september evening by Steve Calamars

raging bull muted on
the television set and
dostoyevsky screaming
in my brain
as i leave a tiny room
on the second floor of
an old apartment building
and run 6 miles
thru rich streets
with poor social skills and
worn sneakers
the miles fall beneath
my feet and i climb the
flight of stairs back to my room
my mind still racing and my
thoughts sprinting
across the page
malicious as
missiles and
molotov cocktails—


Peter Greene said...

Running is for emergencies. And thanks for the poem!

Paul Hellweg said...

I can't believe there are no comments yet. This poem rocks. I'm on board, well, I think I know waht you mean.


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