now they saddle up onto the bandwagon du jour
boxcars going east then west
packed in CN tin cans
I watch them wash their faces with their salivation
yellow-eyed,
gnarly-toothed
melting their humanity over an open flame
flushing their autonomy down rust-ringed porcelain bowls
a holistic scope in view of The Absolute

in my darkest hour,
an adolescent beyond transcendence loomed quilts from buried, rare yarns
he is my sprig of sage
a woman on the phone hugged me in soft lulls
she is not my mother
a strange ******* the subway solved the Rubix Cube with dart-y eyes
she is my best friend
those who were supposed to be there
weren't
not even one
but I hear them coming now on the bandwagon du jour

my mouth is sewn shut by stitches of projections
bouncing like swish in my mouth
tastes of foul and misery
inside me lies
Truth, Grace, and Honour
soft soapstone carving of Lady Justice
I crawl inside of you
and you in me
sleep and wake
wake and sleep