Third Rail Lines

.
Finding her way back to purgatory
Aboard the L train
Somewhere between Eighth Avenue and
Chelsea street

Raindrops and decaying buildings blur together in
High speed motion
picture silence
through fingerprint
markings of cold public
transportation windows

Lost in the memories of yesterday’s from Rockaway Parkway and Coney Island
She had once surrendered
to his limp
waxen style…

He was never the mystery
that he thought he was…

I heard he studied poetry
at UCLA…
Un dépotoir prétentieux de vacances littéraires
a literary prostitute,
in green and guilt,
void, inconvenient and artless

a masquerade of nothingness…
his words…
placid
piss and shit

Walking by
I somehow managed
To step in it

A pile
Of his ego
.
Maria Crest
&
MB93
2022
.