Wednesday, June 1, 2011

2-wheeler playlist

and back in my room.
A rainy day of walking,
but I want to ride.
Norway mits and sweatpants, I borrow Christina's bike to enjoy the night,
to clear my head of other things.
Faith Evans starts to sing
into this dusk adventure.

And again,

and again,

and again.

The song and sight create a rush,
despite the silence that's around me -
this scene, a song itself,
surprising me with its vibrant calm.

Along familiar paths I pedal through the gears,
cycling like I'm a kid who snuck out,
like I'm not supposed to be here,

but I am,

and even the cars can't argue with my smile.

I make it to the lot and sit in still air,
a continuous quiet that makes me think,

"It's June."

A countdown begins,
and I stare into an unlit lamp.
Yes, I'm here.

Soon there.

But the bike tells me to take a breath
and taste now,
while it's fresh
and full of LIFE.

Time to switch directions.

I get back in tune with the breeze
and pedal under an ocean,
floating in and out of pockets of light
creating auras around greener trees,
while even greener lights glow like faded neon
in a frozen sunset.
But the bike keeps moving forward

while at the same time,
I go back.

A motionless space -
except for me -
moves my mind,
and more,
with thoughts and things stronger than the wind.
But I pedal and let them blow,
and breathe in the night.

It is mine.

I am here.

Pulsing to a soundtrack of perfection.

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