The Biking Teeter Totter

October 8, 2008
Screech, wooosh,

I’m on top of it before I know it,

I go three fourth’s of the way and stall,

I wait there, motionless

Listening to the medal grind and churn,

The front starts moving slowly,

But keeps gaining speed,

It plumets twoard the ground,


It hits, sending a plume of dust flying,

My shocks compress,

And I ride off the front,

Onward to the next terrain

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