Moving at Speed

Everyone’s obsessed with speed

As though it were a grail,

But give the people what they need—

Not what they want—and they’ll

Discover much to their surprise

Alternative delights

That come in the more subtle guise

Of leisured days and nights

And find at last that racing lacks

The lure of lying low,

Avoiding rampant heart attacks—

Instead, loving the slow,

The thoughtful, easeful lassitude

Of living at snail’s pace,

And savoring those motes of joy

Bypassed by those who race

Nearly Endless Cycles

We pedal around at a furious rate

Just as though we’d outrun finitude, death and fate

But the truth of the matter, however we flee,

Is we’ll all still die off—that guy there, you, and me.