MASS AVE, 6:34 PM (OR)

LAUREN ELMA FRAMENT

 
you wait for the train with your lover

        & this city is a dying dog or a livewire—

you cannot decide which //

 

you think about jumping in front of the train,

        but you would feel bad for the engineer

& whoever would have to clean up the mess //

 

this does not make you a good person—

        it just means you are too ashamed to hold hands

with Death in public //

 

your lover stands beside you on the platform,

        each of you inching your toes up to the edge //

you realize you have a wasps’ nest inside your skull

 

& if not, then the ghosts of your adolescence are humming //

        you step onto the subway as if to wave yourself out

of a simple daydream // the closing door whispers in your ear,

 

today is not the day, but you think how foolish

it is to say hope is a headlight or a beacon or another body //

you think hope must be the smell of grinding sparks

 

or else your sight inside an underground tunnel—dark, almost

lifeless // or else the advertisements recruiting volunteers

for depression studies // or else the map posted

                                                            above every

 

                                                                                              exit

 

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