Poetry

Crusty rolls and glass soda bottles

Blue. In my mouth, on my tongue.

Ice, salt and small

creatures that wriggle together to form limbs.

An eye enlarged by remnants

of a green beer bottle,

no longer sharp. Its threat dead.

Laughter from the sand,

sandwiches full of it.

Water filtered through a straw hat

to make a mirror pool.

Ears full, yet deaf.

Poetry

Orbit

My foot

pounds down on the road.

The impact charges up my leg,

vibrating muscle, fat and skin.

The other leg comes down

and the force pushes the ground to breaking;

it can’t even breathe.

 

The weight of will

wishing to beat it from my mind

is heavy.

 

I gasp.

I gulp.

I drink in the air

and the wind cries with me,

flying by my side.

 

My strong legs can’t go on forever.

Eventually, the track will loop on itself

and I’ll end up back

where it all began.

 

I can picture it now;

myself a spectator of myself.

Watching from the start,

cringing at the beginning,

then appreciating the work it took

to build the foundations

I have now.

 

I cannot run for eternity.

But planets don’t stand still, either.