Sunday, January 27, 2008


His head lifts from visible noises,
Spying glazed eyes and faces as
Vacant as the seat beside him,
Faux-leather carrying mixed scents:
Plastic, artifice, rain water.


A lurch he never saw coming,
A heart he never left running.
And a world filled with bent walls,
Shattered rain, and half-heard screams.

And a bus seat that still remains vacant.

That turned out much more grim than I had anticipated.

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