Peter Kenneally-bicycle mine: one, six, seven

Peter Kenneally

bicycle mine one

the sun
is a sign which says no
but actually reads sol
a man
half bicycle
black and dripping
his eyes are doomed
and black and
ask which is which
and examine the sand
he lies down
and lies back
says so lonely in death
and his thin
and tinny handlebars
cling to his fingers
the bicycle and
he goes green

bicycle mine six

he is empty
putrefying and black
his increasingly
unbending knuckles
are still
the bicyclepulls up and rubs
his stomach
he is yellow and
black and spattered
with mould
he picks off the mould
and attempts the razor
he hews hews his face
becomes old
a blindingly white
cat lying beside him
is feasting on
a seagull
and has neatly manicured
writing on its
front which reads

bicycle mine seven

the illuminated
is indistinguishable
from the dark
fly from words and letters
and light links
and can be seen
the bicycle
its older dance
takes several times around
old and light
low and red
and here and there
night air and old
living sin under
the wind
and over the wind
and rough light
can be seen
and ease in the far
cornand the wind
is a slow waltz

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