subway poem #2

red over shoulder whistle boom clap
gone for the winter never coming back when it’s summer somewhere else all of the time where else is there shake the dirt from the carpets and deep between the tiles shake the ash from the sleeves pull whistles crows trains tell them i’m never coming home i’m never over bone-free muscle tight enough that it holds its own fresh ligaments and tendons and a pale green front no marrow though narrow no reason to worry
machine gone read over the hill
arms pound the surface beneath which is the dwelling everybody wake up and everybody listen everybody wake up and everybody listen to me i had a story to tell and i had a story to tell & i had a story to tell could you hear don’t make this more difficult than it has to be & just listen to me

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