Buried beneath the subway stop
a light panel cracked shut.
This is what it's like to make
up tragedy, to make up hope.
The mounted flame
behind the wallpaper
is making cackling grimaces
like children playing
on their off-time.
After an hour riding
the Night Owl Bus (Broad
St. Line) northwards to Olney
the eyes have clamped shut
and tried to dream resolution
instead of revolutionary nightmare.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
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2 comments:
The m14 bus from 8th Ave to Union Square is terrifying on a different level. Man-bro-dudes and their courtesans, dressed in red stripes and hat-wards backs, who know all the words to Sweet Home Alabama punctuated by vomiting.
That sounds like the worst part of NYC ever.
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