dirt bike in the road

spinning sick and hard wheelies

japanese rider

a bird tweets hard in the morning dew
i put on my riding gloves and go out the screen door
straddling the blue yamaha bike, i hit the gas
kicking dirt into the morning dew

morning dew

receptacle of beauty

whether kicked up dirt or a hard bird's tweet

or the sound of my gunning it

or the rumble of tires roaring

you suck it up

like a little tape recorder

only to be eaten

by the hungry sun

the air pulsates with hard rumbles

deep in a sunny saturday afternoon

i put my helmet on

its dark visor clouding out the sun

and i kick the kickstand loose

kicking up minimal amounts of dirt

but a foreshadow of things to come

mounting the bike

i gun it staunchly

and blast through the arizona dirt

my pursuer rumbling nearer

even as i gun it harder

deep in a sunny saturday afternoon

the chase goes on,

the gap gets smaller,

until finally

i can see my pursuer's face

with wrinkled eyes and pale skin

he winks at me

winking hard

a ghost of things to come

the chase goes on,

the gap gets smaller,

but like mathematical concepts

it never closes

just getting smaller and smaller

into infinity

i can see my pursuers face

in forever increasing clarity

its minuscule details

winking harder

deep in a sunny saturday afternoon

the air pulsates with hard rumbles

deep in a sunny saturday afternoon

so many sick wheelies

zig zagging through the graveyard

ghosts of riders past

doing deep stunts

as the moon glows hard

in the brown arizona sky

the morning soil is cold

and the souls of riders past

end their wheelies

and whisper off into the darkness

faintly gunning it

as the sun peeks its head up

i got a fortune cookie

the other day

it said

"you will gun it hard"

history repeats

as i kick the kickstand out

and shoot away from the chinese restaurant

with daunting speed

gunning it hard

to the smell of pork fried rice

and the hue of sunset

dirt bike

what is in a name

dirt bike

an eternal flame

dirt bike

seven in a line

dirt bike

a race through time

i gun the dirt bike

and hit the dirt

with racing speed

dirt bike

is all i need

the bike spits in my face

not from hate

but from gunning hard

i taste the soil

like sugar on my lips

a dichotomy of sweetness and grit

my heart swims hard

as i make love to

the dirt bike's soul

the dark dirt flies hard into the air

flaking off as i put

pedal to the metal

with clenched hands

i ride hard