Bicycle Murder

Boredom churns broad-in-brain

competing with petty volumes of alcohol

(white Russian, 1, Magic Hat #9, 1)

for dominance of the summer's eve.

Unsure of which would prove the victor,

past-tense, too, filled with unknowing:

thought- and pedaling-process interrupted

by a traitorous bicycle;

a forward-bent-fork;

a fleeing, unbolted forwardwheel.

Fast-pitch forward,

eyes-wide but dead:

quickfall into void.

Then, wide-eyed horror:

awake again

filled with the horrible pain of life again

fueled, amplified tenfold

through the impact of the sidewalk.

East Side at Sunset

Low-rise light commercial blocks

obscure the horizon,

making the sky seem small.

Patchy, steel-on-violet

cloud canopy is gripped,

dragged horizontal,

catching beams of sunlight

scattering them

in a thousand different directions

of only one color.

Mid-April

unexpected goldburst of a cold sunset,

come too late:

soon, fall will arrive.

A sun so low,

squat buildings raised so high

that shadowed cast are long,

and the days short.

Madchant

The maddened gaze of the bearded man

harrowed, narrowing,

eyes alighting on some feature of mine internal,

his ravings' pace growing with the drumbeat,

insane libations growing red,

setting the same fire as his shielded eyes.

Join in the chant!

words unspoken but receipt demanded,

Join in the chant!

demands issued not from but at me,

Join in the chant!

I could do but smile -

Sycophantic sisters,

in praise of seeming-spirituality,

had joined in the chant

Seemingly-believing brothers,

raving on skins of drums,

had joined in the chant.

Join in the chant!

mobs of madmen demanded,

Join in the chant!

issued forth from some ill-imagined spirit,

Join in the chant!

my skin crawled in demand of me.

I decided it best

to avoid telling them

that I was an atheist.

Sidewalk Labyrinth

Grim skies,

blacker thoughts -

poison of doubt, of feigned measures

confused allegiances

(me or her?)

Fixations on tie-dye,

deep within shadowed sidewalks.

A girl of fevered pitch,

I of leadened, caution-guarded mouth.

Yet we strode,

pale bodies glowing once again

I listening, and you

you delivering

before I imparting

more honesty than I'd dare with most

-provided those truths

concerned another than I -

before watching you again vanish

via knees-to-chin,

predawn acrobatics

strung out on key lime pie.

The more poetry

I write about you

the less

I want you to read it.