#commute
The sixty degree angle of her soft-leather clad ankle drew my eye. It was relaxed and maintained an elegance that appeared effortless and it was this angle and the over and under of her other leg, with the unwavering support of her angled ankle, that stayed with me, and deposited an unreasonable burden of jealousy and arguably an exaggerated degree of admiration.
Then, with a whisper, she handed her coffee to her companion and unfurled her legs as she withdrew her makeup bag to make herself more human, ridding me of my revelry.
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
On the train
rows
of stacked adults
faces
lit
by phones
no eye contact
silent
fragile
like books
on shelves.
Mar 13
Mar 13, 2026 at 6:11 PM UTC
Red light,
Green light,
Blinking away,
The same old roads,
The same old day;
Engines hum,
Faces stare,
Everyone rushing,
But going where?
I grip the wheel,
And breathe in slow,
I feel my mind,
Begin to flow;
I’m in the crowd,
Yet I’m alone,
A moving cage,
A metal home.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 9:33 AM UTC
Ana smears toothpaste across the wrong side of the brush.
It’s 6:12 a.m.
The coffee machine coughs
like it’s learned the sound from the bus
She gulps the brew—burns her lip—
covers clean teeth with the illusion of being awake.
The window's cracked.
Cold air runs through the loose pane,
rubs its fingers on the back of her neck.
Outside, she fumbles her keys,
misses the zipper on her bag—again.
The driver doesn’t look up.
She taps her card twice,
no beep. Just her reflection
in the greasy plastic divider.
BBC news plays low:
“More layoffs expected…”
She opens her book.
It's page 82. The war hasn’t started yet.
The breeze still sneaks in through the vents.
But in the story,
the sky is orange
and work doesn't exist.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 4:14 AM UTC
for just a moment
while waiting
for my train
i managed to
convince myself
that this stage
of commuters
in waiting
smoking impatiently
eating hurriedly
chuntering incessantly
amidst the grey
on grey of concrete
cloud and chagrin
was as pleasant
as one of those
bustling plazas
of European cities
that tourists like
to take a moment
with a coffee
or something stronger
as they watch the locals
go about their day
i tried to enjoy it
all the same
watching these lives
intertwine unnoticed
until cigarette smoke
was blown my way
one too many times
and i headed instead
to wait on the platform
disappointed that
to anybody else
i would just look like
the rest of them
Oct 28, 2025
Oct 28, 2025 at 7:56 PM UTC
August, the Red Line,
connected tanks
of bolted plastic vertebrae.
Every seat gone except
five rows up, where a sea lion
sprawls across two,
stuffed backpack, yellow jacket
spread out like caution tape.
His grunt a wet bark
at the glow of his screen.
Middle-school deer slip into the aisle,
chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past,
their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut.
Not a predator- just a gelded ox,
chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed,
chest rig clattering with blanks.
Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder,
her shell steady against the sway of the car.
She shepherds them from the surge of riders:
loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks,
moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air,
a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches.
And one gray bear
muttering alone,
arguing with her reflection.
Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park,
somewhere the sea begins to breathe again,
then, feathers forcing through my skin-
an alley gull knifing into this clamour,
scavenging inside its exhaust.
The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters:
museum wings open to no one,
‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script,
flu shots promised by smiling ghosts.
A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words
See something, say something.
The warning lights glow
like eyes hunting in the dark.
From its flanks the train
unfurls iron claws.
They rake
the tunnel walls,
the city’s bones,
the dark itself.
Sep 29, 2025
Sep 29, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
night bleeds indigo and gray, and
a california chill seeps deep into bone.
white hot spotlights melt through my joints
as I watch you through half-closed eyes,
ignoring the ache that creeps into
the chambers of my heart.
among strangers, only your face remains clear
while my vision dims like dying lightbulbs.
for a moment i forget my lines;
but i am not an actor.
then we share this golden-lit bus, you & i,
skin sticky with sweat & iced tea.
five steps between us feel like miles.
knees bump over gravel...
bump, bump, bump...
through cuts of moonlight and lonely cigarette trails,
i wish you'd turn my way.
and my tired eyes will wander the aisle
while the voices between us fade like old leather seats.
footsteps mark time passing
on this midnight bus ride.
shadows will dance under streetlights,
and the words i want to say catch in my throat
like dewdrops at the sound of your laugh.
spring feels distant now,
and still i'd wait for you.
brushing arms leave trails of fire,
hands running through tangled thoughts.
my body resides between Newport's shore and sea.
i remember a friend's words:
"what else can you do but admire from afar?"
days later;
missing the midnight bus ride back home.
Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 12:02 PM UTC
I was on my usual morning commute, succumbing to the ease of autopilot, when I happened to glance out my window at a magpie. Our eyes met, just for a second, and in that moment, I dissolved from mindlessness into pure joy.
A smile overtook my face as I felt nothing but this beautiful creature’s gaze upon me. I felt his unbotheredness - huddled against the wind, keeping himself warm without complaint. In that micro-second of silent conversation, I sensed his quiet affinity for life—his gratitude for the earth, which, day after day, provided him with food, and for the sky, which so effortlessly offered him passage. He wastes no time lamenting, only enjoying.
