Bodies litter stained floors
in this subway station as the head
piercing drone of trains rush
through tunnels, an anonymous man
throws his own body in front of a machine,
is crushed by unimaginable force.
I am unaware of this, sitting inside
the beast that killed this human.
We stop for a few moments,
a robotic voice announces
that there’s been organic
difficulties. The world won’t stop
and so we’ll move on after more machines
clean up the mess. There is nothing
to say about the dirt speckled
baby blue tiles that adorn the wall
I stare at beyond the blurry advert
that encases this compartment.
We begin to move again.
This is what happened:
we said nothing mattered
enough times that it actually came true.
Only a few don’t separate meaning
from life now. Emerging
from the underground I found
a poem in the sky then followed
my sour gut, ignoring more crumpled
bodies along sidewalks. Heavily armed
police everywhere. A rich and powerful
person enters an ancient marble temple
on 17th street. I walk towards the source
of spotlights roaming skyscraper walls
and then sit in a fabricated park to lick
the invisible moon above us with my feeble
thoughts. Again I get up to wander and worry
about death, then remind myself to allow
my feet to guide the rest and arrive
into the unknown.