Featured Art By Martin French

Thursday, April 13, 2023

Each nostril I pull,

In air til’ it’s full,

My body, my tool,

Exhaling to cool…

Each breath I approach,

My lungs need a coat,

It’s Portland, it’s cold,

It’s Portland, we chose…

From sidewalks to roads,

I run like I’m owed,

A spot on a float,

A yacht or a boat…

I run and it strikes,

Acidic… oh my,

Uphills and I burst,

Set pain in a hearse,

I love when it…

Boy am I cursed…?

I hate when I…

Run me to dirt,

Yet free when I sing,

“Tell ‘em it hurts…”

-Budd

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