anguished future

the antediluvian gravitational waves 
pull me 
down the descents of Marilaque, 
unraveling 
the mysteries of my bicycle, 
its classic steel tubes 
silently complaining against the stresses, 
while every moment is constantly rolling the dice 
of probability 
whether metal fatigue would set in, 
even as 
the combined masses 
of steel and flesh 
fight to stay upright, 
and where 
the quickest way to turn on a curve is 
counterintuitively countersteering, 
and the safest way to dash through 
the tightest hairpin is 
to trail brake on a delayed apex, 
and all the while 
Einstein's Relativity is 
endlessly helping my GPS 
to quietly track 
my path 
to eternity