Lately I run harder, feet slap, ankle twitch, calf wrench, mouth grin; charge a hill, stride out a flat, ease a steep down; eat my lung-suck-heart-race. My mystic rose there, in that forge off that anvil. Got to fire the fire.
Run, the body sings; run on, the mind quietens, then quivers; futther on, mind-body merge ... you blossom.
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