I wonder if my knees ever crack open on this part of the route.
Ah, I’m thinking too much about it. My knees are my hinges,
They keep my sanity doors shut/open while I run downhill.
My left foot outpaces my right foot, my right foot—my left foot.
My hands are pendulums; my legs are bridges
Between what I see and what I feel.
This part of the route is too steep, too sloping,
And my insurance is a cheap fake,
So if my knees ever crack open,
If my body chokes over itself and licks the street,
I’ll just lie there and pretend that I am a snowflake,
Just leave me alone! I am six feet
Under this shit!