a false premise

ready, no, not yet said the kid as the bike took on three wheels wobble, wobble, don't shake, don't rattle the handle, the body leaning too far right; face meets the road, yikes as skin scratches the surface, red ink writes on ground - i hate you. then many years later, the teenager gets to see all the shallow, all the holes in logic, does not quite flow, steps into the chaos, be tame, be angry, be sulky but do not stop. for anything. years layered over years, skin becomes taut, eyes wary, ears sharp: that is not quite how it actually happened, the man testifies at court when assailants throw their best crooked dice to a judge, aye, aye it never ends grumbles the courtroom hearing every trick reenacted - different faces, same spirt quite comfortable with a foreign body like clothes worn, to be changed to suit a temperament. don't do this, a warning and the word play rolls on to glazed eyed spectators eager to go home. then a turn around comes, just around a corner, maybe a mirage? for quicksand is abundant, step on it gingerly and lean back. hard to do when panic is the first reaction, fall flat on the face with skin torn, now the words spit back fire. don't you learn? but the wobble, the leaning too far left - this time round, quicksand drinks up the bike, pieces of rubber, air, paint, iron, steel gets puked out: and is of little comfort to a grown man wearing yesterday's memories. try as he might, he may as well be trying to life up the sky, what goes above that ceiling? a universe made known, not his calling, for a universe had already decided, squelch that thought. and foot's firm holding, was simply on earth resting on nothing, spinning, my spinning mind, a soul reaching out - what about me? rest, rest, said i, bits of, fragments of, pieces of thoughts, fantasies, actions, display, passion erupting from earth's core. and i caught a glimpse of so many forms, so much imagination, so much fury, so much denial, i began choking, as the ephemeral dash past; tried to catch that moment: a laughter, a chill, a shiver and caught air, water into my throat. could not spit out the foreign substance - my heart wrenched, quaked, pumped touched ground held by nothing. don't panic, don't lean in, don't grab too hard - on life. that's the problem don't you see? the earth spits back an image, the body receives a soul intact, suffers not the quicksand, the bike, the spinning earth. i've arrived.