The Manic Rider and Collapse

The rider mistakes speed
for clarity.

Momentum builds its own weather.

Wind screams past the ears
until thought disappears.

Everything feels inevitable
when acceleration is the only compass.

But the road was never infinite.

Every arc
bends toward ground eventually.

The collapse arrives quietly.

Dust settling
where velocity once lived.

The rider stands
beside the broken machine

finally hearing
the world again.