Mind burns
Like legs hammering
Up an infinite gradient
On a velocipede
Spinning, the crank of the chain, axle, rim
The rubber hits the road
Every day I ride this route
Like Sisyphus, minus the ease of decent
Everything slows
Focus on each stroke
Eyes eat the inches of anticipation
I take flight,
Lumbering over the surface
But it’s in the depths you feel the ache;
The fire scorching lactic acid of self-destruction
Muscle and memory breakdown
The chain drives and accelerates me
As opposed to tethering
This time behind bars
Offers a sense of freedom
If only a mirage
Like the rising crest
I can feel my being in every cell enclosed within my being,
Being a distraction from incapacitating thoughts
And fear of fastness:
Stillness and speed
Always moving against the wind
Wheels and crank spin
Like mechanisms
In conflagrant cognition
The words of decampment
No matter motion, you never move in the now
That just happens on the sides of each moment
This is the basis of our propulsion
The bicycle, my boulder
But, unlike Sisyphus
The burning contains
A spark; synaptic; of hope
Enjoying the effortlessness
Of the descent
Presenting the freedom that is rebellion
Against all that which we have waged.
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