Motorcycle Leather

[Xlateralus]

Gravel punctures the tire's lung
and I roll down the hill into the brush,
branches clawing at my face
and hands, drawing blood.


For the most part, this reads like a guy getting flung off a bike, as you read it the rythm works. I would cut the from “the brush” and the “clawing”, i would use a different word as the awe sound doesn’t match with the stanza. Not totally sure if I am buying “tire’s lung” but it sounds good so i’ll give it a pass.

I stand up slowly,
stones stuck inside the skin
I wear above my heart.

stones is a bit heavy handed. I’m guessing you centered on stones for the sonics... I just think the poem lacks payoff. Maybe, not being a rider myself i am missing something.. but the skin you wear above your heart - the significance isn’t apparent. Thick skin over your heart i get, but above your heart.... hmm. Then the stones stuck in, it’s a mess.