about the plain rhythm of gloves on a bag.
after days of being lost,
six hours from home and trying to be a tourist
all while wrestling with sickness.
there's something about traveling
that raises all these lost, uncertain feelings
like your own head is trying to tip the world off balance
or like you're not necessarily
alone in the basement
being able to beat out your frustrations
calms me down.
stops my head whirling.
i only really think of people who get out their feelings
as those maniacs on midsomer murders
with no impulse control
but yet here i am.
it clears my head
much the same way, i imagine, running does--
but whenever i run my mind wanders
and i end up stuck within myself again.
here there is only
trying to get the angle right so i don't hurt my hand