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SEPTEMBER I miss the tilt and racket of your face, the collapsing factories of your anger, the shoreline wearing your boas of foam— the steel mirror of your silence, your glass contingencies, in the night’s hold. I miss the morning’s coverlet of cloud, one gull flying east over the moving distances while closer in the [...] Ain’t nuthin’ like a pancake flat ride in hazy polluted inversion air to start the year off right … but that first ride is now in my legs. View Larger Map Rode out to the Great Salt Lake Marina with a friend I’ve not seen in about 18 months and his father, a little underdressed, [...] SNOW-BOUND [The sun that brief December day] The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it [...] EASTER MORNING a stone at dawn cold water in the basin these walls’ rough plaster imageless after the hammering of so much insistence on the need for naming after the travesties that passed as faces, grace: the unction of sheer nonexistence upwelling in this hyacinthine freshet of the unnamed the faceless — Amy Clampitt (1920 [...] Commuted by bike today. I know … shocking!!! Learned (or remembered) a few things along the way as well. If you think it will take 45 minutes, allow an extra 45 minutes for mishaps. It’s still really cold at 7:30 am. Headwinds and false flats suck. 7th West south of 90th South doesn’t go through, [...] Short bike ride yesterday, in the cold (thankfully not raining or snowing), and while I expected it to be difficult since I haven’t thrown my leg over a saddle since December; I did not expect to struggle on a mere 1/2 hour ride. Then off to party at Jennie’s last night, meeting up with many [...] RIVER [...] Winter-Time Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire [...] The type of rider who wins races where 125 riders start and one finishes—that’s a Flahute. A Flahute thinks the Tour de France is just a bunch of long training rides. A real race is one where it’s pouring rain, it’s cold, the roads are treacherous, and the prize list is about the same as [...] |
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