Friday, August 13, 2010

Stolen, light blue

When it was stolen, light blue

I saw it everywhere, gripped

Handlebars and hands.

Always in that same place, dolphin

clicking past, someone new

on its back

Each time I wanted

to push them off, steal

my saddle beauty, my windy

ride down hills—so close

to flight

Once, chained up: a scratch

in that same place, so I knew

But nice cops couldn’t cut it

free without numbers—proof

I had paid

It was the old kind you know:

Brake via backwards-pedal,

and no gears-- just knees

Imagine that: speed stops

in the real world just by digging

in your heels a little, and you

breathe: you exist

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