I took a train ride
On a Mississippi motorbike,
Clutching a bunch of flowers
I bought at a gas station.
The wheels were sparkling
With raindrops
Sucking in the rust at the spokes,
A centrifuge of dead metal

By the time Arizona
Looms flat across the sun
Like an upended tortoise
The spokes are eaten through
To the quick
And I am skidding on half-sparks
As the pretty boys stream past
On black Vespas upholstered in freshly-minted snakeskin.


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