Wheel Spokes
Crunch-clatter of paving stone
leading me back again,
back to bicycle lane and
back to well-worn excuse,
That I could not find
fog light of shining memory
to take a better path than
one inscribed in blood numbers.
I took to sins of flesh
and fabric like they were
restive faces in crowded life,
then thrown like glitter
Against blaster canvas
I left in wake, solid
steel, regretted waste,
breaking voice that cut.
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