Pandemic Psychedelic Running Poem

It’s hot and summertime

No, wait, it’s only May

Not even summertime

Too many vehicles whizzing by

During this pandemic

I’m rolling easy to go so far

with harmonium and Kirtan beats

Trying to find the words to this poem

In the seeds on the grass

In the heat in the sky  

A voice and a ditch can throw you down

Leave you coming up covered in mud

Leeches and ticks don’t care

Sweat is the potion that separates

Then reconstitutes you

With everything that ever did breathe

Or didn’t or couldn’t

Or tried or lived and died

Dumped on top of the manure mulch pile

As tall as Paul Bunyan

Sitting there stinking and choking me

Finding these words in the runner's high 

Close to home my pace slowed

Too many trucks were pissing me off

It’s hot and only May

Not even summer, yet