still, a hole I am spinning down through stars, alone and now in my
dreams a man or a kid or somewhere in between is tearing up stripes
of candy wrappers and dropping the candy, all mushy brown goo oozing
from his hot hand, and the bits of blue and white wrapper float
towards my red beard, and I take him by the throat and say don't you
get it? you don't DO that to people, and his head is the size of a
ping pong ball in my hand, with a goofy grin, like go ahead, I have
nothing to lose, and there, against the free library wall waits my
bike, the camp gear still atttached for the get-away, I can pitch
anywhere, pursue happiness take any road and my spirit soars again,
forget all about homicidal dreams of rockets glaring and fireworks
gone astray and I ride high away twenty four years after the
bicententenial creation of my wheels in Jed's basement, his sophomore
effort still gliding the byways and passages to freedom and he
belches wth an awful smell "you blew it again, Clem, another one got
away" re: some cute high school girl i could have talked to and on
the bus his ex-girlfriend flirts with me, we share a birthday and I
become birthday boy born on the fourth of july at a picnic only it
was a friday in december, so I am told and I spin on through my dreams