I am NOT a poet

The sentences just came out funny. I blame lack of coffee….

In the dream, I ran,
my feet fly across the ground barely touching
The colors of my shirt and my shoes surely bleeding
into contrails of velocity behind me.
No effort, no strain, my feet devouring the distance,
I become speed.

It’s strange how I have these dreams more often now
when I’ve started to jog again
than I did when I could barely walk
when stairs drove knives into my heels
and my back wanted me only to lie down.

In the morning I’ll put my shoes on and jog,
my progress measured in the pavement cracks,
by making it to the next tree, the next intersection.

In the dream, though, I fly.

3 thoughts on “I am NOT a poet

  1. I agree with John … you’re better than you give yourself credit for … but that’s not a surprise!

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