Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Handbrakes and Headaches

A chartreuse claw twists
in the hissing May night like
a spring loaded trap,

legs churn to burn the
fingers of speculation
out of my bloodstream,

my steed black and bent,
chain threatening to skip,
from ill-fitting teeth,

flitting through the seams
of Brooklyn to the music
of the clicking spokes,

nearly getting lost
keeps the furnace burning till'
it blasts on Wilson

hands less tense the pace
now slowed, relief replacing
rage, the night less cold.

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