Each dawn I climb the spine of the horizon
and wait where numbers gather like prophets with split tongues for hire. Preaching the Devils pocket profits dressed up as desire.
Here, we buckle up and trail them Devils through the city.
Old Princes’ of appetite, bold and gritty.
They run through open markets wearing coats stitched from panic and lined with greed,
their tails so long they sweep through blocks and scatter vices like seeds.
They’re going to run regardless. So we gear up for the ride.
‘RIDE AT YOUR OWN RISK’
their tattered tags advise. A small warning hanging from fraying hems, and ignored by every pair of eyes.
If you time it right
and catch hold before they pass,
You better have good footing—
you don’t want to jump on last.
Once we hit full speed,
where you clung on begins to matter.
Some ride high above the noise,
some get lost beneath the clatter.
Some shout directions from their positions,
helping others climb aboard.
Many miss and disappear beneath the Devils coattails,
becoming the fuel that keeps us moving forward.
We hold their coats down,
weighted by dreams of escape.
The ride grows sweet, the speed grows wild, and you may forget what’s at stake.
Their coats scrapes the pavement,
strips the paint from every door,
scattering dreams like autumn leaves
before the storm begins to roar.
The devil never asked for our help.
He runs. We simply follow.
And I hold on tight for Devil learns of us, so why not us of them?
It’s better to know of who throws the first punch, so they’ll never land on your chin.
As They tears across the world,
their pockets split apart.
Silver rains through gutters.
Gold collects where every fracture starts.
Wealth falls from Them in shining streams,
like sparks escaping broken seams.
And when those pockets finally burst
from the violence of their pace,
we gather what our arms can hold,
some believing it was Fate.
But never bend too far for more. Never reach beyond your share.
You might lose your footing there and vanish in the open air.
For this form of transportation through the world has no railings, and has never been repaired.
That is the bargain. That is the game. These kind of runs won’t take time from your name.
Did you know that some never see the Devils we chase?
A Devil is a Devil–one in the same.
Still a prisoner—just with farther fields to see.
A longer leash. Mistaken for liberty.
This is my inheritance.
This is the wager.
Every coin bears two faces.
One shines like a savior.
The other stares back with a devious anchor.
And every fortune leaves a question only time alone can answer:
Did we ride the devil for freedom—or to simply become Hell’s handy passenger?
.
-NYAG