postcard matic nanopowrimo
Steve Ross provided this little number:
Postcard Poetry
I ride two-dimensional against
a heavy-tooth,
cardstock city.
It's a toupe season, lasting longer
than expected.
And I feel teal.
Gears grind over teeth and catch,
large ratio so I can speed past
my family into the thickening
clay haze
where there are no roads, no signs.
et vous...mes amies?
posted by Beverly Writer at 4/22/2007
4 Comments:
rotten headband
sweaty socks
super sunburn
no bike locks
mom was crabby
dad insane
and at the end I bent my bike frame.
Drat!
This comment has been removed by the author.
spokes a blur
rubber and blacktop a humming dance of friction
handlebars twisting inwards like metalic antlers, our banana seats are a cruel foundation for flight....
the horizon line is a dare
and we speed on undeterred by the waning light or the rumble of thunder filtering through the canopy of leaves.
when the acid rain comes it will blast our exposed teeth and baptize our open singing mouths with the spirit of summer.
I LOVE "drat."
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