on the 4 train as it surfaces to a blinding morning
mindless, the train sprints.
a fleet, unwieldy sentence
on a clear, blank page.
"85-year old grannie shots dead 90-year old beau" - tabloid headline
"no new thing under
the sun," the big book avers.
and that's great comfort?
tossing the tabloid, the half emptied coffee cup into the festering rear mouth of a garbage truck
walt whitman is wrong.
every damn thing collapses.
watch or wince: your call.
