I am many years old, I am trying to figure out this thing He calls man.
I dream to much and I don’t hustle enough. They tell me work to work for towers don’t build themselves and all gardens now grow arulladas by the glow of monitors and clicking of keyboards.
I dream to much and I don’t bike enough. Just pedal down and up, and down and up. I look behind making sure the trees I ride past every day are not tired of me yet. I look upwards hoping my tires were were filled with day-dreams and not air, and for a moment they are. I look in where the weather is unpredictable, my private maze of wires and poets. I look around, and it is all there, an encyclopedia bookmarked at busy-mess. I look to my feet … and down and up and down and up. Sin subidas, sin bajadas, just pedal down and pedal up. I look forward…When do I get there?… When do I get where?…
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