I'm not my muscle man, I keep spinningthe creation of spinningthe product of spinningthe byproduct of spinningravels along the paved tributary pathI skate to skim off my estrogenin the wet summer where everything is edgingforward I flicker along the streamwhich for most of the year is flood or freeze.the river, the rocks banking the river,the rocks loved up on by the river,are sharp and naked and newas new as rocks can be and actualand ugly in their unnature. too far downslope to touch. far from the real hawkminding her own. the late x transforms to earlyy. I am building corporeal.my sweat stings, my eye says so.a long coming cloud. the late day transformsto early night. I pick up my pulse.the dam churns the rapids out.I'm downstream heading up.