Headlong (Fibula, Lateral Maleosis, Greenstick)

Four imagepieces.

Wake up!
Gunmetal bronze, a sudden wall,
from nine o'clock -- my head,
below the handle --
take the hit by leaning left
and hitting back (fuck it, fuck it, fuck it)
Darwin tense and rugby cold and bloodless white;
full body, leftright handknee gripping, gripping,
full fairing, incomplete armour, inbreathe
optimize accept
no past
accept the input of pain
accept there is a need to make a choice
postpone acounting find the single
silver thread ahead:
do not go
down, do not go down, do not go down.
There is a spray
of plastic fragments, metal fittings, laterpain;
there is a single, sudden, disappointing sound.
I riccochet; I cheat the undercarriage,
animal-black, growling, snapping,
hungry at my heel.

Wake up!
Yellow streetsigns, blur of black -- it's
left or right, lad, left or right or
lose an arm a leg a head -- it's left
and all the thinking simply after
choosing. Good choice. Bad

inertial choice an accidental
throttle blip (left hand right hand grab
to stay aboard) three or four
combustion strokes high
torque rear end sliding sliding kill
switch front brake rear brake straighten out
ah, just a little just a little
late I'm going down just
ride it out again and
hit left, hit hard
hit left face down, belly flop, but sliding straight,
goddammit, sliding straight, just ride it out another
this is not so bad just ride it out, a

more impressive sound, exploding
black and glass and chrome, far on my right,
(ah, much more Hollywood) cement

Wake up.
Wake up.
No sweat. I'm alive,
I'm moving, I'm awake,
I'm taking inventory, I'm
awake. Awake.

JDP 98/11

Copyright John D Porter © 1998

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