(bear with me, i'm re-exploring poetry land - though i'll be the first to admit my greater strength lies in prose. but hey, it's good to experiment, right?)
strolling through the subway cars,
one car
second car
each boasting its own slumbering musician,
cradling their cases and exhaustion
as i tenderly smile at them.
i imagine them,
harbingers of melody
inflicting their smoky revelations
and deep down jazz
on french girls who swallow the end of the world.
la fin du monde -
at least until 8 am
when sleepless and stumbling
they are loaded onto trains
that wheel them back to anglo land,
where they can sleep,
sleep at last.
and then it's my stop,
so i step off and a quiet army of blank faces
races past me into the tunnel.
whoosh.
look at all the people i don't know.
No comments:
Post a Comment