We Riders

Happen we ride, we ride, take route pedal

Stepped hard thrust fully stretched down but we are

Free. To be riding, driving through for fee.

Cutting not corner. Slicing wind behind

and through the line. Furrow the holloway,

grooves cut, burnt friction clattering we take

the back route, the cut through, clear of traffic.

That’s dead, slunk solid, jammed not going,

We gone. Looking back and grinning all way

Through night and on, passed to the drop (beat)

Hauling rolling, wheels cut through muscle flesh

Scars deaden, waking to stiff pushed locked legs.

A gap we ride it quick. Across darted

past, you hang alone. Our rhythm around

step that lifts again, shifting cogs whir, know

only when ground thrusts back and legs seem bruised.

Brutal, dis-jointed our frame dents no flex.

But take the beak between the thighs and we

born in newly strung bones can translate stride

Into ride, step into schlep, harnessed (beat).

One with the bike, apart moving, mapped mind

Motor transferred through the limbs as reflex

Involuntary the will subject to

Wheel, channeled through the app becoming whole

But still lingers in the surface fuzz a

Soul voice commenting in stream washing clean

Through like tears, wet, salty, anger muted

In play on the last rake, spit sprayed within

the hollow head of saddled puppet (beat)