It’s after first light, but no souls are in sight, as I pivot with might, and alight,

my bike on the back, of Crash Test’s Shore rack. I give him flack, for the old tine stack.

Sorry to debase. But the prongs don’t have space. It’s simply the case, this fork won’t interface. 

We arrive all the same. The climb we can’t tame. Gearing’s not to blame. We hike ’cause we’re lame,

but still arrive at the stop. Our saddles we drop. A few gears to crop, and then over the top. 

My rotor starts to ring. The birds commence to sing, the same song it’s warbling, then through the echoing,

I curse “Oh, shit.” I should have straightened it. But I commit. The trees split,

and I’m riding blind. Sunshine’s on my mind, tears unkind, the trail winds

and I somehow save my ass. My heart beats full gas. Kev throws some sass. Then I find the brass. 

To start again. 

Warbling Through Laser Beams