for my envy of bicycles & other methods the herd of stolen bicycles take a detour through my house at night where i am again trying to sleep to the sound of rain. not real rain, just a sound machine. the real rain is too busy flooding my parent's basement & sitting patiently in the faucet. in the basement there is a vortex all pulsating & purple. a great big bruise where all the loneliness seeps through. hence the bicycles. hence the pigeons. hence the ships in bottles that arrive without warning on my shelves. have you ever tried to sleep your body away? i go with just a sheet & sometimes the sheet becomes a flag if i'm not careful. you'll have to guess what kind of flag. the bicycles leave tire marks which all look like snake trails. wrangle the imagination. not snakes. just bikes. the last time i thought too much about snakes i found a huge python waiting in my tub. i said, "guess i'm not taking a shower." my grandmother died when i was still a girl & so did my aunt so in a sense they belong to someone else. i use one of the stove burners to rest my green bananas on & i toss & turn worrying what would happen if it turns on. i would have a pile of slugs. do you ever envy bicycles? they're like small horses. i envy horses most of all. when they run the world crumples. i've never seen this i just assume. have you seen their eyes? i'm affraid someone will knock on my front door. i stand up in bed & stare at the far wall until it goes murky. i write too many poems about not being able to sleep but here is where i live. i tell the ambulance i don't want to be saved tonight not yet & plus that's too expensive. leave the bicycles to take care of me. maybe i can catch one as it passes.