Tired of thinking, tired of thought, let me run dumb.
Unthinkingly. Stupidly. Bodily. Physically. Naturally. Instinctually.
Like a lion is chasing me or the path by the sea is home ground to my flexed foot and the sun is making promises to antiquity.
My bones know things my mind never will. The language my muscles speak is the truth.
If on the far side of exhaustion lies silence and on the near, possibility, I want to run right up to the line and keep myself there, an apprentice to the erotics of the run.
Desire, then, to be admitted to the elemental and to have nothing more to say.