Scatter brained and in love,
the click track of free wheels side by side by side,
and his cigarette embers whipping by
fireflied. The head wind is tailing
East to West since the sun went down
and pedaling up hill West to East to take in
the hill top skyline hours and a six pack ago
was a stroke of brilliance.
The streets are drizzle shined and twinkling
red, our tail lights blinking and crossing
dashed whites and double yellows.
Profundity is a deck of cards and a razor blade
and a white jacket with a busted zipper.
She's belting Nirvana
almost to the point where we can bang
every stop light in a row and I'm swinging out front
to hear the words carry
and throw my rooster tail into the street light glow.
Cutting and diving,
dividing what little
traffic there is between our spinning wheels,
we sing like sidewalk chalk
in hands so small they were easy to forget.
The hills roll back,
the starred sky unrolls before,
and where have we been
all of our lives?
Tenements rise like black dragon jaws as we tilt
along the banks of street rivers and banners,
splitting the clouds like rocket propelled arrow shafts.
He whistles along, not far behind, as we
loop, remixed and tight to frames.
Three shades of knight, he, she and I,
wayfarers together,
never to meet again,
but until never comes to pass,
we are three Summer bombers
at war, in full dive,
knives out, with enough wind noise to make
a heart stand still,
or make a lifetime of sixty seconds:
pure downhill.
