M.P. Jones IV: The Bicycle

Almost nothing separates this tiny boat
from gathering silence and darkness
pooling along the starless cow fields
abandoned as the pine shack that fell
in forgotten woods of youth no division
between the deep taproots and the loam
nothing to displace the topography of ruin
save for my panting and the whirring
of feet of shoes clipped to pedals
of the gears of the wheels of the tires
of the desolate road the empty night.



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