Running a Race

I can’t be done. I can’t be done. I can’t be one. I can’t be won. just where I am, I’m wasted from the roof to basement. Finish line faceless, soul is vacant sometimes sounding ancient but really calling for patience. Sometimes you gotta run and take it. can’t wait for truth pervading, otherworldly elation. Look the competition passing us, we ass— like anus. Our antics for painful dribble created impasses we couldn’t fathom or ever get back like Beatles. They just tossed our salad, like cabbage, you bastard. Wanna go back to our Eden like Hazard. I can’t be done. I can’t be done. I can’t be one. I can’t be done with running the race. I can’t be done. I can’t be done. I gotta finish in at least some place. I can’t be won. I can’t be one. I can’t be done. I can’t be done. I can’t be one. I can’t be won I gotta give into some chase. Like a sweaty bum chasing a drink and something sweet for aftertaste. Or running retreat like I’m sprayed with mace. The different traits are basically bashing my balance— caught in my malice. Get my goblet or chalice, don’t make me wait or I’ll smack you with phallus. It’s no larger than average. Maybe it weighed me down and that’s why I couldn’t run fast. Sorry, hyperbole is my proclivity. Part of my nativity, davinci bound moronacy, it’s all on me to use my feet and flee the flurry, bound for golden eyes turned surly. Find my temple, Shirley, I must. Ok I’ll run for that, the truth uncurling, i trust. This can’t be done. This can’t be done. This can’t be one. This can’t be won. I can’t be done with running the race. I can’t be one. I can’t be won. I gotta finish in least some place. I can’t be done. I can’t be done. Is there something bigger than this picture? I see the frames and ripped edges, shaky hands fighting for stillness. Jellied legs screaming at gravity. There are more miles they must travel, even if they can go no further. It’s not their choice. The halo on our shoulders compels us forth. You must keep moving even with heels scorched or if all the competition went home and sits on their porch. You’re a different sort, you play a different sport, leave them in the dust on their home court. For yourself, that’s what for. We can’t be done. We can’t be done. We can’t be done with running the race. We can’t be done. We can’t be done. We gotta finish in least some place. we can’t be won. We can’t be one. we can’t be done. we can’t be done. we can’t be one. we can’t be won.