The Outrunner
The hum of tires, a clean line of
speed,
until a single solitary hunter, his hunter, lunges
testing the rush of spinning spokes.
A clinical response, a sheer calculated use of momentum:
right leg extending—a sharp, certain blade of geometry,
knowing exactly the result.
An impact, a yelp, a fierce maintenance of balance.
A clean getaway into the setting sun,
leaving the shadow behind.
The Territory
Another day, another path—the quiet
multiplies by three.
A walking pace, a heavy heave from within,
shattered as his hounds close in—homeless, raw, owning the dirt.
Then the sensory shock:
snarls, flashes of teeth, hot breath claiming skin—
the absolute exposure of flesh against
his hounds.
Terror does not stay on the trail; it follows, breaking the body, the will.
Two kilometers left of day-mare, sinking into hot scorched earth;
muscles unlearning how to flee.
Salt streams depositing upon salt.
And the final five kilometers: legs buckling, hills persisting,
forcing pedals through a blur of haze,
cycling, raging while carrying the weight of wilderness home.
The Unleashing
A pulse slows.
The echo remains:
What unwritten sin was committed to endure such?
Why, hounds of Hades, were you unleashed?
The underworld does not wait below;
it surfaces in the dirt,
leaving its teeth marks on thy flesh.
The Residue
The salt of his hounds clings stubbornly to the skin, refusing to be easily wiped away.
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