Gravity 101

The tree twist around as
I’m whipping down
this bike trail with
no get out of jail card.

My body hits the ground hard. I feel the handlebars rip apart like they’re being spliced
by a Spartan sword.

My pants are torn and bloody, but small comforts are always awkward and clumsy anyway.

Gory scenes taking place
upon my knees is actually
kind of lovely, their

My mom would tell me to wear a helmet, but neither would she console herself on why I’d such a stupid thing, pointing my bike to the setting sun from seventy feet above the bottom of the dirt trail

where traffic idles like
quail before the
rifle goes off and stifles
frail tranquility.

In six years on Earth, I haven’t actually learned to be conciliatory with boredom, make amends with misfortune, forkin’ over every last dime to cordially getting fucked.

Right now, it’s only
me and blind luck,
and just like
the ducks,

I’m at the mercy of

racing between the trees before
I hit an artifact of
reckless speeds and
land face down

on my earliest
epiphany, admiring the
symmetry of dogshit and

Gravity 101 complete.


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