It was with that thought that I realised: we are the same—on a parallel commute. Him, guided by his intuition, and me by mine.
Dec 18, 2024
Dec 18, 2024 at 8:00 PM UTC
Sadness is finishing a great novel
on the train to work
and carrying it home
empty of suspense,
with a faint hope
for the yet unpublished sequel.
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 4:04 PM UTC
much of my commute
these past few days
has been about the first call
we’ll never have after our break.
obsessing over
the receiver bringing
absolution
through your imagined hello
in more weeks than i dare count.
my phones notif’s are almost taunting me
reminders from every little corner of the internet
that life can’t pause
the moving on
after the
death of another gay boys feelings.
the thought
eventually there’ll be an
unspoken acceptance
your voice will never be close and familiar again
unshackles me.
as the northern line pulls into the platform
i like to imagine somewhere under its torturous sound
you’re speaking to me and i just can’t hear it.
this is the peace i’ve been left with
to patch myself up
in all of its ugly simplicity.
oh how a heart can sink but still shine.
oh how my love can be smothered
and you be fine.
May 3, 2022
May 3, 2022 at 2:35 PM UTC
so the day is going well
which is never a good sign
time ticking past somnambulantly
inducing a soporific state
I find hard to shake
with rocking carriages
as I traverse to my travail
through millennia of archaeology
passing long extinct dinosaurs
turning magically to crude oil
Roman armies with Gladius drawn
ready for action two thousand
years on, still trying to conquer
the unconquerable realm
then an eco-warrior
of shabby description
yells my carbon footprint
is an abominable ********
it’s an electric train I holler
how much greener can I be fella
the Romans are looking friendlier
by the minute they only wanted
my freedom not justification of existence
the soporific state abates
the modern world is against me
now I’m running late
Mar 23, 2022
Mar 23, 2022 at 7:14 PM UTC
A train sits idle
Driver turns off the headlights
Helps my night vision
Flying past cop car,
Headlights turn on in rear-view,
Turn off, I can breathe
Oncoming driver,
Flash my lights to warn them
Of deer or police
At small town train tracks
Car flashes brights at random,
Left me quite confused
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
Rounding the corner
Walking from the house
I'm thinking of my work day
Thinking what to say
Back through the woods
Smiling at the horse
Up through the copse
Strutting through the coarse
Down the busy road
Cars start to toot
Home beckons soon
Ending my fake commute
Oct 22, 2020
Oct 22, 2020 at 4:48 AM UTC
the endless construction of the industrial landscape
of jersey barriers & orange cones and workers with coffees
& expensive work & gear
police stand by...
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 12:44 PM UTC
we take the same train everyday
I don’t know your name nor where you come from
what a joy is to see your face once more before we part ways again
but the moment the train moves
the rumble of my heart lead the way
stead fast, the scenery of steeping in Front of emotion
track after track
winding and twisting with nothing to block the way
the express route to desire
your astonishing beauty
Is my favorite stop
love at first sight
I wish I could've told you how I felt
I wish I could've held your hands
before alighting the train
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 3:12 PM UTC
destination unknown
surrounded by people yet feeling alone
what have I done?
the world’s greatest game
is when you miss the stop
but you won’t feel the shame
le petite mort on replay
and for her bottom I was the perfect top
who’s there to blame ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
There's a sigalert
on the conveyor belt,
now we'll all be late for work.
How can anything
I spend half my life on
be free?
Little by little
I'm moving away from me.
Next year
They're adding a fast lane.
No solution there,
just ******* in more butane.
Jan 31, 2020
Jan 31, 2020 at 6:20 PM UTC
The platform is quiet when I arrive.
The walk home is long.
The road is busy with lights, but no faces.
I should have worn gloves.
Nearly there now.
Someone's home but nobody was waiting.
I pull a smile out my pocket and drop my keys,
Then I listen to words about the day.
My bed brings solitude,
While questions crawl behind my eyes.
Scraping inside my skull, they're familiar,
And I drift off on their backs.
Jan 28, 2020
Jan 28, 2020 at 2:30 PM UTC
So many little ***** hands reaching out
for an empty watering can.
The pipe always seems to be closer
than it looks.
I shut my eyes tight sometimes and
let my fingers find a rhythm
or lose myself to the whirr.
I forget to meditate, or write things down,
I browse IG, fall into pattern of searching
for familiar names.
I find deals online and shop away the panic
Settling in, it’s replaced with commercial
anticipation- instant gratification-
Jesus ******* Christ I can’t even type
with my headphones on,
this car is always the obnoxious one
I never learn.
It’s the closest to the stairwell but I guess
I always hope that people would consider
That roosters haven’t even crowed yet
And maybe whisper?
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Black rain falls
ice cold
emotionless
desolate tarmac roads
puddles of ugliness form
devouring light
drawing in the world
dark matter
the abyss lies beyond
headlight's reach
reflected buildings distort
as cars spin
aquaplaning tyres
across mirrored
mercurial surfaces
downdraught suppresses
exhaust fumes
as dragon automobiles
slither their hissing way
neon lit fire breathing
monsters of road and byway
home is measured
by the length of the next queue
rather than miles per hour
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC