Monday, August 20, 2012


Don’t grieve in the evening when the subway
shuttles you home. The stench of a homeless woman
sucks up a corner, but you are drifting
in a space where the thin air sustains you. Governed
by the incessant pounding of the wheels,
you are swept homeward perhaps to a definition
perhaps to a past that needs nothing but blends
with the TV and the incessant opacity
of the news. The bedrock surface of
the day on which you walked patiently 
to the end seems like so much gravel you sifted
through with your raw fingers and somehow you served
among the patrons and colleagues and did business
no one dare blame or praise you for.

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