Bicycle

I keep trying to convince myself to post some fiction somewhere, as feedback is how one gets better, but somehow I just can't make myself do it.  So some more poetry it is.

bicycle

the bicycle hummed solitude

like songbirds,

sliding down streets

like sheets against

bare skin,

alone in the reflections

in dark store windows

next to the artificial moons

of broken orange streetlights,

from the steaming pavement

into the sky-

like secrets whispered

upward on a summer night

lit with fireflies

and stars.

solitude the silence

of a crowed city-

the rumble of engines

and honking horns

eat birds

and their songs-

asphalt and exhaust

stealing the souls

that feed on songs,

and starlight.

they are

starved by light-

pollution and

noise,

children fit into molds

reliant on

scolds and should-bes

to create

what has already been made.

the hum of bicycle tires

the only

solitude-

reflections the only self

with a soul.