
You beat me and got away
How Dillinger-esque of you
How very Al Capone
But like Al and John,

You’ll fucking get yours too.

Jon E. H. Burton

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