When riding the Japanese beast,
through the American back country
the sound of the lonely piston
following its vertical motion
merges with the schizophrenia
of a nation.
Suddenly the isolation and desolation
of the white picket fence dream,
that blends quietly
with the trailer park nightmare,
molest your vision,
and tear logic right off your skull.
Amidst the children playing in the
cluttered front yards
and the fake deer targets
I feel the flow of melancholy
and the enduring battle
between God, Guns and virtue.
The farmer's eye throws a quick glance,
as the motor accelerates,
and the imported noise
spreads without shame
through the quiet hypocrisy.
A sense of closeness overwhelms you
when you ride so close to life,
which evolves, digs, builds
kills and dies, all alone
trapped behind church walls.
Leaning into a right turn,
my sight falls on the wooden sign,
the perpetual admonition
of the undying hypocrite,
warning me of eternal damnation.
Fivos R Drymiotis, 2005