I can't stop mixing feelings with volcano thoughts
and sometimes you need to vomit before you can get cuisine.
Night ride I
down tree vaulted asphalt of Martin Luther King Jr Drive.
Headlights of cars passing too close flash and blur in my mini rear-view,
but my aluminum tubes, carbon-reinforced fork, and steely resolve
carry me as I ride on.
And as I ride
before me rises an artificial sunrise
ambient glow of millions of street lights,
the LED sprinkled city skyline,
and my wheels spinning rpms some sixty.
The moon casts its reflection on the rain flecked street.
Outliers of tree branches hang overhead,
to my left the Schuylkill River's riparian zone,
and mixed among the foliage and sculpted meadow-lands
wild geese and goslings'
goose droppings brown black and white
heavy scattered among the grass and on and along the pathway.
But on this night
I who choose the road also avoid
headless geese carcasses deeply genuflecting on the bike route.