The behemoth slides by
Eyes of glass glistening with life
Shine, light of street,
Onto metal beer cans and fence posts
Right round where darkness falls on to her lap
is where the vomit lays
Call it the shadow dressed in stomach acid
Mighty hand drenched in blood
(Could be ketchup also I suppose)
Still warm with liquid and moist to the touch
Hold onto this silver pole
Eroded with sweat and piss and semen
Dirt is brown from living and remains so
Waiting for the years to pass
Next station.
Through these portals known as windows
Ten thousand stories wait
Lingering over crusted plastic seats and
Wendy' s wrapper's
(Open late, so you can eat shit, even late)
Lady in red smiles while clenching her teeth
She is trapped in the two dimensional cell above the entrance
Noise that is the music of sound
Next station.
Arrival and bustle and departure from the
two twisted orange triangles serving as doors
Blink
Blackness is the tunnel between waiting and there
Cracked window reveals the spot
where foreheads rest and stain the view of headlights
Too many reflections to number
and the light in her eyes is common and artificial
