A Bike Ride Ride on The Middle of A Night

I was riding my bike on the middle of the night,
a favorite past-time of mine, mind you--middle of the street, too,
because there is an undeniably, indescribeably exhilerating
liberty that streams from the melodyelectricity shaking my head
to my kicking and falling and pedalling peds.

And if the fuzz aren't around with suspicious lights and sirens,
the sounds abounding bounce between my ears, my eyes are blinded
by their blankets, and my arms are spread-eagle like a willing virgin,
I can enjoy the ride, avoiding riding over animals slaughtered by us
(perpetuating the space between), and avoid mistaking potholes for shadows.

What more is how the night masks dayrealities into beautiful metaphors and--
it's just that--when I opened my eyes in the quiet and carless desert of rolling
pavements, a lightless stripmall parking lot with autumned leaves and a glistening
film of shatteredglass rain that had lightly, bluely, softly just fallen,
I looked to see where I was going and--

For just the smallest, stupidest moment, thought I was riding my bike on the sky.