I got on the bus alone today
and almost no one else was on it.

As it neared our campus the setting sun
hit the window so right, sending a golden corona
across the dusty seats,
bathing us all in this brilliant golden light.
Brown eyes turned to honey, blue ones to oceans—
a handful of minor gods and goddesses
on their way to class,
in sweatpants and backpacks.
It was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

None of us wanted to pull the cord to stop,
but finally, someone did,
and I had to get off.
I feel alive on the bus, I feel alone at midnight.
I am the princess of the bus.

I make my boyfriend Aiden worse without intending to.
I make a lot of things worse without intending to.
I think that if I just spent a lifetime on the bus,
circling round and round at around 6:30 p.m.
I would cause a lot less harm on this planet.
But someone always pulls the cord, even if I don’t.

Aidan won’t pull the cord and neither will I.
We might be riding this bus for a long time yet.

On the bus we greet,

knowing each other's faces --


knowing nothing more.

I met him at a dust-bowl bus station
In Mobile, where buses wore dust trail capes.
Roaches clicked in the water fountain basin.

With charisma he denounced
The muddled spray of birth and spring,
The spermy apocalypse brought forth by an
Army of mad babies with syphilis-splintered brains.

He had gambled for three nights,
Wonder and reason backing his chips —
Small blind, big blind.
He had the shoulders of a man who locks the door
And hides the key — an invisible traveling carnival
Trailed his gait on a pace-worn floor.

Bed bugs had made Braille of his arm.
He was going off to a camp south of Cabbage Town
Where he would sweat beneath the sun,
Surrender beneath the stars,
And dream of the ten women he’d made.

He told me he hated knowing he was in control,
And that it was the saddest part of the darkest hour.

"I have a hundred photos lined up to be posted.
I edit them, I think about them, and I let them be.
I let them be in my gallery for the right time.

And the right time never comes.

Days become months, and months at times turn into years.
But the right time never comes.

I don't know why!

But it is alright!

It is alright because I am not in a race, nor am I in a hurry to tell my story.
I don't mind waiting at the stop like this bus.
I don't mind being forgotten about
Or just not talked about for days.

But I, in my own way, after making those stops, I will carve my road ahead.
Uncover the true beauty of my story
In the most unusual way.
Just like how sunlight lights up a simple road and makes patterns with the help of shadows.

Shadows have their own ways.
Shadows glorify those pretty rays.

it's all occupied with dark fumes of flatulence
      the bus hanger
          it's teething and earning      a low ceilinged thrive

regularly cleaned    the roof portal
   with a large drooping eye
          brags of blue sky
the coaches are idling
   fretful   to be burdened and go

elsewhere
the public urinals
there's a strong smell of iron
are the morning users dehydrated
  malnourished or ill ?
i feel a little flated

elsewhere
in the waiting area
   a neatly turned out teen
    wants to give their seat to the infirm
does not     and hurts inside  averting
(a public act of courtesy
   would   after all   be an embarrassing one)

attention back to the importance
my friend has ungreeted me
  i have wished him ease
  and he has passed between the cordons
amongst amiable cattle
  he pauses at the authorities verification
who   in turn
   tails them to load up their luggage
                    and become their driver

                             - goodbye my friend

I'll be up at five, so I can leave by six. For this rare occasion, I won't hit snooze. It does not matter that my bones are creaking, and my eyes still craving some sleep because a longing heart can defy anything that's making me weak.

For love, I will ride motorcycles, and respond uncomfortably to men who do not need to know anything more than my name, and where I'm headed. We'll hit the road obnoxiously, and take turns on unfamiliar streets. I will put all my faith in the helmet I'm wearing, and in humanity, while I hold on for dear life.

After a dreadful ride, I will step foot inside an unfamiliar building. I could place a bet that I'd get lost inside because well, it's me. When I finally find my bus, I will hop on anxiously. Yet, despite everything that's running in my head, peace will come to me.

It will come in the way the early sun lies in the palm of my hand, its warmth, melting away my worries.
And from the pair of bright innocent eyes peeking from the seat in front of me.
Calm will come from watching the bus slowly fill with passengers from the city.
Especially, from the thought that all of us are headed somewhere for a grand reason — for love.

Dread will become anticipation and anticipation to plain excitement.

I will wait patiently behind the soft murmurs of strangers. And when the conductor finally hands me my ticket, I would think that I could do this as often as you want me to.

In my seat, I will sink with both childlike wonder and a new sense of independence. There, I will find joy in all the unfamiliarity.

The ride will be a cycle of seats getting emptied and reoccupied as the bus traverses through cities.

And when it gets emptier, I will tell you that I’m almost there.

Coming home in the car from the village shop down a narrow country road
I got stuck behind a school bus which had just pulled in before a bend (so I couldn't pass it)
It was letting off a passenger
It was a little wee girl all on her own
She got off and then started to walk down this little lane
On her back she had this big school bag
And the school bag was almost bigger than she was
I thought "All that world knowledge weighing down on her poor mind
Being told to learn and memorise it
And that her whole future depended on it
I wondered would she lose herself along the way
Them emphasising the importance of it
And the insignificance of her"...
I wondered "Would there be anything of her left after it ?".

It was a long bus ride
And the **** plastic sheet seats
Were cracking from abuse and freeze
We all kept warm with conversations
And secrets
And scandals in the back row

The era of shame
My own propaganda
Selling me on the idea
That I should carry everyone's.
Sourness
Sins
Shame

That bus was wretched
With the stench
Of frozen sweat
And regret

Despite it all
I could find any single one of you
And we'd exchange
Untouchable moments
Memories of the heart
Strung along that tattered pavement

Here's mine

It was in your eyes
That I saw myself shine
For across that opaque pane
I witnessed your thought
"this guy is interesting"

You and your curly raven rings
Asking about my fixations
Changed the course
Of who I see
when I close my eyes

I've never seen you since that summer
I've never sat behind you again
Can't even recall the name
Can't remember if we won the game
But you're a warm tea I get to sip
When it comes across my mind
No loose ends
No ***** stains
Just the sun breaking the squall
And the summer of ****** football

Terribly
Terribly hot
“…No way…”
“…today was really…”
“..every day…”
“…she’s been acting so…”
The conversations
Blend and babble
Around me like
A brook and the bird-calls
In the mountain green
The leather seat
Sticks to my skin like glue
I bobble and bounce and I
ACK! Gosh **** turns!