I went to the cemetery with the intention to run, but arrived exhausted and inclined instead, on this dog-summer day, to slide up to an old obelisk and just slouch, like someone life-beaten, in the drunken, mystical sun.  Yet a voice screamed to me: “A warrior’s training is never done.   Don’t damn the torpedos—flow with them, become one.  Then commit the shooter to kingdom-come".

So run I did, indeed.  During the first lap, my brain rattled painfully about in my head, recording every footstep I ventured with a pronounced throb.  During the second lap, I found my breath.  It was sweet, pure, and painless—just like the girl of my dreams that I hope someday to meet.  The third and final lap consisted of tapping into a pool of seemingly cool, unbounded energy. Each step was free, every movement rejoicingly hydraulic, and my demeanor beamed entirely undeadly and with a heart that was childrening.

Aha!  I just found my ‘Aha!”, I said, I say.

And now I twirl with a tint of sunset and…quietly slip away.

I've been living hard lately, but it's making me tougher.  And now I'm prepared to kick the ass of the next oak tree I see.

Actually, I'm going to try to take a break from the work grind later today and run and do some writing in the early evening.  Literary-wise, even I no longer know what to expect of me.  And that surprise may be the only fun I'll have until the moon waxes full and draws me out to howl like a beast possessed.