walking through words

running
sweat in my eyes
trying to see past my own red nose
or tears
tears are trite
forget them, go with sweat
stink of salt stinging
a whole being pushing
out through clogged holes
orifices
limbs left and lost to the landscape
movement perpetuating movement
burning skin burning lungs
stopping
to feel the difference in stillness
moving again before rest
settles in distracts from the unweathered path
how many lost and losing and lying and dying poems can we can i write
before forceful rest conquers these lovely joints

I'm just kind of going with it. I really default to sad, lost, fighting themes, don't I? The fighting is nice (yep, I'm going to stick with that statement).