An older piece, written back when I was young and the founding member of a motorcycle gang.
Dead while alive
I ride into nowhere.
Them birds have all died in my hair.
This is nobody’s path.
Except the engine’s roar there is no sound.
Fire wheels have overrun the serpent.
Many moons ago dead.
Beyond all bearing alive.
High on dreams and nightmares.
To hear, to see, to feel, to understand.
Right and wrong become complete.
To a thunder I grow.
The edge of the gap draws near.
The mist is thick.
The engine’s roar vivifies what’s left of me.