meh

I went to a poetry reading last nite in a town about 45 minutes away. The man of the hour was an old professor of mine, whom I adored. He read his poems to the sounds of a jazz trio and it was lovely. It made me want to write, even tho my writing as of late sucks because I am out of practice.

Just like my running as of late sucks, because I am out of practice. Although, I ran a 5k this morning in about 36 minutes, which is faster than I expected to be, so there’s that. Still slower than I’d like, way slower. I was running 27:23’s last season. *sigh* Guess that’s what 20 pounds of fat will do to a person’s runtime.

Whatever.

Languid

I listen to poetry
forming on their lips
like morning dew
and I long to create,
to capture the wind
in words, the Fall in
an elegant phrase.
Instead  I clunk out
chunks of odd thoughts
and random musings,
ending with nothing
more than spindly stanzas
like the gnawed off nubs
of a spider plant:
prey of a curious cat.
4.20.13/4.06am

Walker

I want to be excited
by tomorrow’s 5k.
I am not.
"Runner’s high" is,
thus far, a myth.
Perhaps I do not run
far enough, perhaps
I do not run
fast enough.
I used to finish 3.1
in 27 minutes.
Now I’m lucky to gasp
out a mile under 12.
Depression has sucked
so much of my life away.
4.20.13/4.15am