1:12:25 9:20am nyc

Exactly, how far is it to you?
this is more than mere question,
or a rhetorical poem title discard,
consider it an interrogatory of
the first order, a debate raging
with every word successfully
affixed from brain to fingertips,
from my breathing to your heart,
how far is it exactly, pray tell me,
how these cords of words find you,
are your lips bending up in a smile,
need me a weather report, air quality,
wind gusts vitals vital to yo! estimate
how fast & conditions they’ll require survive/arrive in your eyesight well
and be friended


feed me the data, Heart Rate, Blood Pressure,
SpO2, so I’ll know what condition your
condition is in, adjust my words accordingly,
send to this distance back to me awaiting,
the necessary facts & figures to provide the finger stroke directional, do you need whispers or emboldened bold face to arouse the a spirit flagging, a shoulder shaking, a dozen red lipped chords of
kisses and sweet everthings, that do not
dissolve, dissipate or disappear instantly,
but can be stored in a Ziploc bag, refrigerated,
ready for gorging and disgorging, repeatedly,
as needed, synchronized slow or hard, fast
or soft, wet or dry. sweet or salty, savory
or a blended mixture, an adjustable concoction depending
on distance, time of day,
tell me,
the stuff that you accept
with open willingness,
or just begrudgingly

all adjustable
all shaped to
your individuality
elastic flexible
but the schedule
filling up fast
so we can mutual
squeeze into each others
empire of empty

so,
Exactly, how far is it to you,
to where you are being?

some factoids re me:

I live in LA (Cali).
I like to jog, to stay fit,
bonus is that got great
killer long legs, another
smoke smothering reason
to run my **** off

now the big secret!

am only human,
au courant, single, in bested~
busted, heart recovery mode,
looking for a rebound takeaway,
and “really cautious”
ain’t a word in my vocab
(just a little version)
borm elemental stuff

don’t! mock, critique,
hell, don’t even speak,
a romantic idiot believes
that love is impossibly
hard to uncover, ergo,
grab it like when you
smell it close by,
yum, like warm oven
fresh brioche bread

Anyway,
(set the scene, my momma sez)

love to endorphin~run by
water, Palisades Park, my haunt,
run along Ocean Avenue,
breathtaking panoramic
views of Santa Monica Bay
from atop the sandstone bluffs

believe it, my eyes drift upward,
checking out the scenery,
checking out the scene,
writing/ singing/ watch
feedbacking my reality,
check, check, and checking
as well, the competition ,
the lionesses, and the lions

eyes up, toe down,
slight irregular
sidewalk jutting,
me tumbling,
scratches,multicolored
bruises in many places
surely to follow in the
shortly thereafter, but my
ankle is screaming at me,
clearly more upsetting
than
a typical normative,
upsetting upset regretting

eyes closed, combo
of brilliant sun,  +
pain waves rendering
me semi-blinded,
hearing functioning,
voice saying, let me
please, let us
take a quick 👀

he had me at the
us,^
now acting cool,
overlooking him over,
easy, but required me to
overlook as well
my twisted agoniste

(ageoniste: A muscle that is controlled by the action of an antagonist with which it is
paired (paired!!!*)

still groan whimpering,
tres tres embarrassing
and hopefully endearing,
hearing this: “Hi! it’s Michael,
need an ambulance at this location,
probably just a twisted ankle,
assorted contusions, possible
concussion, needs a full set
of x-rays..

Ok. Who has an ambulance service
on speed dial

on and  on the story
gies, flows, cries and
finally cracks:

this dark tan slim man
is an ER doc, who
picks
packs
pecks
me up,
but wont
tell me his last name
or why he only smiles
so sadly

somewhere on the way
he says:

cant stay with you
but you’ll be all fixed up
and soon be better,
and when your running
always be looking ahead
five, maybe ten feet

I
do the most
unpredictable
unlikely
ridiculous
thing I’ve
ever done:
weeping don’t leave me,
repeatedly repeatedly,
and he renders tender
with its
just a fender ******
and you will most excellently
recover

somewhere
on the ride
I believe
he quiet cautiously whispers
you’re beautiful and lovely
but I dare not
no longer allows himself
to get involved with patients,
it always end badly

a year later,
wrote my next poem