My first hundred strides
disappear in mere seconds,
swallowed by the street.
Countless concrete squares
mark the passage of my feet,
echoing rhythms.
Springy, metallic
and hypnotic, it becomes
the strange metronome
by which the colors
of the sparks within my lungs
are measured and mixed.
The last thousand strides
are a shrieking hue of white,
signaling success.
Fatigue is the song
composed by the metronome:
Me against pavement.
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