Things entitled here

Skin singed red like blood on the surface.
A whip-crack
A scorched back.
Wind burnt eyes from trying to escape
pedal through the wind
break at the turns.
Strained neck, aching
trying to look back.

Heart cracked like dropped pottery
Clay pots dripping red Virginia sand
Blood of earth through fingertips
dry, caking on our lips.

It pours, washing over my hands
I can’t get the stains out
particles of dust
stuck to all my crevises like rust
to a bicycle chain
left out too many days, too many nights
in the chill northwest rain.

I’m spinning like that gear
cogged all wrong
chain too long
teeth ground down to dust.

At the moment of collusion
I hitch and skid like brakes
atop slick streets
under drenching rain

I’m drowning but waving
both, at the same time
Hi, bye, it was nice
It was nice.

Dear God: I’m losing traction.
Loosing trains of thought
Hit the whistle, grind the brakes
Someone’s out there on the track.

If I stay in this seat,
hands folded:
I’ll stop moving completely.

Just sit and listen for the whistle
Secret and special
from a red-tailed hawk
from pursed, pressed lips — not frowning, not smiling
Lips I’ll never kiss.

All these needles
pressed in at needless angles
pricking saline drops
from my red-rimmed eyes.

Goodbye, goodnight.


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