trust me, there's nothing not ordinary.
those parents of ours are still as loving.
i'm not married, i don't make a lot of money
i live in town, sometimes i go running;
like we used to.

and how we grew up so differently,
i'm at a loss as to why.
and how you'd try so much more willingly
you'd be the last to stop running
and you would wait up for me.

that we get back to that, is my hope,
now and increasingly.
for the motion, you see, of our four feet
suddenly, breathlessly, non-lethally ceased.
out here, it's all gone just how you'd think
on that you'll have to trust me.

because i know that all you can see, now
is separated vertically
from cold, gray ceiling
to cold, gray ground.
We're only strays.
I had trouble connecting with this. There's nothing particularly concrete or eye catching about this. It sounds funny, talking about ideas being concrete, but I'm sure you know what I mean. I need something that stops me. A picture, a scene, something to put me in your shoes and bring me out of this haze that is the "pre-reading" mentality, if you will. I thought the running theme was going to be that for a minute, but you ended up leaving that at the back of your mind.