The rug is still
pulling out
beneath my feet.
Running in place,
I don’t get
I don’t fall forward.
I don’t trip back.
I haven’t landed
upon my face.
Not yet.

Oh, wait.
Was that it?
Well maybe I have
a genial amnesia?

And now I am back
up, running
in place again,
going nowhere
faster than ever.

I begin
how long this carpet is
and what happens
when it runs out
or I’ve run out?
I’ve forgotten
how long I’ve been
stagnant, on this
ride; this treadmill.
Too long, too short,
too slow, too much;
the undertow.

There’s nowhere to get off.
Just more halls
of rugs to haul
until they’re draped
above my head, under
another man’s tread.

There’s no way out, except
to fall
into open air oblivion,
ninety feet tall.
But I have a feeling
I’d just keep falling.
The rug is pulled
from every axis.
It’s a joke
even trying
on top this pillar of nothing,
so I laugh and wait to die.
I’ve been waiting and running
for a very long time,
but I’ve been
laughing even longer.
And that
the secret of my endurance.

written on 09/28/2013 by: Matt Kane