Dec
30
Can you pick up
or pull apart
the lines on my hand
the telephone wires that dart to the horizon
the track lines
can’t pull me down
can you bring me down?
can you be open enough?
play the slow dead march
a line of ants to the ant hill
the commuters to the tube stations
the ties drag them to destinations
a point unseen
dots on the horizon
makeshift tombstones
wood and nails your final call
a name and a date
numbers, statistics, pay checks,
the neon sign that breathes on my neck
train ride must last longer.
