JOG?

The gaze of the moon is upon me and as I run I see the glimmering welcomes of the city’s night life, arising from yet another day of diligence. How far is it to the moon? Can I get there with these shoes? I don’t know but my feet are starting to ache and the sound of my pace is making a melodious rhythm. One, Two, Three… another group of beats and I begin to make up a song. I do that sometimes; make up weird songs when I am in the moment. I guess it is just my impertinence to be creative. I believe that eighty percent of the time, my creativity is stifled by an unknown source and I want to compensate that problem but am unable to, resulting in word or drawing mush. I loathe mush. As I run today I tell myself “six laps stay on six laps non-stop”. I walk at lap five. Well I run and walk, but I still walk. Is self-discipline not able to compute within me? Ah, I have problem with staying on task. Lap five is my “fuck it!” lap, and this angers me! However there is a silver lining to all of this, as I contemplate why I can’t continue running, I am running lap six. Lap six is the enigma of my inner art. Lap six is my subconscious magnum opus. Why did I start talking about this? There goes that beat again, one, two, three. How far is it to the moon?