When I Go
By Hannah Brooks-Motl
When I go for my run it is art that I do—into the prairie!
There may be a yellow barn on the route—let us name it transcendence.
I hear the sound of earth coming up through the leaves—all upon the prairie!
The mind runs along, full of misconduct—inescapable desire for censure.
He thought she was hot he told me, and he liked her tattoos—unexpected desire for censure!
There are clouds that pursue, and pursue, and pursue—high above the surfeit of prairie.
Striving to memorize the initial flash of reminding—pain is very accurate!
She laughed but did not laugh, she wrote me—I too used to eat less.
What good to speak now to love’s endlessness—like litter over the prairie.
Grass may hide devastations from view—how extensive the look of the prairie!
My voice continues inside me, both small and yet serious—it embodies an incident.
I have learned to ignore it—