The spider living in the bike seat has finally spun 
its own spokes through the wheels. 
I have seen it crawl upside down, armored 
black and jigging back to the hollow frame,
have felt the stickiness break 
as the tire pulls free the stitches of last night’s sewing. 
We’ve ridden this bike together for a week now, 
two legs in gyre by daylight, and at night, 
the eight converting gears into looms, handle bars 
into sails. This is how it is to be part of a cycle— 
to be always in motion, and to be always 
woven to something else.



Douglas S. Jones

Centrifugal

Douglas S. Jones

No Handlebars

Centrifugal