The Skycycle Blues - B. Dolan

Somewhere

Between Heaven

And the landing ramp

Is the sacred mathematics of Chance

The calculated risk

And the wind, whipping ya in the eyes

And the sharp, metallic taste

Of life

And death

And there is a moment of utter calm there, in mid air

A moment of sheer silence and peace

Before you hear, as if in a dream

The sound of your own voice

Going:

«OHHHH SHHHHHHITTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!»

Evel Knievel at the top of his take-off ramp in 1967

With a fucking earthquake in his chest

And all 30 feet of intenstine clenched

Against the concrete’s puckered lips

Evel Knievel saying goodbye to the mother of his kids

Daddy’s job is dangerous

Daddy’s job is to swim out farther and farther into the ocean

He comes back to them broken and never for very long

At a press conference he tells a reporter:

«This is what you call a one shot deal and

I’m not comin back for any late show, honey

No I have not practiced the jump

Because… there is no use practicing something that you cannot miss

And if i miss the jump in a test shot, that means im dead and will not ever get

to do it for real

So this is what you call

A fucking one shot deal

This helmet

Is to protect me

From my own momentum

This costume

Is to protect you

From the realness of what is happening here!

I am calling on Death!

And she comes growling and snapping into the arena

And opens her jaws up wide on both sides of my landing ramp

Gasoline, throttle

Thumps up

Open her up

Let the arrow fly

And tear into the fabric of an instant

Where you can live an entire lifetime

In the star-dusted, flash bulb infinity

Of a launch

Into impossible space

That climbs to the top of its arc

And beats the sky back another inch

Only to crumble and collapse

Only to fall and return to the earth

With no illusions of immortality

And pay the cost of dreaming

Like your skin stretched out in ribbons along 100 yards of tar

Like those ghostly, ruined bones up there on the x-ray screen

Like the steel plates, and the pins and the screws that they put in ya

Til ya got more in common with your bike than you do with any human being

By 1976

Evel Knievel’s body is a monument in ruins

The scorched remains of a war waged against his own flesh

Born to chase after death

And kids coming home crippled from Vietnam

Write letters that say

„thank you sir

I figure that if you can get up and go on then so can i“

Evel Knievel shoots holes in the sky to keep people’s hope alive!

Even as he’s flying across the gaps between public appearances

Burning cocaine like money and women with their faces made up to look like neon

motel signs

The vacancy

Of a million tv’s shining on your skin

You’re the twinkle in America’s eye

& the women come looking to lay down with Death

& you got enough money to buy into your own hype

& you got enough fuel to push you past the speed of light

Where every day you age a year

And you watch, as if in a dream

As you fail

Every single person in your life

To pay the cost of dreaming:

The botched attempts

The bankruptcys

The divorce

The loss of his family

All the bad blood in his veins is

Hepatitis, Kidney Failure

Wheelchair

Old age

Living

To feel yourself

Shrinking

To the size of a footnote

A novelty

A gag

An oddity

All of it part of the long

Drawn out revenge

Of your cowardly enemy

Robert Craig Knievel

In 2007

Telling the Hour of Power Christian Telecast

About waking up and seeing the devil in his bedroom

Speaking carefully and slowly

The broken man told the congregation of how he rose

Up in his bed and said:

‘devil!

devil!

you bastard you

Get away from me.

i cast you out of my life

I just got on my knees and prayed then,» said evel

«i prayed that god would put his arms around me and never ever ever let me go»

He was not a good man

But he was a great man

And for that he deserves

Mercy

Death

Mercy