A tight stomach, sweaty palms waiting
For gunfire that cracks across the track.
Run run hot **** run soles on cinders
Burning all those years enduring a race
Where those behind and those ahead
All cross the finish line where stars don’t shine.

Wistful, smoky traces cling to evergreens
While Carnival of the Animals by Saint-Saens
Reminds me of the never-ending parade
Marching into the night.