Pedals +1

I can see the goal line stretched across the horizon, left to hang like a nervous stutter, while the blinking light behind the window shutters, too scared to be heard, try to turn words into wind.

These sails won't push themselves.

Meanwhile, miles of codes have been lashed against my levers, draped from the ceiling like a jungle of endeavors between pulleys of logic, and turning my body into an escape route for profit. I'm taking command back. I'm practicing what I preach. But, I find that even while the best machete can master hack, its edginess lacks facilities for crafting.

So I go on smoking, an iron giant looking longingly for repairs.

But, all I can find are weekend mechanics who panic at the thought of a transmission overhaul. It's all a test until they pass it, I printed answer keys so massive you couldn't miss them with a hatchet. So if they're not the one's cutting brakes, who's really to blame? A couple who pretends to know what's at stake and not understand the rules to the game.

It wasn't so much that they were bothered by the truth, but they were indifferent to its beauty. Feeding lines to me about how to act and what to do just so I could fit into their routine. I was taught different names for the same thing, like work station instead of kitchen sink. I used monikers purloined from the same sides of a different coin.

I wasn't meant to think, I was meant to choose.

And I choose you, whoever you are. You, who is as curious as I am flustered, as beautiful as I am resilient, and--I hope-- forgiving of me as I might one day be.

Maybe on that day we can watch this solipsistic menagerie of minds take flight among the sails of ships bound for better lands.