Biker Man

He wears his handlebar mustache like a Harley Davidson
He’s fired up—
Rolls down the street easy striding yet with thunder in his approach
His hair braided like the leather tassels of his vest
Painted with tattoos of apocalypse
The wheels of his mind spinning…
The headlights of his eyes penetrate through the crowd before him
Owning the pavement and all the on-looking stares

Fall Flight

The birds on the trees
have scattered as leaves
on the wind they wind through the sky.

Yet not to descend
as an autumnal blend
but will rise to dazzle the eye.