Riding Alone

   

    You imagine what it is like,
    Riding the wind as much as the road,
    A sprinkling rain dappling your visor.
    You are enclosed, cut off,
    Feeling you knew you would be
    If you kept on thinking
    As you did.  You

    Must be brought
    To heal or be ostracized,
    The traditional means of being
    Cut off from the tribe.
    You were not meant to ride
    Alone and surely know
    That through your DNA.

    Riding alone you’ll one day
    Find yourself under a truck
    On the 405.  There is no
    Place, we’ve seen through
    Our lenses, for a being
    Like you – though as old
    As you are it no longer matters.