She,
a Prophet
Running

guided by rails.

Smashing
cities
Like pumpkins

Gliding currents
underfoot

Shadowed
by rats

A marshal’s maxim -
Crush thy liberty

again no proof
Of humanity.

Cold and hungry
I see you

Falling off the track
I say,

I'm sorry

I can't

Help
You.

*

Subway wheels peel
With Liturgical
Regularity

stepping closer
To the edge

Steelpans
Are on the
Rise

A central pin
Bears the brunt of
The ride

the axlebox reeks
Of sin

Some unknown passenger
Is sick
and tired
and running up costs

As fast as he can scan the car
He whistles a merry tune

From the sounds of horns below to the bells above

I keep remembering
What I said,
“I'm sorry, I just can't
Help
You”