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


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



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 

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