this poem is not about a bicycle
you can let go
exhale the air from your body
and limbs wreck the chains
that held you together
lay them across wheels
clarity is created
at its best when something breaks
keep on shuffling slowly still stop
too late for all the paths you cross
burn the bridges when
you get to them if I don’t –
than you don’t
et cetera
you’re slowly oxidizing, my love
rusting from the inside out burning
over a century what could still be touched
I could’ve lain so many ditches around you to
decide you to drink from to limit
you’ll stay toothed between metal seams
until something, someone’ll drag
your withered body across the streets
and
