the Cape is a place
where time stops,
and all that moves
are the waves and breezes,
bicycle wheels and boats

It starts
with a bang
A single shot
Followed by a
Chorus
Of clacking
Clicking
And whirring
As though
The bullet
Tore a hole
In the sky
And now
all the air
Is rushing out
******* us
With it
A spectacle
To witness
Such great pitch
And movement
A steady buzz
Buzzing
rolling
Cacophony
Fueled by
Ambition
aggression
And panic
Elbows out
Jarring
Sparring
Until we settle
Into our rhythm
Carbon and metal
And organic
Mass
Undulating along
Whoosh
Wooshing
Flying
on the ground
Escape velocity
Hurtling along
Pushing
A wall of air
The winds of
Our arrival
Surrounding us
An envelope
Sealing
This new singularity
From the rest of
The universe
Until it collapses
On itself
And vanishes
Until
The next
Event
Horizon

chasing down those clouds
in penetrating light
rode to the bridge

sun had set
pink and gold patterns
on the river

The man at the water plant
leaning on the railing
glanced down the river.

above the silhouetted hills
below the salmon gilded clouds
a patch of blue

no longer blue
but the color of the turquiose ring
on my bike tires

In a museum, or forgotten barn,
A small red twelve inch two wheeler
Hangs on invisible wires,
Or is covered in pigeon droppings and dust.
But Tannehill rode it once,
Like something in a dream.
He was too long-framed for it.
He controlled it, rounded the corner,
Pedalling hard down the sidewalk,
Across the street from our new house.
I gawked from the front yard:
He was a boy with his bike,
Like The ****** on T.V.
It was the first I learned to ride,
And the falls were magnificient,
On grass or asphalt.
Girls' bikes were easy,
One size fits all.
Then I learned to pedal
Beneath the cross bar of the big boys'.
Push the pedals,
Shift the midrift, and be gone.
Always from somewhere
To somewhere else,
Far from the soft front lawn.

I am up
Awake
Before the sun
It's arrival
Heralded by
Colors creeping
Out against
The retreating night sky
Do not mistake me
For a morning person
I do not relish this
Nor do I mourn
For sleep
lost
It could be  
found
But this
is necessary
Not without joy
Not without sacrifice
Without a word
It simply is
A ride
My Fortress
of Solitude
For a mind
Besieged
By thought
At war with
Itself
Do not
retreat
Into the past
A ruthless place
A heckling pace
That tells you
You cannot
Hang on
Give no portage
To fate
For you cannot grasp
What the future holds
Just
Keep moving
Focus
This ride
It is the only ride
That matters
I wrap myself
In its tight fabric
It's sounds
Clicking and clacking
Racing thoughts
Shifting
Centrifugal forces
Sifting
As I order
Myself
Ride
As long
as I pedal
I am
Present

I spend my summers in Amsterdam

Everyone rides bikes

The girls all wear short skirts

The wind blows and all the girls ride by with their ***** in the air

I sit outside the cafes and watch the bikes go by

The heat,
The way it ripples from the steel handlebars
And burns my hands,
The way the clunking of the chain feels
As each pedal propels me forward
Beneath the sun.
The sky is blue,
The air is crisp and leaves pinpricks
On my skin,
Soothed by the tenderness
Of sun rays that fall like curtains
Upon the concrete.

It smells of rubber,
A lingering scent of nostalgia
That fills my lungs like tar
And fills my heart with youthful
Thoughts.
As the wrinkles emerge,
And the delicate cracks begin to show,
I realize that my bike
Is the last memento that
Resonates through my aging ways.

Let's take a final spin down the boulevard,
Before the sun goes down
And my bones ache once more.

O’Silky smooth ballsac
Stuck to my leg
Ever-presence defines manhood
As tree defines fruit
And as fruit defines tree.

Ne'er such a sense
Overwhelmed my hot-spot
As this dangling (oval, skin and nerves of)
Oily pouch

I cream.

Yet
A line as destructive
As the San Andreas
Fault- O divine chafe
You reduce me
You erode me

As if we rented *******
Bikes

The following is what you make of a stranger’s ramblings
Now the cop
who ignores the lights is out the next day giving tickets
the sky does not turn black with an honest **** in a hit and run
the sky starts to melt when you and I refuse to think cause survival!
We are so busy trying to survive that we let everyone else die!
Are we given enough problems to only be able to carry for so many of others?

The doctor earning boat loads of money needs to make sure
that he can survive on his retirement funds!
Why are our problems blown up so much,
I get it they are close so the look big but the sky is falling and we
are busy looking for the remote!
Was the world designed in a way where learning of others problems
is always the straw that snaps the camels back?
Where we always have enough problems to only be able to
carry so many of others?
I’m no Titan.
I have seen myself flattened against the sky and ground
hearing stories of cruel smiles and I have minimal problems
that I can honestly claim as my own or as problems.
The world is going to explode and we will be bickering about who
should have been guarding the gate as a trigger is pressed against our face!
It’s not too late or I would have killed myself or made love then killed myself.
Our problems are not even the center of an atom.
They are often the same one, so instead of looking at them individually why not
attack the chain?
It is hard to believe in non-violence.
Honestly is humanity slowly turning the earth from something
that could have been the back-drop of heaven into the welcome gate for hell?
Strangers are what you make them to be!
Stop hating each other! You don’t need like each other
just know that they are humans so they have encountered magic
a magic that would have lit up your world the way fireworks explode
against the city-scape.
Also know that you and I and the stranger down the street
have all embodied a devil at it’s worst and a saint all
without being fully aware.
An angel never knew it was an angel only others did
a devil can see themself.
This is a call to arms just not guns
this a call to boycott, to call others to march with you
a lone marcher is a crazy a thousand lone marchers together we are
something.
The time to hit the gas was years ago.
Your own problems might get worse but they die and defeating
others problems is immortal.
This was what you make a stranger’s ramblings.