Once we mature we forget about tricycles
Leave it to the less mature mind
A plaything for children
Maybe I should forget about tricycles
A remnant of the past I can’t forget
Holding to childlike fantasy
I don’t really think anyone likes tricycles
Cumbersome and slower than a bike
Not practical by any sense
When would we even use tricycles
Maybe a clown at a circus
A child down a hill before scraping its knee
Perhaps one day I’ll let go of tricycles
Hands off the handlebars arms held out
Riding a bicycle into oblivion

Sometimes I hear bells

ringing, high in the blue sky --


blue aerial bells.

I submerge myself
In the unreal.
I breathe it in
Pretending it’s air.

It fills my nose
My mouth
My lungs.
Too lost in ecstasy
To know I’m drowning.

And when I break
The surface
It sends pins and needles
Through my brain.

So I sink back
Slowly, just slowly
Letting it envelop me
The descent, a deadly comfort.