Prayer of the Motorcycle “I tell you,” he replied, “If the disciples keep
quiet, the stones will cry out” —Luke 19:40
Lord, cover my machined skeleton with soft muscle rippling beneath skin. Trade me an irregular beat for the perfect timing in my finned chambers. Powdercoated steel. Ninetytwo octane. I too am a collection of precious dirts plucked, fashioned from the earth’s heartbox. I need sweet air, fluids. Spark. A master. Give me hunger beyond the bite into a curve’s pavement. Lord, give me sight where I have a filament. If I am their creation, I am yours, so give me the freedom of a misfiring voice and the tiny loping engines of cells whose fuel is bread, meat. Then let me ascend your highway with the sputter of wings. ~ Jonathan Travelstead
Fredericksburg Literary & Art Review Volume 3, Issue 1
FLAR is an independently published literary and art magazine located in Fredericksburg, Virginia.