Words.

End Ride
These are sad lines that I write tonight
as I hurtle my way home on this mass
commuter train that trails through the
suburban jungle of my democratic nation.
No one around me smiles, no one talks at
all, all look away into some created
distance far enough not to be touched by
anyone, not even themselves.
Some sleep. Some grab at their chins.
Some cross their legs. Many fold their arms.
On the left side of me a baby wails
on the right side of me a baby wails
yes they’re unsatisfied, just like everyone else,
the babies know in them they’ve been born
to die. The drive towards death.
Everyone’s thinking, I see the frowns that
they wear on their faces. It’s evident,
they know that they are being flung
towards an end when they know not.
I’m taking this all in, soaking up the
pleasure of sadness, to put all these in
words. Yes, we’re all fucked, whether we like it or not.

Rainy Night
Falling rain, cloaking blanket,
no one is spared.
Streetlamps illuminate their
intensity, hidden from
naked myopic eyes.
Light winds blow a mist
across our faces,
each speck brings up
awareness another notch,
feel the light hits on
our skin, sideways, and
headlong we could plunge ourselves
into the wet darkness.
But we do not.
No more heads but domes,
bobbing up and down
along beetles with
flicking feelers.
The rain persists still.

Autour de moi
Qui-est là?
J’écoute…
Je sais vous êtes ici.
Comment ça?
Comment vous me cherchez?
Pourquoi?
Laissez-moi.