When the geometry of sombra
seems to have a life of its own on the world's metamorphic rocks,
the underworld seems so close to my eyes, and annoyance takes shape above believing
it is more intelligent than
I, who can see the train coming from the distance uncertainty won’t
bother impotence resting on earth’s shoulders, and Sleeping Giant can wait forever for the lost sailor.
What a blessing!

The sensation
On the train station
When you find
Kind eyes
Sharp hands
Making you fall

take the express to 45th and step over the yellow
line and track and train uptown and downtown to mid
town to city sitting in aluminum carts as
the white collars fall asleep in sync
adjust the ties and breathe the cold
air fogged and smogged around
the tops of the buildings scraping skies

how complacent are the suited
up for sleeping in the dull talking and shuffling
up one stands to fill his seat
reserved by a backpack and briefcase
clattering against the aluminum
blur as the buildings mesh outside the window
pillow for his unbothered head
dreaming nonetheless

a deterministic acidity
encircling, dizzily,
with futile steps and fruitless glances
I took my chances
and still I managed to glue on a smile,
at least, until the train

Make the most of your life while you're still alive,

For YOU never know when MR. Death will arrive.

Alcohol.
And train schedules.
A commuter's tightrope.
The last stop, Hpnotiq.
Where it rains sadness.
Where they're numb
To the moment of inertia.
Preferring instead to
Live on the rim.

When I think of you,
I hear a marimba in my head.
I'm lost like a stray cat.
Baby, I swear I'll hop a train
and head west, to roll away
from the memory of you.
This mad hatter moon lights
my way, and I'm done
holding on.  I'm getting a
bottle of whiskey, and drinking
it until you become a
blurry memory.
Then I'm jumping that train.