Every night or so I go out for a run along the roads
I don't know why it appeals to me
There's the wind
Constantly caressing my scalp
And the silence of course
Okay, so I DO know why it appeals to me.
Light, then dark, then a pale shade of gray
Tendrils of shadow across my back
Whipping it, drawing fine beads of sweat
But strangely it doesn't hurt
Asphalt beats upon my shoes like a drum
Keeping a tempo with the motor in my chest
The route looks so strange
Where the little peepholes once used to be
A snippet of the Old Man's life
Tonight he's built
A solid wall of obsidian
I can't see through
Though maybe it's one way glass
And his eyes are really watching me.
I hope it's just my imagination.
Let's drum a little harder. Increase the tempo.
Oh, the crickets are chatting and the night is young!
Now passing through the garden of cycadia
Rustled by waves of motion
Setting off The Night Chorus
A choir of leaves and reeds
This is what it means to be alive!
The thudding on the road stops
The drum stops beating. What's wrong?
The show must go on!
On occasion, every while or so
I glance into a car window
Or that's just my face
God, that's HIDEOUS.
No, it's the reflection of the trees above
And then the ghost pops out at me.
[Go back! Go back! The mouth bellows out
You noisy, clumsy, unholy lout!]
So I run
Back through the trees (grasping for my limbs and hair)
Back through the roads where the ghosts line the aisles
Back across the bridge that separates me from home
Back down the driveway, and I'm suddenly alone
Dedicated to my old house, which was along the road I used to run.