How did I walk 37 miles in 19 hours? How did I bike 90 miles in 11 hours? ... Inhale in nose, exhale in nose 4x Inhale in nose, exhale in mouth 4x Inhale in mouth, exhale in nose 4x Inhale in mouth, exhale in mouth 4x And repeat.
You just need enough food and water and a pair of soft and hard soled shoes.
It's morning, rain has fallen making all the ground darker shade and I'm sweaty, and, god, I didn't want to be sweaty. I'm pushing panting up a hill in sixth gear on my six-gear bike because the gear-shifter has long since broken as a result of a time I cut too close to a old-fashioned lamp post, caught my pedal on it and went spinning headlong into a rose bush.
The trees are green, greener than I've ever seen them. It's morning and the cars shick by, rolling atop the water in the road like Christ did in the early years. A car slams into a puddle. When did our lives become so perfectly metaphored in cars? The a to B life; stopping only when stopped by a glaring light or harsh word; filling up and running out; breaking down only on the road, never in my own garage.
A warm rain will fall this morning. I hear only the breathy whisper of my breath out my mouth and engines and tires. I think nothing, which is a hard-earned comfort seeing as I, like every person, have a lot to think about, ever since we invented the automobile; ever since we crucified a sinless man; ever since the moment we thought nothing, and were sent crashing into a rose bush.
The Sun Is Shining Today The Storm Has Finally Stopped
a statement says: <we have done something yesterday nothing like our best just something to stop that storm> the statement returns true as fact
inconsequent gestures of nature we weave to serve an unknown wish -made of numerous physical and non-physical senses- so that fabric of a network evolves itself materializes sense sense to fabric fabric to sense scientifically improbable it remains
an infinitesimal loop unwinds when you are not there runs within an ideally operating closed circuit remains invisible to the factual eyes of daily lives
an etheric vitality materialized by our definable senses of touch, of smell, of see, of taste and some of yet undefined ones - possibly assigned to maybe a Poetic Variable- executable within that program of simultaneous causalities only.
So then Only then When You Combine the patchy Network of Things of Beings
You Can Dance Them Sing Them Play Them Make Love To Them Become One With Them Compose Them
All these on condition that it remains as an unpacked gift
Without telling to Yourself or to Others or to That Storm because You Don’t Even Have An Intention To Stop The Storm All you do is Wish for Sunshine so you can maybe bike tomorrow
How important is it really that biking tomorrow ? I mean when sighs and cries whirl around?
a statement says: <you can’t stop wars by fights> the statement returns true as fact
if I know that you can stop storms by touches
touches to smells smells to lights lights to metals metals to elements elements to stars stars to flights flights to a breeze on my fingertips breeze on my fingertips to an auric kiss
I think maybe it is **** important to keep a seemingly futile wish to bike to a beach of my dreams tomorrow so that I can be blown away on a broken December day and let my long hair collect dune corrals made of cosmic ray
Huh So Yeah
I can Stop Storms if I want to or Create Some! - not because I need to for my own sake or think about it.
...as written on 11 Dec. 2014: I think some poems have capricious spirits! This one did not allow me to post it until I would bike to the beach. I have done it now after my winter procrastination and the sun was shining this whole weekend :)
Axels and chains and Feet and brains It's the bicycle beats And the trees and the streets Join the lines in the sidewalk As I ride and I talk To myself, "Breathe in," & "Breathe out," -- Burning and churning to the Grooves and the cracks Red light's the only chance to relax Racing the bus and flashing a grin To the sorry folks trapping themselves therein Ecstasy building with each revolution Wiping my sweat away, tasting pollution Grinding and winding a path on my bike Where cars and pedestrians hate me alike