The Existential Bicycle and Words

The Existential Bicycle woke up

on the Sandiest Beach in the Whole World.

The endless shore was empty; solitude

his one companion. Up he got to cycle,

but found that he was writing on the sand

in giant, swirling arcs of wheelie lines:

This cage will set you free. Its iron bars

will give you something firm to contemplate;

angular lines to gild Dystopia:

cylindrical, restrictive, cold, and solid;

its see-though shapes will lead your mind elsewhere.

You fill the emptiness inside the cage

with unseen words; the magic ink of thoughts.

He wasn’t sure what any of it meant,

but wrote it anyway. He used to dream

of cycling on the flats of Holland,

or Norfolk; anywhere which was denuded

of hills, those enemies of bikely balance,

but now he rarely thinks of them:

the level surfaces; the lack of inclines.

He writes his way to freedom, line by line;

each day’s endeavours swept away

at night, by winds which bring the next day’s words.