SHORT-CIRCUIT SOCIETY WITH LONG WALKS NOT POETRY

one hundred years I smuggled the banned books.
time mostly spent waiting for guards to doze.
the long way through the empirical side
meant I was not hurried and cold air woke.

far from lonely, it was time to study
craters that had not been advertised yet
and math which steadily solved the problems 
of supplying contraband it denied.

nibbling on apples, I waited out guards.
yet never did my midnight vest tug tight
upon the arguments next to my heart
and wrapped in curious purple-red twine.

the sync was time on mooncoast journey nights.
those books were just a meal, a city beer
or the fuel, the fire that lights faces
of a mob with the brewmaster crying.