On my bike I ride. Pretty basket on the front. Tiny bell that goes ding or DING. Forgetting no rear view mirrors. I look over shoulder stiff necked. No helmet…too cool.
In my head I see me as sister maria. All sound of musiced up. All flowing dress long legs smelling like a girl.
Let’s step back to what is real.
Short nubs spinning for dear life. Sweat running down from….everywhere. The hills aren’t alive here. It’s JT or bishop Paul S Morton and the FGBCF Mass choir or tori or propagandhi. Played just loud enough which may just be too loud for my own good.
Look for me riding blue bike with pretty basket. If I see you I will make the bell ding DING. Please imagine me as I imagine myself. I live in these delusions of not grandeur but maybe delusions all the same.
Step into this world of flowing skirts and cleanliness with me. They are my rose colored glasses but I am I afraid to share.
“I ran faster but it caught me here” Tori Amos “precious things”