On an empty street I can hear my two tires on the wet pavement
sticky like loaded paint rollers on primed walls,
masking tape loosing itself from itself.

Quiet clicks of gears I coast down an avenue of deep indigo
no lines to follow, no cars to dodge
my shortcut promptly proves dead end.

in the company of lonesome howling wandering wind
air slides through my ear canals and oils the marrow of my bones;
my skin evaporates.

An unlit sign on the left reads “Harvard Divinity School”
and leads me towards paved paths drawn in the shape of infinity signs.
The sky seems finite, filling in the gaps between rooftops and I follow it

weaving around patches of grass, disoriented
not even the north star appears.
I believe in churches but I don’t believe in God.

Picking up speed, the wind acts as if it is trying to erase me and
I steer down the asphalt I trap myself in walls of black stone and dark
green trees hiss as the breeze snags their needley skeletons.

I wait for rain but the clouds are concrete, unmoving apparitions
that mock the temper of the air growling loudly, like
the moon thrown down a bowling alley.

I make four more infinity signs before I turn around to find town
The clouds dissolve and beads of water beat the back of my neck.
A four year commute and all I got was lost.