Night

Mercury Rising #6, April 1992

by Jurgen Traxis

Frisco wouldn't let me go; or it was the bike. Not gelling?, not brokenin, five minutes from the bridge the biscuit’s headset loosens. I wheeledinto a ship and ran into MODEL MECHANIAC. He was a model for bike ads promisingNIRVANA and cycle-envy of the less fortunate.

I got all my stuff loaded up front and back, a metallic burro, littlecat eye bike eye rolling under the orange arches in the late afternoonfog for the uncertain obstacle of the long night.

NICASSIO, postcard village past the emerald grove was the last townbefore the velvet curtain.

Between towns, cocoon of darkness in a halo gen bubble, no walkman,no conversation, an internal dialogue imagined involving revolving scenarios:slapstick messenger buffoonery, security grunts, bank fellers, deceptionists,legal egos, freefall elevators, an assortment of midgets and dwarves withgiant pets, the twins in furs...

How long ago had Santa Rosa whirled by as I track-standed on some eternalnight? The farms moon lite green black models on the set of the friendlyGIANT who looms over me.

"There you go on that twisted one lane road. Up, up, near the peak.A long way to go," intones the giant. That stupid rooster cacklesbehind him.

"When is this fucking road going to end? I stop granny ringingbut there’s no place to sleep, everywhere on a slope, fenced off and verboten.No cars, just end. Outline of ridges and trees like a giant matte on amovie set. The climb continues as level ground takes a holiday, Lo! Thesky lightens but nor the load. The pavement turns to dust and gravel thendown, down, down...

After images, starlike flashes, fading dream scape the world materializesinto crisp cool morning air. In the diner woolen flannel cladded earlybirds rest on stools, clinking silverware, smoking cigarettes. Coffee?"inquired siren eyes.

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