By Arcassin B & Sonja B.M

SBM
left the ring in procession,
silently walked the track.
dust rose, the distance grew.
out of sight ,
talked in code and rhythms.
the train passed,
gulls flew the heat haze.
on return, no one spoke.
AB
Flowing streams,
Except very hard and rugged,
I remember the days of ceiling leaks into buckets,
I see,
Crazy **** when I'm on my meds,
Why dont you believe me,
When I say I see the tracks with a dark red.