Saturday, November 23, 2013


This city in the palm of our hands like a wet metro card
Life and death depending on how far it can get us
And this damned machine won’t take it because it is flawed,
The remains of it taken up from the gutter, with trips
Still clinging to it, but beyond redemption or claim,
And the expiration date clicking off too fast to allow
This ticket to fortune to dry, we never actually knowing
If it contains anything of value or a trip to any place
At all, after a decade from that first time selling all
We have to sell, to this, no way to climb out so we
Cling to this thing we have found, stained with the sweat
Of others who earned this ride but somehow lost it
On their way for us to find, their sweat leaving us to sweat
Over whether or not we can redeem it when it has
Been so misused, this street, this city, this vulgar landscape
We must cross to get from where we were to where we are
going, uncertain just who it is that paid the fare, as long
As someone has, and doubtful, when we stick this card

In the turnstile whether we can get through to the other side at all.

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