Running Tally

VIII

Running Tally

A compulsion to sprint, despite
pockets of bottle caps
my silver linings, rattling free
pressed into roots, transformed into trees

soaking our seat. Your spine is
a centipede, drowning.
heart palpitations propelling my feet
through sterile blue corridors,
through mouth foam on sheets

stinging court one: Nettle sun heat,
a racquet strap inlaid
in kiln-fired clay.
Indivisible, invisible,
a break point defeat

gaining on me. Picking up speed,
through fences, footbridges,
a cluster of trees,
three chrome edges bleed,
the relief of a beating, severed I flee

to find velocity under our feet.
of shells, of sea
of a shattered bus shelter,
of salt-washed debris,
your gasps supplying my oxygen feed.

A study on my life's most memorable runs, one act with many distinctions. Humble thanks for reading, critiques/advice/suggestions are highly appreciated. - Wes

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