That can't be good
Whole train like a toilet
People acting like it doesn't matter
It's cabin pressure
It's excrement
It's avoiding the truth
You are breathing in
A hundred cubic feet of feces
From your nearest neighbor
To the diaper that got dumped
On the way to the Mets game
It's a thousand gallons of piss
From every drunk you protested
On the way home on Friday night
When you stayed late in the office
When you should've been getting drunk
There's got to be semen in there
And the hotter it gets
As we near the end of May
Chugging into summer
The bolder that stew gets
The broth a nauseating blend
Of New York's finest
And we're high falootin
No water closets on the subway
That would be a villainous blend
I moved two cars up
II.
Goldmine!
Finest specimen
Like a ghost of bad taste
I have seen this fellow in passing
But never up close
It is a marvel of Aqua Net
A Supreme infraction
Of Diana Ross proportions
The comb-in
Not a comb over
True tragedy
With hair from the nape
Being driven
Stampede style
Into a slowly trickling stream
A dried up creek has delineation
But it is gone
Only pebbles mark its once meandering path
But now
Here
A great rumbling occurs
When dust is kicked up
Galloping hooves
Strong and heavy
Meet the muddy strings
Left for dead
On a barren landscape
The trickle so slow
This is not a source
This is not something to sustain
But yet
What are you to do?
You tap the stone
And hope for a sign from God
If I look any longer
I'll combust
III.
In my mouth
A perfect combination
A bite of Gala apple
Two roasted & salted almonds
Sweet
Salty
Smoky
Rich
Tart
Wholesome
Agreeable
I can not have this experience
While breathing purgation
Nor looking at thirsty horses
--
5.30.08
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