The cycle goes around itself,
A blinding dash of red.
The cycle collapses on itself.
Is its rider dead?
The cycle’s wheels roll away
Down the cliff, a stony slide.
The cyclist stands, his bike in shreds…
Last time he’ll text and ride.
Meanwhile the cycle rolls away
To who knows where and when
Until, reborn, the scattered scraps
Begin the cycle again.
The Daily Travesty 