Ani Smith

The Runner

Wish I was the kind of girl that runs more than makeup with my heart bounce, a sticky upper lip, a shiny mess. Warm in my t-shirt, my toes snug, running miles like hot airplanes, like great massive muscles, like glossy fiberglass, and salty, like wind lopping off sea foam, with the whooshing dark ponytails of the tails of horses, rustling my leaves past blurry, people-colored shapes but not because I'm drunk, just because I'm fast, fast like speeding sound, like bullet trains, like bullets, like lightning, like light but pounding, beating like porn but on pavement, slick like an oil rig, slick and slipping, smelly, steaming like a hot spring and panting, my skin making buzz but not from sex, just from vibrating from impact with the earth, living, making life.


< Ana C.                 Home                 Becky Lang >