to run

ride ragged breath, a bucking bronco
until it smooths out, high tide
three and a half miles in
brain floods body
with endorphins to shut off
this incessant thinking,
which is a real blessing.

neural switch flips when
brain stops imagining
body is trying to kill it,
grasping onto that
primal cord of surviving
body becomes a perpetual motion
meat and bone machine.

scalp tingles with electric
pulls tight to skull,
the brain breathing after
the long assault by smoke,
bludgeoned by wine and whiskey
feel it fighting in there?

just like the sensation of speed
without that artificial edge,
that sharp cliff of comedown.
just pound and fly along
motivated by
the shape of a cloud
the smell of the ground
the promise of cool water.

bluebird

"bluebird" by Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?