Blue Thunder (or something predictable like that)

there’s a reckoning in my marrow, i reckon
like the way the night creeps upon my forehead,
i on my bicycle, greeting bumps
with my front tire, breathing to the rhythm
of my clicking chain down a hill
where the wind and i are brothers
barreling toward desire—i am the younger
of us; he holds me still from the traffic
and the low branches which i cannot seek
for any good reason other than nature’s whim
upon my destruction.

under my bones, under my sinking
there are almonds ready to split
and feed the village i whizz by
on my aluminum chariot:
there is no fire here
only the swiftness of a thousand tiny birds
inclining to climb higher and swoop down
to catch their morning worms
as i wish to catch the cracks in Ann Arbor’s walkways.

i outrun the storm—i become the storm
as my legs pump up like lightning
and my breath pants and roars like thunder:
God himself could not make such a fine apocalypse
like how i’ve destroyed the pebbles in my path.

i shall give her a name.

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