(present) (wrap) (closed)
          the spring, with its unruly suitcase of flowers
(now) (then) (wrap) (closed)
          the spring, with its historic suitcase of flowers
          — and you want to be free

          say, for example (eye)
          say, for example (door)

(now) (then) (open) (closed)

          Date me

Tantamount to lust, the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
Djamoladine brings spring in, Princess Winter sleeps
her finger pricked on a peony pin
Virenque is the Mountain King
Sheherazade dreams of silence
Sheherazade dreams of silence
The yarn is long, the race is spun
The Tour belongs to Greg Lemond
Djamoladine leads the sprinters home
Pisa leans, and Babel simmers
The ONCE boys lead on summer
December belongs to the Brothers Grimm
But Virenque is the Mountain King — Richard!
Me, I'm buried in the peloton
domestique with a load on
kilometres of hard road on
arachnid steel to steer and slide on
curving on to survive on
svelte bends like a Poseidon
rising from daydream liaisons
among hoary bearded gilled gold Tritons
sounding conch-horns from rocks and foam
to call up mermaids with coiling tails
of sparkling sheened metallic scales
who move like oil and eel and mail
with ropes of pearls like beads of hail
strung in spools through waving hair
to appear in schools from salty waters
while the summer thunder air
rumbles with its far-off breakers
wake me to clicking gears
Shimano ratchet snicking years
accelerating towards the leaders
sleek in sneakers velcrose lycra
climbing the slopes on amphetamine ladders
in chemical heavens for hours and hours
before the slippery sobbing comedown
the mechanics' dawn where we writhe forelorn
snakes sliding to a seashore slammer
gaoled hopes growing mute in slumber
all those elf and dragonfly lies of summer
our beauty reduced to a gross stupor
your gazing eyes with their fake shine
where you lie drowned within a glass of wine
fishermen unreeling endless lines
loops of light unspoken cycles
of being endlessly racing Michaels
imprisoned within my sterile own
arachnoid alloy to net a world on…
So the spider of desire weaves a round web
weaves us weaves us
weaves us all in
and the riders of desire urge us all on
and the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
Cippollini wears the speed boys' green
Jan Ullrich strings the racers out, and dreams
of streamlines in Alpine schemes
and all the time, the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
the wheels of Bobby Julich spin
and Djamoladine leads the sprinters in
Djamoladine races in the spring
Djamoladine!
Djamoladine!

Djamoladine!

Copyright © Michael Ayres, 2003.

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