Here's To The Cycling, Where The Only Direction Is Around:: How A Woman Is Made

She commanded

her organs to compress,

her muscles to tense,

her bones to collapse,

her skin to wrap tight

-er and tighter.

There’s a universe inside her

She’s making it breathe,

with this anxiety she’s creating

mountains, instead of

sliding down them.

They say that’s the easy part;

She has yet to see

any good come from these

tattered jeans and ripped pockets.

Got lost and never found it.

That’s the nature of the downward slope:

can see it all coming

no claws to stop it.