I am aware that the lights of this city always wash up underground.
it is here we stumble upon an abandoned MRT car.
we celebrate her finding.

Maybe tonight we'll finally knit her together!

We'll make her whole again!
Bones, carbine batteries, and all:
creaky joints brittle, flimsier than
the hour hands drumbeat-beating back
the good,

old times.

We are tired.
of forever chasing
your headlamp leftovers through decaying brick walls,

tired,
of forever waiting on your streetlamp-stained limbs to finally reach the graveyard stations of our subconscious.

tired,
of picking up after
the shadowy remnants of your visage,
now a checklist of unfulfilled promises:

pulley - rusted,
benches - mothballed,
cable strings - straining.
paint - chipping,

engine - huffing,
axle - bleeding,
spirit - broken.

we are tired of waiting.