a poem for liz k.

[biddyfox]

the trains were late this morning. i stood in suffern and basked in shared confusion. a train came upon us and sheltered us, brought us in, and so clambered and shuddered through suffern, ramsey, ramsey, allendale, waldwick, ho-ho-kus, ridgewood half an hour late, but i think i'll make it to school on time anyway. it's not a wicked world. it's hard to feel like it's a wicked world when you look around and see everyone's as pissed that the trains are late as you are, as hungry, as bored. commiseration is consummation. it's a gift between strangers and lovers alike. the twin sister of comedy. understand this.

trains have small souls, like worms, but souls all the same. provide safety and warmth, when their organs function properly anyway. if more people believed this public transit would be better. even the sleepiest, most unaware creatures create love, create joy. I sometimes imagine you feeding me on a train.