I am NOT a poet

The sentences just came out funny. I blame lack of coffee….

In the dream, I ran,

my feet fly across the ground barely touching

The colors of my shirt and my shoes surely bleeding

into contrails of velocity behind me.

No effort, no strain, my feet devouring the distance,

I become speed.

It's strange how I have these dreams more often now

when I've started to jog again

than I did when I could barely walk

when stairs drove knives into my heels

and my back wanted me only to lie down.

In the morning ...