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In Media Res
Cristina Dascalu

I too hear the echo of midnight riders
Or at least I infatuate myself with the thought that I do
Like coins thrown on the pavement
On Sunday morning when everyone is supposed to be in church
And they are not silver.
Nobody selling anybody else
Hello, understand and surrender
There is no escape
Behind the imaginary trees
There is no imaginary forest
To escape my meander
of arrhythmic solitary waves
There is no beginning.
Everything always starts here in media res