Around a Suburban pond
An old man runs in repetition
Upon the encompassing sidewalk,
Running from his inevitable death.
Each lap placed
Are a few years added to his life of incarcerated soul
And logic in abundance,
understanding only that of which has been placed before him;
Continuously circling his soul in search of it,
On his paved path of redundant logic.

Off in the distance
(peripheral vision ignored)
Near a play ground

A worm is found
Crawling through terra firma
Bringing fresh breath to turned earth,
The worm rises to top-soil at the percolation of rain
In hopes to cleanse all that is supraliminal
Only to be thieved of felt-sight.
Left to wither and die on morning asphalt,
Experiencing tribulation of spiritual nerves,
So it curves.

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