The rider's eye is a budding head no bigger than the horizon its fate will splatter against forcibly in its own sweet arcing. The core of his balance is a cracked yolk turning tricks. Even on all-fours death refuses its gauntlet to fellow travellers as we lurch behind it running the full gamut of abasements. It tears through survivors at a canter and waxes its swan song with a dab of spermicidal gel.Subscribe