Bikin’ I’m Bikin’

Oh no, I didn’t mean to believe in

the infinite. Now I’m gripping the hand

-lebars like shoulder blades. I’m fucked. The trees,

an unfortunate Thanksgiving table

packed with hot-headed aunts. I’m already

drunk, the wind flossing my tears. What if I

never had another thought? Just flew through

the hours & months? Don’t let the sky be

misunderstood. Rain pulses my eardrums,

I’m swim-biking. All chimneys are champagne

flutes. The gravel roars like a gym teacher

yelling in a cigarette whisper. Fog

for bones I ride in soft halos. Is death

the last forgiveness? Breath, the last witness?