Ode to Moraline

A man goes to Argentina

He says:

"These hands will bleed when I get there.
I will bleed when I don't want to, when I'm tired.
I will leave this blood in desolate areas,
and sometimes on the soft body of a woman.
I will leave this blood on my tools,
and maybe all my tools won't make it.
Maybe I won't make it.

My friends have been attacked by pussy and structure.
They have fallen deep in wombs and
they're lost or trapped or hiding, I
can't tell which.

We lose good men to crevasses
in the mucous
and blood where NUUUUR-TURE and MYUUUU-SICK
take breathing to its most shallow.

'Doctor--he's not breathing!
Don't let him die.'

The women continue knitting.

I hear screams as I true these wheels.
My own soul."

harder riding

There have been many critics who have decried lack of consistency and frequency: "Maximin. What gives?" Ah, California was delightful, as always. I went to the North.

6/25/10 10:11 a.m. Eureka, California
Icing my left knee in bed. Some harder riding out of the saddle in big chainring towards the end.