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—

2 comments:

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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Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com

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