flyin down this hill on my schwin

well I guess this is where it all begins

go in sandburg come out like ray charles

an odor of jasmine for yer flowers

sometimes on my bicycle rides

these pleasantries fall from the trees

little Quixote's fished out like floaties

from the bevy of yer choice



ladies choice



flyin down this hill on my schwin

well I guess it all could have ended then

unlike consternation's quagmire above

the streets firmly paved ways

coupled with speed and gravity

and the craniums tendency

to leak vital information

all over the road to recovery