Wound Underground/Word Removal
I wound underground:
New nails to scratch down the back
board of life,
The L stopped like a shot.
Is my stare blank enough to enter this car? Empty like the night before the first line?
Through the tunnel pressure I seize
the wind in my ears
The walls beat rituals
onto these walls;
somebody’s name, bloodstains, graffiti.
If we all explode, well let’s all explode.
Subway Station Get-Down, January 18th, 1 of 2:
Everyone’s got work in the morning, tired and trying to get home
with Tragic Bumsong hit on a ukulele,
People are in the streets
Admitting that they’re rude?
What is this world coming to?
And police can frisk you if they look over your shoulder and read what you’re writing;
say suspicious activity
Say, I don’t have a gun strapped to my inner thigh, I’m wearing a dress!
I come on the train and set an example.
What I thought was my subway stop was not my subway stop.