The Run

This course has no escape hatch; what is set to go, goes.
That is the current, merciless, in the progression, tyrant to the
ways, nature’s force, unrelenting, unfazed, with radical abandon.
So suit up, girls and boys, get ready for the pull/toss/pound/blow.
What collides and passes by, is what happened, and that is all. Dare
we plan, plot/chart the flow; strategize and blueprint the future, predict
how we will smash against a rock, lose our breath in an undertow, roll
over the bodies of those wedged upon the bed, envision our hearts when
faced with the drowned dead. There is your map, so tuck it in your pocket,
hold it like a lantern, lament and obsess over the geography and geology
of time. The stream halts for no one, favors no one, pities no one, it gives
no advice, merely roars, and spits, stampedes like a whirlpool and rockets
all manner of masses and thoughts across its ever racing plane.
So go on then, and dip your toe in; we’re all slaves to the flux and tide,
the onward, the headlong, the here-and-now-gone. Bring what you want,
and watch it all be dashed to pieces. Give a cry, or song, or a silent sigh.
You will feel it, that hand constantly shoving you forward, the whip
of the grip; suck in the glorious air, and ride the lashing, thrashing spin.
Do you feel that? That’s your end, gathering. Ask yourself,
how fast/far are you going? How long can you cling?
How large, do you think, that coming bang/boom.

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