"It's quite a pretty hell,
quite a pretty hell,"
said the wilting woman
to her plastic window self,
a half-tint fetch, etched
in the eye of the weevil
threading the black dough
of the crosstown bus route.
The nightclubbers behind her
exchange glances and hold hands
as she begins to hum to herself,
but the unvarnished melody
lodges in an angle of odd brain
& soon I'm humming it too
as I step into 18th Street's maw,
already bristling neon sweet
with milkmaid dress hems
threshing ruptured doorsteps -
turning up my street I catch
a last sight of the shushed bus husk
crawling away northwards
with only a scratching hum inside
for its heartbeat, and a face lost
in the catacomb of its reflection.
Aug 8, 2025
Aug 8, 2025 at 11:07 PM UTC
"It's quite a pretty hell,
quite a pretty hell,"
said the wilting woman
to her plastic window self,
a half-tint fetch, etched
in the eye of the weevil
threading the black dough
of the crosstown bus route.
The nightclubbers behind her
exchange glances and hold hands
as she begins to hum to herself,
but the unvarnished melody
lodges in an angle of odd brain
& soon I'm humming it too
as I step into 18th Street's maw,
already bristling neon sweet
with milkmaid dress hems
threshing ruptured doorsteps -
turning up my street I catch
a last sight of the shushed bus husk
crawling away northwards
with only a scratching hum inside
for its heartbeat, and a face lost
in the catacomb of its reflection.
