Grid Ride

Grid Ride
grinding gears
go gears left outside
with iron and rain bike chained
to a rusty fence, cracked brittle
wet hands rub dirt from a lock formed from dust,
years of peddling, ugly falls, teeth scraped across concrete ground
the cold cusp of winter wind starting up
we move underground.

We’re all stuck under the floor,
we’re stuck

and chapped

and shaking
It’s cold underground,
                             waiting
for a silver surfer to screech stop swallow us
every station fills with groans,
                             waiting
Late for our travels, we’ll be late and ugly offering nothing
but our souls, worth nothing but
the dirt from peddling for years to get here arriving broken
Covered in dust, dried dirt
cracked teeth nails
I can’t take anymore
pedaling, dirty, waiting, shoving, squeezing, screeching, swallowed

My eyes tear
my gut jumps
everything from my belly held in my throat
Gorged eyes, swallowing breath like water
filling my pores with the rancid residue of underground resting
on the plush skin of my face.

Another wave up the spine
My innards want to rip through their membrane
become part of the wind smacking dust
mixing tears and sweat
in my pores
grinding gears and barrels of souls, barrels of souls grinding bodies
We trudge along
above and underground
riding the grid wheezing.