I can't stop mixing feelings with volcano thoughts
and sometimes you need to vomit crap before you get cuisine.
Night ride I
down tree vaulted asphalt of Martin Luther King Jr Drive.
Headlights flash and blur in my mini rear-view
cars passing too close,
but my aluminum tubes, carbon reinforced fork, and steely resolve
keep my company close as I ride on,
wheels spinning some sixty rpms on this river side ride
the moon casting reflections in the rain flecked street
and the forest hanging overhead to the right
while on the left
mixed among the damp thirsted hunger of foliage upon the riparian zone
and the wild
geese and goslings and goose shit piling high on and along the grass and pathway:
but I who choose the road avoid gutted
mutilated rotting geese carcasses deeply genuflecting on the bike route.