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q train in the summer time
a bus between dekalb and atlantic
a transfer you cant focus on
red wine after
spilling over counters and into the sink
a vain gesture to clean it up
oh il leave in the morning
wrapped in a knit scarf and left on the q train earlier that year
in january when i used to live here
went to the botanical gardens in the morning
swore i saw a face before
alarms and confusion in the subway
and you and i walking down the street
seperated for a second
but you got scared at the boys on the stoop and came back to me
the fan in the living room- blowing past pieces of what we need to every day- sober- what we have to- survival and the giant gallery
no free tickets
nothing
just a stare, smoke back and forth
and you tell me as flashes of light particulate in places from coughing too hard
i swore you stood up for me once
and i laughed at life being a lie
whatever realized
its truth
oh tell me
empirical
falsifiable
in a moment- aztec dress- girl in front of the blossoms
pretend you dont know each other
and hold in all the good youve secretly watched me do that i dont remember
if there ever was any
if you were ever gonna hang around
in brooklyn
but its been years now
a hundred dollars in my pocket
35th and tenth avenue
above a tire store-hells kitchen
optical activity of collision
smooth with always a thin film of sweat
at the start of riverside drive
under my tongue
im alone now
i sung it from a rooftop overlooking the east river
in an entirely different neighborhood
what an insult to call it collision
something colliding and, well, resistence
