And I dream of a red bicycle
An angular frame, and the dullness of lust
for the wheels that creak with the threat of rust
In my mind I rise like a granite pillar
From a wispy clump of dust

And I dream of the contours of the floor
Caressing me as I roll
In the twilight heated cold
Springs that barely groan
sharing weight beneath the folds

And I dream of a silver outline
glowing cracks in the window
framing my shadow
in the mirrored room
And nobody would know

I dream of warm concrete and cold coffee
and assertive elixer
I dream of spitting alkaline
on a pretensious sick "sir"


And I dreamt of a red bicycle
An angular frame with the sheen of escape
wine made from the bitter grape
the eagle skims like a landing plane
On wings of durable duct tape