Just Before Waking
And there he was on a hot bike, a loud bike, a blue and gold bike
striking out for the hinterlands, eternal winterlands, 24/7 sun.
Done, you’re done, worse than well, and no, you can’t come
son. That country eats up little ones; it’s packed with wolves
love, so stay here with your meditations in the tall grass
passing up another chance at spectacular demise.
Spies are anywhere, I’m telling ya, even so-called here
appearing nightly, looking like a younger version of you.
