Until you run.
It doesn't matter if your legs weigh a ton
and your feet have sores on top of sores, toes bent and irregular, misshapen
discolorations people say is nothing no matter how much time they spend staring
at them. The thought appears like dawn
light in the slightest cracks in your sky.
From a dark room you can’t help but search for it, scan and retest the
distance between the doors and windows since the last time you opened them.
Calculations escalate to near random numerical
values that both make sense and leave you utterly breathless.
Finally after years of seconds have elapsed,
collected in a pool of infinite reason, swirled like a cocktail of colorless
sins, it all resumes in heaping quantities of purposefulness that erodes the
senses and leaves you questioning the universe.
