from too much bad food or from
too many harsh words,
you can run pain out.
Run the negativity
right out--just like that.
When the fight is with
the pavement--the fight to breathe--
the fight with the world
falls away like sweat.
It runs down your back in drops
and lies forgotten,
a stain on sidewalk.
Only the rattle of air
in your throat is real.
Your mouth may taste blood,
but your eyes might not see red.
They just can't touch you
when you run like this.
When you really run to fly
in to your own pulse.
Sidewalk, shoes, and me.
Feet connect with asphalt and
heart connects with lungs.
