Poem by William Karnowski

when riding a harley
you are in fact no freer
than a walking man
it just feels that it is true

there is no room
for kitchen sinks and libraries
of other peoples knowledge
and their guesses of knowledge
nor their pretenses of knowledge

one is left with motion
and wind and wandering
with no agenda for a day

there remains only friendship
flights of fancy
hedonistic joy
all in all
the physical expression of poetry

the instinctive leaning of a turn
and putting a foot down to stop
and with a dab of the toe
a flick of a wrist
to disappear into ones own sunset

William J. Karnowski
author of: Pushing the Chain, Painting the Train, Catching the Rain, Hardtails and Highways, and The Hills of Laclede.