"Hey, we've never really talked."

I imagine surviving an earthquake.  

"We never talked."

I dig my nails into something red.

"We've never really talked."

I cough.

"We never talk."

I wipe the spit off my lip.

"Hey, we've never-"

Rewinding the VHS for the next customer.

unwanted and rudderless

on another underground Sunday

flub-dubbing my way

through the weeks

the months lost

like episodes of shows

I don’t watch anyway

lately few words come to me

fewer thoughts stay

landing for a moment

on my wires

then gradually

but inevitably

fluttering away

my hands

the only birds who stay

busy doing other things

driving cars

flicking lighters

rarely touching anyone

mainly holding tight

for another

friendly fire fight

the train I’m on rocks

and roars me through

tunnels dug by

dead men