Its only smells.

That corrupt guy that explains to the woman.
Before the game and we all laughed and played valiantly.

While running I abscond to my mind, accosted by trace memories.
I’m not sure if its an feeling of exercise, that causes the thought-
However its common while running to remember different, similar times and places.
These running routes that I retrace in mind.
As the rat-a-rat, strides of legs, fleet footed, punching of distance.
Energy coursing through me. And the waft of memory-
Olive oil. Pine needles. I think of Rhodes. I think of Florence.
Something sweet. Sometimes sweat. I think of the food I ate.
I think of the women I’ve known. Relationships-
Passions brief and others entirely mental.

One scent is the divergence.
A taste of the past-
leading to tangent.
My roads end coils and tangents.
Pungent; could be the divergence-
leading me into or our of the wood.
Offtrack perhaps, three options : always.
Not two roads. But more.
You understand. We could run among the brier.
Over grass and dew. Mud slips or gravel.
Hills with sights of rainforest gullies.
Breathe in the air. Its smell.
Its unique animosity to the creature passing by.
Resistance, or blessing.
Sun beating down
Snow falling.
Sleet or rain slather the ground.
Eyes running. Snot dribbling.
Sweat stinging your eyes.
Yes, last night was a big night out.
And I skipped breakfast-
I’m so weak.
Rememeber that day, the other day.
Yesterday (but not really yesterday)
The other day, last week (a month ago) or once upon a time.
I ran on an empty stomach.
I ran immediately after eating a banana.
Thiry minutes after two weet-bix.
And the hill, the great hill of congress st.
That would always be my check.
I would assess.
“Imagine is pokemon was real”
“Parental troubles”
“Thoughts of girls I know”
“Remember when I felt great”
“I’ve done this before, this is easy”
“Wow, today i’m really struggling”
“What have I been thinking about”
“I am so out of it today, so weak”
“My sweat stings my eyes today”
“That guilty, slow, larconic, narcotic grin I bear”
I’ve grown to give other runners the thumbs up as I pass them now.
Passing others quickly as I overtake, counting them like a success.
Or if they are coming towards me, I happily make eye contact.
I feel like a shepherd. People are my cattle.
The well-to-do runner.
A paragon of good, and well expelled evil.
Unproductive caring, and reflection. That is my running.
Stolen, sickly sweet energy.
Smell. Grinning. Sweat.
The expression of self.
My fear of being run over by a bus.
headphones in, or full freedom.
Listen to my heart, my nothing.
Streaming down to road, foot-falls for company.
The briefest image of a passerby.
That comfortable eye contact, I smile and wave.
I think.
I reckon its the safest socializing strangers can partake.
I’m happy doing my own thing as I pass you by.
I cast towards you, all my hearts goodly reassurance.
Its OK. Do as you want. Life’s goodness.
But is this because of the safety of the brief?
No commitment.
Honest, uninterrupting.
Thoughtful, minor effect.
I am a ripple of a thought far off.
A decision from home has me passing you by now, and maybe never again.
You see me, I see you.
I smile. I feel great. With no plan, and my only direction is onward, forward.
Its a brilliant safe, satisfactory, needless.
I pass by, think on you for the briefest.
I let you into my life. Empathy lights up in my mind.
And then, like my passing you, the thought passes.
I have taken you into my heart and mind and I wish you all the best on your journey but I won’t take any action towards you. I can only project and mirror how I feel.
And that is an act, a well thought out bluff. I enjoy running. “I would love to stay and chat”, might be what I stay. There are different layers. Many many wings.
And these wings are my freedom.
My cure is cadence
Beat and bounce
pace of pulse
Measuring me meter.
Victory of velocity
Success of speed
Reaction and rate.
Movements momentum
Expression and energy
Free flying feeling.
Running’s revolution-
raw and real.
I am a pulse of blood under skin.
Of thoughtless floating.
Levitation, with good grounded rapport.
Sneakers soft.
Tight toes.
Lowing legs.
Cracking knees.
Popping joins.
Sighing muscles.
Spitting lips.
Wipe face.
Thoughtless arms.
Core’s push.
And once again we’re off, smiling assurance.
The grim grin.
Stark eyes tell small truths.
But I won’t stop.
Think not but long.

Put some pants on!
Met this guy, very handsome chap.
Know’s my heart and soul.
Humongous muffled*

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