The next few weeks will be
More void than the tree
Of leaves, the words undone
Left in the mind for latter
A pardon from you
I bid not adieu at so few
Quips on bikes in haste
That expand me beyond
What time I could waste
And wait to push a pen
The sharp sound crick-crick
Heard though the wind and traffic
Are chased, a target on a path
The seeking tread rubber to leaf
A signal a charm a coming friend
Before as now it will always be
A fall leaf curled so waiting
Front tire crick back wheel crick
The same sound
Each year each leaf
The crick-crick of time rolling
Over but the same
The wheel broke, it didn’t roll
A numbness in the mind blinded
Stamping feet to no avail
It’s a wheel roll, dam roll
Bearings froze on a warm day
The eyes wide to the need of lubrication
Distressed of industry, foul, vital, dark
Spit proves the point.
To render fat or distill crude
In every sense of the word
The remnants, congealed grease
Petrified, purified, paleo dermis
How many more of us will it take
Till we can die and leave enough
To make grease oil and tar.
And then will there be a bicycle
Needing such gunk.
The feet chase the toes going round
The pedals stuck to the feet following
The toes going round attached to legs
Pumping and the heart thumping
Eye ahead eye aside, crane the neck
Look behind, rest the head down
Shoulders humped to arms pulling
Hands and fingers loosely gripped.
A measured cadence ahead to chase
Its only time, you know will catch
The draft, the invisible break your
Legs search for, your face feels.
A steady rhythm ahead is your goal
A welcome treat from lone pavement
Eyes measure the distance, speed, effort
Till the wisps of broken air tell the heart
Ease up, you’re there, one push two
The smooth britting sound of chain and gears
As the rush of wind diminishes in the ears.
To the sound of the wheel ahead
The road to short for mutual assist so hang
Ready, anticipating the train behind
Giving the pull to help in the head wind,
Someone slower not rushing.
A slow slog, for a good break
Steady legs can be seen before
The brand, the make, the bike.
A partnership on cold days.
Days have past spinning the words out for fun,
Bringing a notion of riding that has created a stronger
Sense of who I am besides a spandex fool waiting to crash.
Riding is not an effort it is what one does, and so to writing.
What storm could stop me, I made it when others were stuck.
And even if the pencil is a nub, the words stick in the head
Waiting to be put out at the chance of a scrap of paper.
A state of insecurity even commuting the same rate always early.
The floating waves of words crest and fly, become the spume and frost
Of all our hearts and rarely seen but we know the feel and pull of desire.
Between the lines is always the story of becoming and going,
So easy to see in others, until I catch my own reflection
Passing store front windows looking for a clock to mark time.
Spoke a friend a long time
Of times now and short days
Wispers faint on moods
No riding seas or trumpets
Spoke from an outer heart casing
Not mantel, a tie to the inside
Spoke on friends, memories of laughter
Some sadness a morphed reality
Again a radiating tie to inside
Yet, moving away circling back
Spoke to family rolling and missing
All the thought word connections circle
Like a wheel inside out, wobbling with
A hub indistinctly spoked to a tinny wheel
The wheel rolls through the world, dragging
A spoked heart piercing soft tendrals into
Forgotten ground still tamped infertil paths.
Spoke in tension at length, spoke in compassion compression
Honest retort, spoke to you spoke back spoke to me.
The uniform space discribing the form becomes
Wheel, becomes a record bouncing each nub
There is neither tension or compression continuous
rolling thumping each spoke infinate virtical variation
Falling forward and the next, orbiting the truth.
If I hide my truth the colapsing spokes flay about
Unspoken forms hurling towards friendly targets
Circling circling, circling forms circle past.
Unrimmed. Gathering the ditris of others.
Yet rolling on perfection hidden from view.
Small pebbles of steel, circle around
Ignorant of its load but sharred.
I am tired, rimmed, tread, spoke
A hub an axle to carry a load