ms. carene brown, may angels lead you in. tomorrow i will run and run so i can forget that i wasn't there when i should have been, didn't call as much as i should have, wasn't a good friend when you had been an amazing mentor.
i will run from the seductive smile of james franco in cocoa reality, his solid shoulders smoldering in the glittering sunrise on John street.
step step step step and you dwell for a little while on why they can't see that you have been responsible since the womb
that you willed yourself to be fine minus the lack of proper prenatal care
that you were delivered into this world with a block on your shoulder
and a full vocabulary
with melancholy and woe
and that sometimes you just
have to throw it all off
shake and shimmy it off
sprint away
and go.
breathe. exhale. swing your arms. exhale.
you resolve not to let it bother you
not to let them get to you
penetrate the core of your soul
the nymph who needs to keep moving
to blend the pastels of existence with magazine cutout
collage pictures in order to make comprehensible
everything you see.
step
step
step
step
breathe
exhale
step
step
step
step
i will run and run
and when i am done
i will stretch until i am numb.
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