I stare ahead
on my bicycle.
I have been training
to stare ahead.
I do not know why
ahead is described
as straight.
No stare has ever
been straight.
My wendy
bendy eyes
like to lie
and lie about
trying to shout
birds into view.
Ahead, birds and blue
do the research.
Each asphalt hue
threatens and lightens
the previously earthy load.
No trees will survive
our end of the world,
they will not be seen
when they fall and so
they will become
infinitely small.
That was my eyes
talking. They are very
self-centered,
even as they sit far
from my center.
I enter the slowness
that turns my elbows
on a twenty five miles
per hour turn,
wondering,
will a car
shrink me
like those trees?
Roman Ryan 