Hopping The Turnstile

sheet metal bent backwards like

contortionists in the circus trade

the third avenue subway tricks

my feet into floating tunnelling

under lofty stampedes the elephant

parade plans a route with

tacks on its feet freed

from idle captivity they’ve forgotten

how to walk without a

chain round their neck but

still these tracks my steel

carriage paints Manhattan silver with

second hand friezes derived from

the Romans mosaics read like

teleprompters to my idled eyes

***

the brake dust somersaults and

shakes my limp rag doll

legs awake like mango trees

in smart hurricanes my fruit

looks ripe enough to fall

and join the soupy mess

of quick cynics and slow

zealots drinking until the sun

shows its teeth like lions

get drunk on zebra blood

and swear to never indulge 

again but monkey see monkey 

do at least that’s the

excuse I use when my

stupid tears get too dry

***

it must be pathological waiting

each stop a new reservation

I forgot to cancel there’s

poems on the walls of

this coffin too short sighted

to read but hungry eyes

see more when they’re starving

just like I live more

when it’s raining it’s really

a terrible crutch a sandy

trench to put my head

back in at every chance

but the vaulted ceilings are 

right angles now why am

I the only to notice