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I Still Polish the Chrome
I was the easy rider,
measuring myself against a distance
I could no see to –
as my spokes sparkled off miles an
hour.
Town line loose and only bordered by the pavement edges,
I reeled over rapid asphalt
struggling against the one day at a time syndrome.
Unbridled wind was my only grindstone,
my single bearing, a Nile
of static obsidian,
promised an endless profusion of
unlabeled tributaries for diversion.
Blind radical sweeps at 1.4 miles a minute
were my: “to be or not to be”.
Then, constant freedom abraded my tread;
a precise fabrication was ripped
slick from beneath me.
Absolute abstraction surfaced;
TIME plus distance equaled merely continuous Mass.
Point of Origin and vanishing point, synonyms!
- But, I still polish the chrome-
Milton W. Mannix
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