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  • Arms flap heavenwards, fighting the
    shaking length of knotted cord that bites against the
    wheel’s rubber tread.

    Eyes straight. Head still.
    Pressed, pedal onwards.

    Would you be down if I told you

    he fell?

    Or is he fixed there,
    forever flapping his flailing arms,
    never quite tumbling
    or righting himself?
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