The angel of death blesses him
with a kiss
that rainy afternoon
as he races the storm on the back
of a steel stallion.
He feels untouchable as the wind
tears through his scraggly jet black hair.
The ominous clouds overhead soaking with
rain explodes and the heavens
rain tears--
--Two miles to home.

The bike moans as the gears
grind
metal on metal
and shift.
The little round dial with
red hands jump and
teeter at 84 miles per hour.
He leans into the sharp rough
curves of the pavement, and together,
the wild eyed man and the crotch-rocket,
become one.

Life--he thinks-- is beautiful!
then he smiles with crooked teeth
and spits the sputtering cinged cigarette
from his lips.
The rain reawakens his mind
and he gazes upon the calm
of the drenched afternoon
blurring behind him.

The towering trees are a
green so vibrant against
the rippling grey heavens
he swears
he can taste the color
on his tongue.
The soft rain soaks into
his shirt and seeps into his skin.
Calm fills his once empty insides.

The slick curving road
ahead causes him to slip and slide.
The rutted tires of the bike do not
bite the wet pavement,
so he skids-
sideways.

Time slows and so does the rainfall.
He hears the metallic tic of the
little gears inside his waterproof
wristwatch.
He knows it is time.

He lays sprawled on the plush
green terrace beside a towering
black telephone pole.
He looks at the soft light
as it floats from behind the clouds.
he can hear the ringing
golden glow of sun rays
that shone closer
until,
they kiss him
on the cheek.