Wheel Commute

When I wake to the wind in my face

Heaving my breath and my

Eyes water to the chill

Each time I am glad to have a purpose

Leaving for work, the morning dark.

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Lacing Up A Wheel

Lacing up a wheel

Sounds like I am going for a walk.

I try not to get lost

Is the spoke holding the hub up

Or is the rim hanging from the hub

Sometime it is and sometimes it isn’t

Counting holes going round

First one way then the next.

The madness to find a rhythm

Impossibly confused wobble

A wheel in parts together

That can’t hold itself up

Could never roll soon

Takes shape of round

The moment of truth

For true the test

The tensing of a wheel

Ends in a hyperbolic

Paraboloid that I could never

Purposely make.

Its beautiful and wrong at the same time.

Lacing up a wheel again.