smashed brown skin mosh pit
an orgy defrayed for transport
and clothes
counting stops
i stare at that finger
imagine swirling my tongue
sucking it
jostling unison pogos
with eyes seeking global positioning
we defer to the short woman
shouting to sell noise whistles
that soul under his headphones
bought for the brand, to cancel thought
he listens to a music
i could not bear
drown out the sad
echo, deftly burnished
echo, deftly burnished
through forty years
hoeing the mantra
hoeing the mantra
in cornfields of the maya
in cornfields of midwest
more brown fingers clutching silver poles
thumbs like toes to chew
the stations glide past
our huddle of warmth
desire under the turnstiles
the metro pendulum
station to station
the metro pendulum
station to station
the terminal love
2/2/17
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