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For the Wind is a demonstrative mistress.
She'll show that which you crave to see.
She''ll manufacture delusions of grandeur.
Spin illusions, make you think you are free.

Mirages she'll dangle for your pleasure.
Sweet lies she'll whisper to your soul.
Jealously she'll snatch times of your leisure,
Baiting, waiting to exert her control.

You've lived with this bitch, this surreal witch, the Wind Vixen, serving up tasty dreams.
Your scooter, it sings, like Pegasus' wings, as you commune with her rantings, her screams.
You've chosen a road, the Wind, her abode, she opens and gives you full reign.
In your mind you're in charge, taking names, living large, to you the equation's so plain.
It doesn't take long, her lullabye song, seduces you into that highway trance.
Your engine's husky drone, such an obedient clone, you twirl in this exotic WIND DANCE.

Not waiting to dither, "Brave warrior, come hither!", soprano voices, angelic, you hear.
Your heart leaps at last, as when tied to the mast, brave Ulysses, his spirit did cheer,
With the sweet sirens song, the Wind carried along, to deposit in the purse of his ear.
Biker's passion you bring, born to hear the wind sing, life you know must be lived in high gear.
Bravely onward to your goal, past the reef and the shoals, you approach your objective, briefly glance,
Up into the Wind, it knows where you've been, it knows you're coming to the WIND DANCE.

You carry life's load, up this steep mountain road, the Wind gamely assists from behind.
She caresses your face, makes your heart's engine race, keeping time with the beat in your mind.
The hawg 'tween your legs, your boots on the foot pegs, anchors you to reality's plight.
But your mind's moving on, to that limbo it's gone, she calls "Your valor's earned my respite".
The throttle you twist, with leather bound wrist, to hasten your gamble, life's great chance.
She's driving you on, your bike chugs along, as you promenade, partnered in this WIND DANCE.

The Wind so sublime, as higher you climb, taking note of the cliffs to your right.
This thin mountain road, the air turning cold, like the heart of your mistress so tight.
Phantom dominatrix controlling, road twisting, rolling, wind gusts send you     careening toward the edge.
Guard rails defend, as the Wind tries to send, you hurtling over the ledge.
That fickle Wind bitch, in your brief mental hitch, thought the time was right, here was her chance.
In her soul-lust, her greed, she took over the lead, waltzing you in her poison WIND DANCE.

Realizing she tried, you pull off to the side, surveying the damage to your sled.
Your leg bears the bruise, souvenir of your cruise, against the steel of the rail, now stained red.
Yourself you quickly nurse, you decide you've had worse, you curse the Wind, yelling, you chastise.
But the wind she dies down, surplanting your frown, soothing you with unseen sultry eyes.
Like a knight's been un-horsed, you get right back on course, tell the squire to "Fetch one more lance!".
This joust has yet to end, your honor you'll defend, in this mazurka of danger, WIND DANCE.

Your trusty iron steed, with no gas or oil bleed, is ready to try yet again.
That noble Softail, you it never shall fail, prepares to re-engage with a yen.
Its soul mimics yours, the long rides, the tours, you've taken together, this bond,
Can never be broke, though the Wind might evoke, trepidation, hesitation from beyond.
Your spirit so strong, it sings right along, with the tune which, in your mind, now does prance.
Seeger's TURN THE PAGE, heard while passing a cage, accompanies you in this whirling WIND DANCE.

That classic song of the road, becomes an uplifting goad, that sends you to battle once more.
The Wind showed her face, in her death-like embrace, now she endeavors, attempts to implore.
Forgiveness she seeks, tears stain invisible cheeks, nature's actress, modern day tragedy.
With thespian ploy, she tells you "Good Boy, Your courage was your own remedy!".
Your ego satisfied, you continue your ride, up the mountain, full throttle, cares askance.
The bluster bitch smiles, she knows all the while, you fill her "card" for this deadly WIND DANCE.

You see it ahead, surveying without dread, this wide open natural bridge.
Such vistas you see, opiate of the Rockies, disregarding the drop of the ridge.
Your breath it gives way, Mother Nature holds sway, you can't help but glut on the view.
The Wind rises up, gusting strong, so abrupt, toward the edge you swerve, naught you can do.
Launching over the side, your fatal last ride, your lunch now resides in your pants.
You hear a wild laugh, like a fish on the gaff, soon it ends, music over, this WIND DANCE.

Later, Park Rangers stand, o'er broken body, ruptured gland, the look on their faces so grim.
Above on the road, the blue lights flashing cold, on the top of the cruisers steel brim.
Another Biker gone, that same old torch song, lover unfaithful, soul-wrenching smut.
Brothers at home mourn the loss, one more bold rider tossed, from the bosom of that cold, faithless slut.
The Wind near the hill, gently blowing at will, calls another to task, her lusty glance,
Catches one more bikers eye, calls him up toward the sky, her new partner, waltzing in the WIND DANCE .

For the wind is a demonstrative mistress.
She'll show that which you crave to see.
She'll manufacture delusions of grandeur.
Spin illusions, make you think you are free.

Mirages she'll dangle for your pleasure.
Sweet lies she'll whisper to your soul.
Jealously she'll snatch times of your leisure.
Baiting, waiting to exert her control.



Copyright 2002
Bruce "Bulldog" Dowling


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