portrait 3

behind the rose-twined wires of his upside-down bicycle, pink-robed man offers up cardboard for charity. the mills, a pride of dense vegetation, trickling through his spokes, banners propped and armed as flanks, fauns for the downtime. he supplicates reverently, ablutions of grime and sickle-cut harvest from the close divinity of sweat and bloody iron. thrice, twice, and his eyes are still vacant.