(Photo taken @ PDX Opera House)
March 20, 2019
There was a beacon for this run; it’s my home so I must run.
This is uphill battles for fun.
The moon knows best; saying put him to the test.
And run the AM fog, proving apart from the rest.
…Howling with the Moon, reminiscing my stress.
I was crazy to believe my dream was to be running to write and confess.
#AMWritingFiction from Portland; started at Tom McCall with this jogging marketing mess.
Creating the story to end racism forever, it’s an annoying story I abreast.
You’ll meet Rigil, watching from Dekum’s nest.
Like me, he writes cocky, purposefully.
We are the poetic justice you envy.
Putting 1,000 plus words to any picture.
Poetry’s the plus.
Most only get to the picture.
I once road the bus.
These words are more than concrete art.
Stop and snap a picture of each word I dart.
They’re written to connect worlds with love, art’s not to set us apart.
But to pull us together, and breathe as one to strive for better.
Yet we forget because working and making money is the stressor.
How about a new pillar? A book that remindfully amends racism, naw, never…
It’ll be satire, mixed with Sci-fi and political history to inspire.
So people can research true history.
Because I ran a nine mile route in D.C. to understand my misery.
Don’t believe me?
Here’ the 7,000 word poem I wrote in my head running those streets of D.C.
Training to later howl with the Worm Moon; shaking off my demons for the last of this Winter’s Full Bloom.
Panic attics for the book worms to read, hear I am, unscorned for writing.
A warrior’s oath to whom he dorm fighting.
Migraines took me for several years. But I asked to beast as I best keep thriving.
The beacon is skilled and born.
Running for books and believing for yours.
I run to write and blow my horn.
Book one is when you’ll see me go orange.
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