The difficulty of a run

is the sun
on the horizon
I sail to.
To Earth’s end, I’d sail
to find her up above
in a scornful smile.
Me — dead inside.
is the coconut shell
I cannot crack.
I threw it in frustration
to see it smile,
the scornful one,
to snide and bite.
Me — dead inside.

Neal Ym (Phalguni Y)
December 21, 2016