Much too busy in the searching for new kinds of bloodsport. I can’t help but think, everything's the same. In exponential panics owning to indifference. But who is the mystery guest, traveling on the mystery train. He’s a long distance runner in dismay while he fox hunts. Deep in the vacant park, he lays down on asphalt he feels its gentle current. We recognized his many faces as the parts of a physical form. If it happened otherwise we couldn’t know them. In Garnet Light If it's garnet light we’ll be as lucid as we’re tranquil. Like the real name of our favorite sea on moon’s surface. Through the hole in the roof, stars gleam by the thousands like the steel on an ax handle. Feeling bumped from ever ready cat's paws. Now the diesel howls, demands are known for all of its payloads So where were we, here with the saint You need to tell Joey, he's the younger man. He just left from church, one where his head hides behind the softest stones. It’s the Angel Gabriel he takes as a moniker the beautiful monster I will always rely on. The kids at church seem to feel sorry. “I am really sorry God, for whatever I’ve done.” God tries to understand. Bio: Michael Igoe, neurodiverse city boy, Chicago now Boston, recovery staff at Boston University Center For Psych Rehab. Many works appear in journals online and print. Recent: Spare Change News(Cambridge MA), thebluenib.com, minerallit.com. Avalanches In Poetry Anthology@amazon.com. National Library Of Poetry Editor's Choice For 1997. Twitter: MichaelIgoe5. poetryinmotion416254859.wordpress.com. Urban Realism, Surrealism. I like the Night.