It's like anything else, really; and most exciting ideas deserve a sweet new hat:
Check.
Day 2 of learning to ride a motorcycle, and I ate it. Went into a turn, but was slipped into a panic when the person in front of me wasn't going as fast, so squeeze the clutch, over pulled the throttle, release the clutch all fast, and did a few tumbles out of the track. Let's here it for helmets. And jeans and gloves. I'll have scars:
Not bad at all. I'd rather eat it on a closed course on a bike that ain't mine than in the middle of some stretch with other people driving really fast.
This is how summers go. Once, I moved to Nantucket. Another time, I learned to play bass for my friends' band...and I wasn't very good. Max and Dan deserved better. I prefer to forget some of the more recent summer-time decisions. Maybe it's the humidity. Maybe the sun's resistance to setting. I don't know. I'm gonna take some Ib profin (or however you spell it), and rest.
Falling: The Code
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Not A Biker...Yet.
1.
Through the night
the apples
outside my window
one by one let go
their branches and
drop to the lawn.
I can’t see, but hear
the stem-snap, the plummet
through leaves, then
the final thump against the ground.
Sometimes two
at once, or one
right after another.
During long moments of silence
I wait
and wonder about the bruised bodies,
the terror of diving through air, and
think I’ll go tomorrow
to find the newly fallen, but they
all look alike lying there
dewsoaked, disappearing before me.
2.
I lie beneath my window listening
to the sound of apples dropping in
the yard, a syncopated code I long to know,
which continues even as I sleep, and dream I know
the meaning of what I hear, each dull
thud of unseen apple-
body, the earth
falling to earth
once and forever, over
and over.
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