Under the Sky

It’s like coquina rock
It’s like Barbara wrote
It’s all ridges and teeth
Waiting
Waiting
Waiting to take a layer of skin
Like a slice of oblongata
Like other lower brain sections
Like the Shell sign superimposed
Over the Chevron chevron
Like the freedom tower building
Cubans called cielito lindo
Like nothing truly beautiful under the sky
Not for you in 2024
It’s roiling
It’s a tempest
And you’re just getting used to it
But you’ll never get over it

What I’m Reading:

Bikeless days are a bummer. They do happen. Rain drowns the city, or snow dumps down. You have appointments to keep, and you have to show up looking more presentable than you would after an eighty-block bike ride. Maybe your bicycle is in the shop. Maybe your bicycle has been stolen. When you’re used to traveling by bike, the condition of bikelessness is disorienting and debilitating.

— Jody Rosen / Two Wheels Good: The History and Mystery of the Bicycle