The U.S. runner chases time tracing a path leaving behind.
Nuclear boy, strong in Her heart, pumping flesh, steam, and gasoline.
Splattering thin and warped Justice, from the armpit moist and warm emerges, and frowns upon.
Shedding sterile green light in the face of the night the Lady guides from below within.
Wispy, white, ephemeral spiritual George, over shoulders discerning backed by personified nature, and ideal man.
Looking back, they see ahead death, fear, anger grinning dripping fangs feeding a poison stream etching a cavern wide in the sediment of time.
Help is reaching out, tearing us apart pulling ever back but no one can stop the running girl not even the hand of god.
The mask, hanging in celestial remove laughs with our own eyes upon our weary race and the man with the bat is there to face.
Painting 1:
Yankee Doodle