there is only one present
but a multitude of pasts
a multitude of paths
on which to have gunned your gas

we all took a different one
to arrive at here and now
and so i sit and laugh
as all paths past become one path now

the motor purrs in idle anticipation
i rev it with consternation
dirt kicks out the back
i gun it and never look back

i paint an arrow across the land
an arrow of dirt and sand
always pointing forward
always pointing onward

my thick tire treads
make a dotted line
and the intensity of
my motor's gunning
cuts arizona in half

the smell of gas
a wild wish
inexperienced rider
flops like a fish

he will be bruised
battered
heckled
scarred
he will see the ups and downs of plywood ramps
and piled high dirt yards

and when his blood has dried a thousand times
and the dirt flaked off his fifteenth fractured helmet
he will, in hard earned wisdom, command cool stunts
and collect the claps of an impressed audience
in his ego's vest pocket

the mechanic crossed his arms
and kicked a notch in the soil
he was stumped by the puddle of oil

the dirt bike sputtered
and the mechanic muttered
an epitaph to the dying yamaha:

she was a sweet bike
did some fine stunts
and though rocks dinged her up
and rust crept into her core
she gunned like a roar
she gunned like a roar


and the dead yamaha
twisted and shriveled
choked with vines of rust
clanged into the scrap pile
and returned to dust

a bumbling rumbling

like a sleeping god's mumblings

creeps into the arizona void

a humbling gunning

as the motor starts running

pervades the arizona void

a slinking sunrise

strikes the rider's red eyes

as he attacks the arizona void

a stunt grunts

in the loosely laid ruts

of the dirt of the arizona void

what is in the composition of a high dirt pile?
dirt for sure, but what comes between the dirt?
specks of air?
the sound of a motor's flare?
the smell of gas fumes?
night crawler worms?

or is it an empty void,
waiting to be filled with more dirt?

gnarled gasoline tendrils
crept into my nostrils
as i filled the tank to the top
mild mildew missiles
shot through the old garage
as i dripped the last drop

cool beams of air
shot across the morning soil
wiping up the morning dew
from the widely dispersed ferns
and a hollow hum rung out
in the misty distance
as the first rider of the day
hit the first stretch of trail

it used to be that dirt bikes didn't ride
they were but a twinkle in an inventors eye
the soil was clean of wheeled stunts
and the air untouched by the motors grunts
in this time before dirt bike feats
dirt was kicked up by horses feet

behold the original horse power:
gunning through the forested trails
swiping their straw-like tails
preparing the world
for future dirt based tales

mild dirt slopes cover the environment
pristine soil untouched by dirt bike interactions
like a powder day on the skiers slope
the course awaits its first rider

sticks and stones
are often thrown
by dirt bikes in the forest

as echoes kick
from stunts so sick
the dirt rains down before us

a swell of rumbles
bumble in the baking air
corrosion clutters the track
as the dirt bike sheds its rusty hair

stunts accumulate
in the whetted world
riders come and go
dirt kicks up
and drips back down
and settles on ground below

though over the years
dirt bikes will change
in color and shape
sound and spirit
one thing remains the same:

a twist of a wrist
with a clenched fist
will always ignite
the motor's flame

malleable ground muddies
as rain plip plops on the brittle dirt
the engine's wail echoes wetly
the rider guns with mirth

the motor sucks up air

and pops out explosions

the tires turn on an axis

and pop out dirt crud

gravity pulls it all along

and i realize in the moment

life is like a dirt bike

that is shooting toward the mud

a stunt is an accumulation
of scientific interactions
and vertical excursions

vrum, vrum
dirt bike
under the sun
tck tck tck
engine click
bzzzzzrah!

parabolic surfaces
paved in dirt
carry my dreams
to the whispering air

rotation abounds
in the blustery mist
as sick stunt auras
blow through my hair

i shot stern glances
across the packed stadium
and gunned great distance
through the beer soaked air

a hundred cameras flashed
like lightning in succession
as i soared toward the concession
stand, feet kicked out in the air

and as many motors hummed
an immaculate chorus
i landed my stunt
with a craftsman's care

he rode down the road
as rad stunts roared
and raw dirt clouds
plumed hard in the sky

gunning fierce as a fist
the rider was pissed
as high degree wheelies
kicked fate in the eye