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I sit with intravenous headphones
             a dopamine drip          
my dress pants are torn at the inner knee
my hair smells of yeast
my face itches
my eyes wander

we screech to a halt
and it hisses like a feral cat
the platform then filled with bodies
that funnel in
bright as the undead

one seat from me
              he's balding        
and in the absense of hair, scabs
polka dotted,
He barks to a younger man about his dog
but the younger man just stares straight forward

In the disabled seating, sits
a woman
who is not pregnant
             or crippled        
             or elderly        
her toenails are a browny-yellow, and curled like the petals of an uprooted daffodil
her breath is audible, from the tenth row back
            even over the bald man        
            even over the chugging motor        

At the front
a boy sits with his older brother -
who points at pictures in a tattered laminate book
and grunts
and makes sounds
          yes, thats right, bus        
and groans
         it's okay, you'll see mum soon      
in discomfort,
snot seeping from his nose, spit
falling to the floor

Again, we screech to a halt
the alley cat hisses
only one at this platform

Her hair is neck length
her slip is long, silky and sky-blue
          as are her eyes        
fingers fiddle at the purse
         pursed lipped, she smiles      
... at the bus driver

Her boots sound the isle
they watch like its a runway
finding her way
Next to the boy
with the greasy hair
and the torn pants
and the sauce stained uniform
and the wandering eyes
and the inability to start a conversation

          and she sits      
          and they sit
please slap me
tongue and cheek
island week
you and her mightn't speak
I wonder if you wondered
if anything could ever feel this real forever
if anything could ever be this good again
Written in February of 2019
Table top deity, piggy backing best friend
carpool in the morning, mourning in the evening
mispronounce words from every second reading
take us back to kindergarten
girly  hair
cut my crusts
imagination runs amok
yet reminiscing isn't always forgiving to you
Written in April of 2018
Siblings parrying sincerity.
Brooklyn to Scranton to Bristol and back again
couches embrace
rewind it.
Front yard fabrication of a happy family
play pretends in the paper bark tree
squeeze my arm and ask me

are you okay con?
Written in January of 2019
Passenger seat canary
Jeans in 40 degrees, out to the rock wall
downpour, Shaq soda, ephemeral lyrics and a deteriorating weekend
when I'm meant to see you i may sleep in
Written in January of 2019
Laundry detergent
shoe gaze averted
to the scintillating ceiling
imposer supernovas
feelings frayed like a grad dress hem
two inches became an ocean apart
complacent as I am
I flagellate again
Written December 2018
Play dumb act smart
school bus pant-less
cocktail of prank calls and parental figures
you'll push me mungo, to the brink
but it makes you grin
I hope it sticks
Written sometime in 2017
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