A group of cyclists

A group of cyclists
Grip their red-hot handlebars
They crash into one another
And from a pyramid of bicycle frames

The handlebars take off into the sky
And join millions of others
Flocking like birds with flaming wings

You go into the coal shed
Where an old bicycle has been left
It shrieks in pain and hunger
It rears up and drives over you into freedom

You are digging in the mud of a riverbank
When, emerging out of the gunge
A bicycle rears up in front of you

The peddles begin to creak as they turn
The flashlight becomes like a bright midday sun
The wheels turn and splatter you with mud
And it rises vertically into the sky
It’s handlebars snorting

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