Writing is dangerous a sport
With far too many muscles left to pull
Not only in my body
Writing is far few abstract-I cannot think in words and I cannot label-the day I put it into words it's labeled
And that is dangerous a vote
Thinking is much cleaner yes, for now
They said that thoughts are safe
yet I don't think obscenities in public
And I don't feel obscenities in public
Two sane thoughts a day(required by law) they say will keep the writers away from Fitzgerald's and Virginia's-Poe is still fair ground
They said that diaries were safe, but we writers do not write in public
But sports are played to audiences and votes need to be a-gotten and we writers express our condolences for the death of writing and the birth of Athleticism and Campaigns
As the wind blows across my face,
And I reach the end of the race,
I wonder if I spent too much time,
That I had lost those who were mine.
An athlete's life was never a bore,
But it always ate one to one's own core,
And yes, I do regret,
Not caring, not loving,
Not being able to reset,
And concentrate on who I loved most,
And giving up the best of the coast,
For an athlete's glory is sometimes empty.
Because once you lose track of time,
You lose what once was mine.
We laugh like there's nothing
That's not hilarious.
We speak in unison when skipping down
Cobblestone streets, on our way to
Music or movies. Like magnets
Through two crowds, drawn
Until interconnecting. Astral athletes
Exchanging tops after a game; pointing,
Asking, learning, relaxing.
Learning, relaxing more, pacing. When
Love tries, everything becomes
i went down to florida
and came back with pneumonia,
maybe due to my life so busy
running and running and getting so dizzy,
always managing to stay on track
costing my sleep to be in major lack,
pushing myself past every limit
enjoying it all and never feeling timid,
but everyone said i'd eventually hit a wall
i guess they were right after all.
I met him yesterday.
He introduced himself as a triathlete.
No first name. Just TRIATHLETE.
Gave me a wink and a very firm handshake.
He exchanged glances with me and his left bicep.
I found it humorous that he was flirting with a humerus.
Said he would see me in a few weeks,
At the triathlon.
Well, I won't be found with a numbered card on my chest
at the start or finish line.
I'll be found in the first aid tent rendering aid to
other good will coffin dodgers named TRIATHLETE.
He was a good runner;
And one hell of a stunner;
Your stop-glass picture for a lightning vision;
And a start-pass winner, a stunting gold finisher;
A heart cold hunter, he was my knock-out hitter;
He was a K.O. Rider--
He was a collider: on one collect collision course;
Of course, the beginning was when it began:
Between the specific sheet of force
With a good measure...
Had me landing on all fours,
Reveling in it again;
To rev up was the plan.