green, red, black, white
jumble of gears and spokes
bikes convalescing at the corner
the gray footsteps of hundreds
fast, slow, hurt, hopeful
flowing the street in front of me
how could i deign to know
the meaning of all the echoes
rattling tumbling in my mind
i cling, harder now
to the only truths i know
constantly dying, constantly renewing
to fight or to lay down
to wish or to act
to choose myself, or someone else
as the tires turn
as the footsteps collect
as my mind turns over and over
this is all there is
the venal muse
spent at last
jumble of gears and spokes
bikes convalescing at the corner
the gray footsteps of hundreds
fast, slow, hurt, hopeful
flowing the street in front of me
how could i deign to know
the meaning of all the echoes
rattling tumbling in my mind
i cling, harder now
to the only truths i know
constantly dying, constantly renewing
to fight or to lay down
to wish or to act
to choose myself, or someone else
as the tires turn
as the footsteps collect
as my mind turns over and over
this is all there is
the venal muse
spent at last
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