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Jason Glasser Apr 2017
clop go the sound
the feet against the ground
rather the asphalt or the grass
never the rubber, never the metal

incessant, incessant, incessant
beating back the ghosts
of a ten year memory
long since past its best by date

need i remind you that it was
the rubber, the metal, that spared the grass
coming down the hill
never flew so fast

18:57 engraved into the mind
like a time-worn time
cave painting of my life
what was once good can return in a while

eight years away, two years to stay
eight and two makes ten
just add the k
or rather the m

might as well plop on another three
and a point one just for measurement
see how steely the runner can be
sturdy as rubber, flexible as a post

neon blue feeling heavy
tasting salty and dry
confusion spits in my eye
start pondering why

but why is not the question
the question is why not
why can't this happen
because i believe it can isn't good enough

i have to know
i have to know what would have been
what could have been, what should have been
so channel the anger from within

and just beat back incessantly
the ghosts of time past
ten years of fruitlessness
turning into a juicy pear

pair of shoes, hair removed
dare to do, scared of who?
it's me against me
and only i can see

will it be less than two?
faster than you?
so much work to do
to make much ado

the old meets new
but it's kept askew
this is what i'm born to do
only 26.2 for me and for you

i'm going but i can't go
i'm stopping but i can't stop
i'm knowing but i can't know
what awaits at the top

for the top is just a mirage
i'll always want some more
there's no keeping score
just one more, then one more

in a world where time
is not measured by the beat of a clock
is measured by the distance covered
is measured by shoes meeting their ends

the goal is not the medal
the goal is not the orange slice
the goal is only the goal
to go until you can't go

and then go some more.
Jason Glasser Apr 2017
we ask this as a multitude not as a series of individuals
we are not one as we stand
we are not to sit idly by
we are too many to go unheard
so we ask ourselves
are we able

we wish to set a stamp on this world
we wish to send it somewhere better than itself
we wish to fix what is here
we realize then that we cannot inhabit all that is
so we remain here, asking others
are we able

we realize that things are gradual
we realize that the world moves slower than us
we individually might not last long enough to do anything
we might not allow for much change in our lifetime
we, through generations, pass our message on
so that we collectively just might pull it off
so we ask our sons and daughters
are we able

might we be more than carbon and water, if we wish?
might we use our carbon for more than methane?
might we speak wisdom beyond our ability to comprehend?
might we fix the broken lands?
might we fix the broken people?
so we ask the broken
are we able

we cannot hold a kings ransom
we can do more than horde our items
we try not to choke in the collective smog of business and politics
we struggle to breathe for we know what can be done
we hope others take our message
we want it to grow with the children
so we ask the future
are we able
Jason Glasser Apr 2017
new experiences fade the old
no matter how vital the old might be
we don't get a choice
we just do new things and **** there it goes

parts of you fall away bit by bit
i try to remember the whole but am faced only with the half
the left hand falls, the right shoulder
the memory of yelling at me upstairs when i was younger

of picking me up from cross country practice
replaced by a hospital bed and series of tubes
54 is far too young and it wasn't even one
of the plethora of plagues you endured

it was a curveball from the east wedging into the brain
forming a puddle of bacteria and eating away slowly
who'd have thought your heart would stay intact
or your liver or your lungs yet something unforeseen

soon the memories will fade yet more
replaced by a skeleton wearing a pitt hat
with a full glass of pepsi tugging downward at the bones
watching ncis, talking about fixing the porsche

the jaw bones rattling, fading away again
faced with the half and the prospect of the none
ashes three parts body, two parts pepsi, one part ink
and that part housing the memories shrinking against my will

— The End —