The Four Wheeler.


The four wheeler

Scooted along

Quite nicely.


The sun was far away

And the air was cool

Like early spring.


You could smell the lake.


Their we were

On the high road

Of the beach (the trapezoid prism),

About nine feet up.


It was hard to tell

If it was it or us

That was filtering

The light.


No matter.

No use.


As we came into town,

The engine began to sputter

So I pulled into a gas station

Where a side road met the main road.


The gast station was a hexagon

And it appeared to be abandoned,

Though I was able to fill up,

None the less.


The next thing I knew

We were in an empty church.

It was dim lit, the only light

Finding it’s way in

Was from stain glass windows

That were positioned very high up,

Just beneath the ceiling

Like the windows

In a basement.


They allowed a subtle warmth

To find it’s way in

There in the midst

Of all that empty black

Amidst the pews

And particles

As well as the confessional.


We then slipped off through

A large heavy door


Towards the back of the church

That led to somewhere darker

Where there was almost

No light

At all.